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that? Don’t go tellin’ nobody nothin’. And you make sure you mind your own fuckin’ business round here. Next time, I’ll put that cherry right in your goddamn lyin’ eye.”
    The man threw the cigarette to the ground, tucked his hands in his hoodie pockets, disappearing around the corner.
    Li’l Ron wiped the tears from his face, trying to stifle the sobs, but he couldn’t. The most fucked-up day of his life was getting more fucked up by the minute.
    Following his run-in with the angry stranger in the black hoodie, the burning fire inside he’d stoked for his father was smothered. Something about the guy had been familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was certain he’d never seen the man before. His words though: “You been looking for something in this town?” , “…mind your own fuckin’ business round here…” , “you might not like what you find, or who…”
    The only mess that Li’l Ron had his nose in was trying to figure out what happened to Sweet Kate. Why she had been cast off as a runaway and her disappearance not further investigated. He’d seen a billion of those shows like 48 Hours Mystery , as well as fake crime shows based on real cases, like Law and Order .
    Sweet Kate had said the guy’s name was Greg. It had to be his dad, didn’t it? But, if so, who the hell was this wack job threatening to burn his eyes out? Doubt wormed its way into his heart as he hopped off his bike at the corner of his nan’s yard. Dropping the Huffy on the lawn and breathing into his numb hands, he glided up the steps.
    Nan was sleeping in her rocker, Alex Trebek blathering on the television, her knitting lying in her lap beneath her folded hands. He grabbed the faded-pink and sea-green afghan from the couch, tossing it over her, and lowered the volume on the TV.
    Li’l Ron searched the kitchen cupboards, finding a can of Beefaroni. He nuked it in a bowl, grabbed a Pepsi and headed up the stairs to his refuge.
    He needed time to sort through a few questions brewing in his head about Sweet Kate and this shithole town. There had to be more to the story, and as incriminating as the name she’d given him was, it occurred to him that he never considered that there might be another Greg his dad went to school with. After last night’s blowup and today’s not quite confession about hitting or not hitting his mother, his father’s hand fit the glove too well.
    It all hurt his head. And what was he supposed to do now, with this guy threatening him? How was he supposed to find the answers that someone obviously didn’t want him to find? Everything about this stunk.
    He needed to talk to Sweet Kate again, had to get her to tell him everything.

Chapter Fourteen
    Greg Sawyer slowed his truck into the driveway. He was buzzing from his drinks at Del’s, but he wasn’t drunk. Still, after last night, eggshells were now a privileged path, humility his new best friend.
    His mother was sleeping beneath an afghan in front of the television. He should wake her and get her to her room, but the smell of his breath would have her drawing conclusions on how much he’d drunk—best to let her be.
    He checked the thermostat, notching it up from Mother’s permanent sixty-four degrees to a more suitable seventy. He’d throw in a little extra for fuel if she yacked at him over it in the morning. And, most likely, she would. He shut off the TV and made his way up the stairs.
    The light beneath Li’l Ron’s door beckoned to him. He placed an ear to the wood and heard the melodic sounds of Iron Maiden.
    Tap, tap, tap.
    He cracked open the door, sneaking his head in.
    “Hey, you got a minute,” he asked.
    His son was scratching away in a notebook, but slammed it shut, startled by the sound of his voice.
    “Yeah, sure,” Li’l Ron said. Greg noted the folded arms atop the notebook.
    “What are you workin’ on, homework?”
    “Yeah,” the boy said.
    “So…about this afternoon…”
    “Do we need to talk