Chapter 9

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Now that Lathe and Anjelo’s association had ended, and the kid had learned all he could, he melted into the crowds of the city while Lathe gave his time to stakeouts, lookouts, car chases, or swaggering down an avenue in the hazy heat of the sun with his gun and badge hid beneath his jacket. Occasionally a quick glance at someone made him think of Anjelo, but eventually the kid became no more than a silhouette in his mind, a mere photograph.

And then one day Lathe discovered that he was gone from the photograph, leaving only the darkness of the street behind. Where had he gone? Did his absence mean he was in trouble? Dead? In those quiet moments he ached, wanting so much to keep him close, to talk and laugh like friends often did.

To make love.

But he knew that it could never be. Anjelo was too young, or maybe Lathe was too old. Either way, nothing good could come of his association with Anjelo, and he’d sooner take the pain of not seeing him than to harass him.