“Yeah.” Shepherd crossed Step Fourteen off his twenty-seven-step plan. Written on a single sheet of paper, carried on a clipboard, so that Step Twenty could be accomplished: Burn This Paper. “So does everybody.”
Lex honked on the horn, one loud and long blast, followed by three shorter ones. “Even me! And I’m part of you, Dad!”
“Thank you, Lex.” Shepherd reviewed his list and addedanother step between Food Truck and Cooler that said: Find Bribe Big Enough for Lex to Lie to Her Mother.
Twenty-eight-step plans. Much better than four. Much less chance for things to go wrong.
A motorcycle roared into the alley, Charlie Cardello riding on it in a full three-piece suit and zero helmet, a chicken moving out of his way with the grace that suggested the hen was doing Charlie a favor. He held up both of his thumbs at the same time, which caused the still-moving motorcycle to veer dangerously towards the shell of the food truck.
Shepherd sighed and doodled a hanged man in the corner of his list. No matter how many steps he figured out, one outcome was inevitable: he was well and truly boned.
THIRTY-SIX
Ginny:What was that noise?
Shepherd:That was Charlie. He drove a motorcycle into the food truck
Ginny:Oh my God
Ginny:Don’t move
Ginny:I’ll be right there
Shepherd:No please
The back door into the alley opened and Ginny emerged, sunglasses already perched on her nose. “Hi, Charlie!” She waved, smiling brightly. “You brought it!”
“I brought more than this!” Charlie grinned, and more or less parked the bike. It leaned a little, handlebar resting on the driver’s door of the food truck.
Lex stared down at it before honking the horn again. “Now I amstuck!” she shouted. “Stuck, forever!”
Max patted the top of her head. “There’s another door, kid. Look. It’s open.”
“Irefusethat door, Maximillian!Refuse!”
Charlie pulled the saddlebags off the side of the motorcycle and walked over to Shepherd and Ginny with a strange gait, as if he’d been riding a horse without a saddle. “Here ya go. Everything you need to save Deandra.”
“Uh-huh.” Shepherd handed the clipboard to Ginny before taking the saddlebags. Inside was a red bandana, a pleather vest, and enough C-4 to blow a hole in Troy’s defenses, wooden horse be damned. Shepherd closed the saddlebag. Reopened it. The C-4 was still there, cozied up next to what had to have been a purchase at Spirit Halloween. He sighed. “I am going to die.”
“Hey, that’s quitter talk.” Charlie lit up a cigarette. “You’re gonna do great.”
Ginny took a peek inside the saddlebags. “I mean … if the grease fire isn’t a big enough distraction, the explosion will be. Right?”
“That’s the spirit!” Charlie blew a big puff of smoke directly in Shepherd’s face. Shepherd coughed. “You ever ride a bike before?”
“Yes,” Shepherd said, coughing again. “I have.” This was technically true. He didn’t mention that he was eleven at the time and his mom’s boyfriend was trying to impress him. The bike was loud and fast, and the sun had direct access to his face, and so, needless to say, it hadn’t worked.
Ginny raised one perfect eyebrow but didn’t say anything, bless her.
Charlie grinned around his American Spirit. “What did I tell ya? Everything’s under control. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
After Charlie left—without scarfing down a free pizza, for once—Shepherd approached the motorcycle leaning against his food truck like a vet tech might approach a dog with forbidden food in its mouth. Confidently, with open palms, and the knowledge that this is for the bike’s own good.
“Shepherd?” Ginny called from a folding chair she’d brought into the alley, setting up shop far enough away from the dumpster to be considered Down Wind. “You OK over there?”
“I’m fine! It just … itsensesfear. You gotta dominate the bike before you sit on the bike.”
Noah loudly drained the last of a coolada, perched in a matching folding chair beside Ginny. “It doesn’t have a soul, Boss.”
