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I rush toward the main entrance to the compound, dialing Kennedy’s number over and over again, only to keep getting no answer.
“Kennedy, call me when you get this,” I demand on her voicemail.
“We’ll get there in time, brother,” Duck says, running in step next to me.
“And if we don’t?”
“We don’t even know that something is wrong,” Snow says. “Maybe she got a flat on the way or something.”
“And Little Man?” I demand. “He get a flat too?”
Jenny was who called Snow, pissed off because she was slammed at the bar and Little Man hadn’t shown up yet. She was also worried because Kennedy hadn’t arrived, and she’s never late.
When we reach the gate, Spark is sitting in the guard shack, watching the monitors.
“What’s going on at Barlow’s?” I demand, hauling him out so I can see for myself.
“Whaddya mean?”
My eyes zero in on the blank screen. “What’s wrong with this camera?”
“I dunno,” Spark says. “But Little Man is working on it.”
“You talked to Little Man?” Snow asks.
“Yeah. I text him about the broken camera, and when he responded, he said he’d just gotten there and would work on it.”
“Jenny called and said he never made it.”
“Maybe he didn’t go inside first?” Spark suggests.
“Kennedy didn’t get there either,” I snap.
“What?”
“Jenny said neither of them were there.”
As we’re standing there talking, wasting time, the monitor flashes and suddenly, the camera is working. I stare at the screen, searching for something, anything, to tell me what the fuck is going on, and then I see it.
The lid to the dumpster moves.
“Prez, come look at this,” I seethe.
Snow steps into the shack, and I point to the screen.
“There, see that?”
“Is that…”
As we’re watching, Little Man appears from beneath the lid and rolls over the edge of the dumpster onto the ground.
“What the fuck?” Prez mumbles as he whips out his phone. Several seconds later, he taps the cell and shoves it back in his pocket. “He’s not answering. Let’s ride!”
Ride we do. We ride like bats outta Hell, swerving in and out of traffic, ignoring the blaring car horns and middle fingers.
As we race into the city, I cut through alleys and parking lots, familiar with all the fastest ways to get where I need to be. And when I pull into the back lot of Barlow’s, I skid to a stop.
“Little Man!” I shout, putting the kickstand down and dismounting to run to him. “Little Man, what the fuck happened?”
