Path of Thieves
“Seriously, man. Freddie’s parents are gone the entire weekend, and we’re partying it up. You’ve got to come.” Bear rocks in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable. We both know the wreck and he are an uneven match.
“Right, your father.” He huffs a frustrated breath. “Never, I swear. Like, ever. I’ve seen you drink freaking twice.”
Florida rain hammers on the roof of the car and hauls ass over my windshield. We’re outside Grocery-Pete’s, waiting for the floodgates to shut so we can get inside.
“Hey, I drink sometimes. With my father.” Dad celebrates good heists with a drink or five. If it’s hard liquor, he’ll loosen tight lips and talk about Mom.
“Come on, Cugs.” Bear tries to arch his back for a better position, but his head hits the ceiling. “Tell me you see how lame that is. ‘I can’t party with y’all, ’cause Imma drink with my daddy.’”
I snort out a laugh. “Whatever, fool.”
My eyes are drawn to Grocery-Pete’s gutter. It’s overflowing. The water takes the fast route over the edge, omitting the drain. I’ve stood under gutters like that, or more like penguin-danced under them in Rigita. Paislee dressed me in thick sweaters and rubber boots and topped it off with full raingear. Then we snuck out the backdoor and ran down the street before we got caught.
“Fascinated, much?” Bear grins.