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street at Artie’s Pizza, there was nothing suspicious about me dropping in for a slice of Meatlover’s.
    It didn’t take a genius to see there was strange stuff going on. Random people came and went from the back of the store at weird times of day and night. I spotted executives there only once, while I was eating pizza on a stool in front of the window. Marcus and two of Diamond Tony’s security guys went in through a back door and drove off in an Escalade several minutes later.
    None of it was hard intel, but it was enough to pass on toPrescott. He sounded excited by the tip, and told me it could be the missing puzzle piece he’d been looking for. I felt good about that.
    So good I even offered to help Mom with Sunday dinner. She rarely cooked unless there was someone to impress—today Tasha’s new boyfriend, George, was coming over. The menu was chicken thighs, Stove Top stuffing, yams, garlic mash, and all that good stuff. Mom made me peel a three-pound bag of apples for apple crisp. I didn’t mind, especially because it was my favorite dessert, and Kiki’s, too.
    Mom cooked in her Sunday sweats, but her hair and makeup were done already in case our guest came early. Nothing upset Mom more than to be caught without her “face” on. What amazed me was that she could prepare vegetables without ruining her crazy-long pink nails.
    â€œSo how’s school going?” Mom asked, rolling up her sleeves and mashing some potatoes.
    The question startled me. She wasn’t the type to ask questions. She let me do my thing.
    â€œFine. Aced my last test.”
    â€œThat’s my baby boy.” She beamed with pride.
    If I were lying, she wouldn’t know it. She certainly hadn’t in the past. Mom never asked to see my report cards or talked to my teachers. She was one of ten children, all raised by my nana. Fromwhat I’d heard, Nana let her kids do what they wanted—they just had to be home at mealtimes if they wanted to be fed. Mom didn’t even live up to that.
    When I was finished peeling the apples, I plunked down on the couch. Tasha was watching some Hollywood news show and eyed me suspiciously. She knew what I was going to say.
    â€œWe’re not watching a game, baby boy ,” she said, pointing at me with the remote. “No. Way.”
    â€œBut it’s the Colts against the Packers. C’mon, Tash. The game’s half over by now.”
    â€œI don’t care if it’s got ten seconds left. It’s boring. The same teams play each other over and over. What’s the point?”
    â€œIt’s about strategy. You could have the most skilled players in the world, but if they don’t know how to psych out the other team, how to anticipate their next move, they’re done.”
    She wasn’t listening.
    â€œYour show is mind-numbing crap,” I said. That got her attention. “I think Kiki should settle this.” Kiki was buzzing around the room with his toy cars, swerving them over furniture and crashing them into each other. “Yo, Kiki, what do you think? Should we watch this show, or watch the game?”
    â€œGame!” Kiki’s face lit up. “The game!”
    Tasha scowled. “Gimme a break. He just likes the word ‘game.’ I’mnot changing it.” She turned up the volume. “I want to hear this part.”
    It was something about Angelina Jolie adopting another kid. Who cares?
    â€œEven in juvie I got to watch a game now and then,” I muttered.
    I was tempted to go to my room and watch online, but I didn’t want to hole up in my room today. So I got down on the floor to play with Kiki.
    Tasha’s boyfriend, George, arrived at six sharp. He was an okay guy. They’d met at U of T, where Tasha was studying psychology and he studied math. Mom seemed to think anyone who majored in math had to be brilliant. George would probably end up a teacher, but Mom acted like