Chapter 8

“Yeah?”

I bite into the cracker.

“Hey, where’s Allan?”

I don’t turn but I know Jack looks around

Ricky and sees me because he says, “Allan! Who’s this ass?

Move—”

That’s when the gun comes out, I’m sure,

because Jack stops in mid-sentence and there’s nothing but the slap

of salt against the balcony doors. “We’re fine, thank you.” Ricky

raises his voice and calls out, “Allan?”

“Fine,” I say. Fine.

“Who are you?” Jesus, Jack just doesn’t know

when to quit. “Allan, what the hell—”

Ricky cocks the gun. I risk a glance over my

shoulder and see him standing between the wall and the door,

blocking the entrance, his arm leaning against the jam and the gun

dangling from his hand like it’s not even there. I wonder if he’s a

good shot or if this is just for show. “Get out,” Ricky says. He

keeps his voice low and even.

“But—”

“Get out,” he says again. This time he closes

the door, locks it, and waits. I hold my breath, anticipating a