Page 62 of Rastor
It was one of the last things the guy did. So now, I didn't need the footage. And neither did he, because dead guys couldn’t exactly bother under-age girls now, could they?
With an effort, I shoved away those memories and turned to Chloe. "Wanna know something funny?" I said.
"What?"
I glanced around. The street and houses were deadly quiet. A crumpled fast-food bag rolled like a tumbleweed along the pitted pavement. Other than that, I saw no movement. But that didn't mean no one was around.
The neighborhood was like that. You just never knew.
I heard myself say, "Juvie was a cakewalk compared to this."
"But why didn't you guys move?" Chloe asked.
"Because Grandma had a bad hip and a pension that barely paid for groceries. And besides, where would she go?"
Chloe's gaze drifted to my old house. "Anywhere but here."
I gave a bitter laugh. "Easy for you to say. When I was born, Grandma owned that house outright. But when I got in trouble, she mortgaged everything to pay for my legal team, sorry as they were."
"But what about a public defender?" Chloe asked.
"That's what I told her. But Grandma wouldn't hear of it. She said I deserved better."
"She was right," Chloe said.
Was she? Maybe. Maybe not. But it was nice that Chloe thought so. It was a good sign, right?
"By the time it was done," I continued, "she owed more than the house was worth."
"Oh wow," Chloe breathed. "That's awful."
"And what's worse," I said, "it wasn't all to the bank."
"Who else did she owe?"
Someone you didn't mess with. That's who. "This local guy," I said, "specialized in high-risk loans."
"You mean a loan shark?"
"More or less," I said. "Though he didn't like to be called that. Don't ask me how I know."
Chloe was looking at the house again. "So who owns the house now?"
"The bank, probably. When Grandma died, she still owed a lot of money."
"To the loan shark?"
"No. Him, I paid off."
"How'd you do that?"
"One day, he saw me mixing it up with a couple of guys in the neighborhood. Said he liked what he saw, offered me the chance to work off some of the loan."
"By fighting?" Chloe asked.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted movement up ahead. Casually, I turned forward for a better look. A few blocks up the street, some guy – a lean scruffy man with big, bushy hair – was weaving his way toward us.
As I watched, he stumbled from one side of the street to the other, heading toward a beat-up Chevy that was parked half on the street, half on the sidewalk. The guy stopped and peered into the Chevy's rear window, leaning his forehead against the glass.
