Mrs. Ashdale gasped.
“You mean, someone was trying to kill Ethan?”
“I’m just saying where we found the bullets, ma’am. And given Ethan’s past and recent events…” He turned to me again. “Will you help us, Ethan? Will you look at some pictures and see if you can identify the Nine-Eights who were down on the street today?”
“Of course he will,” Mrs. Ashdale said.
Detective Catton was right about one thing. Most people are scared to rat out gang members. I’m not that different from most people. I was afraid too.
“There were a lot of people on the street,” Mrs. Ashdale told me. “I’m sure the police have spoken to as many of them as they could. And you heard what they said—someone else saw one of the gang members with a gun. I’m sure they’ve asked that person to look at pictures too. They’ve probably asked a lot of people. So if the police arrest someone, it’s not going to be just because of what you saw, Ethan.”
I knew what she said made sense. But it didn’t make me feel any better. The Nine-Eights didn’t know everyone on the street today. But they knew me. And some of them already had a grudge against me. But I went with Officer Firelli and I picked out the ones I recognized.
“You did the right thing,” Officer Firelli said. “It’s a miracle someone wasn’t killed or seriously injured. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed. You know that, right, Ethan?”
“Yeah.” I glanced at him. “Do you really think they were trying to kill me?”
“You tell me,” he said. “Look, I know you’ve been working hard at changing…”
“Is that what they told you at the youth center?” I asked.
He frowned. “What youth center?”
“The one where I go to my program.” Officer Firelli gave me a blank look. Nice try. “I know you were there. I know you were asking about me.”
“Not me,” Officer Firelli said. “The only person I spoke to was your foster mother, and she had nothing but good things to say about you.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you see any of those gang members around or if you get scared and just want to talk, call me. I mean it, Ethan.”
Right. Like I was going to call a cop who didn’t even like me. That would be the day.
Before we left, Mrs. Ashdale quizzed Officer Firelli and Detective Catton about my safety.
“What if some of those gang members come around?” she said. “What if they still want to hurt Ethan?”
“After what happened today, they’ll be lying low for a while,” Detective Catton said. “But we’ll have someone keep an eye on your house tonight. If you see anything, anything at all, call us.”
It was late by the time we left the police station. Mrs. Ashdale wanted to go back to the mall to buy Alan’s birthday present. I asked her if she would mind if I didn’t go with her.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go back there,” she said. “But I’d feel better if you were with me.”
“I want to stop by the youth center,” I said. “Then I’ll go straight home, I promise.” Mr. Ashdale was at home with Alan and Tricia. “I’ll call you on your cell when I get there if you want.”
“That would be much appreciated,” she said.
She headed back to the mall. I headed for the youth center. DeVon was there. He was always there.
“What’s up, Ethan?” he said. “Come to work on your project?”
I shook my head.
“It’s about that cop who was here the other day asking about me,” I said. “Did he tell you his name?”
“He did,” DeVon said. “But I don’t remember. I saw his badge though. Why?”
“Was it Firelli?”
DeVon thought for a moment. “No,” he said, “it wasn’t an Italian name. It was something ordinary, like Mason or Manson, something like that. I’m pretty sure it started with an M. Or maybe an N.”
“But it wasn’t Firelli?”
“Definitely not Firelli.” He peered at me. “Is everything okay, Ethan?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” At least, it was if you didn’t count the fact that someone was trying to kill me.
It should have come as no surprise that I had trouble getting to sleep that night. I kept thinking about what Detective Catton had said. There had been two shooters and two guns, both aimed at me. It was a miracle I hadn’t been killed. It was a miracle no one else had been killed either. I started to shake all over.
I kept thinking about what had happened.
Then I thought: how had the Nine-Eights found me? Was it just a coincidence that they happened to be walking down the other side of the street at exactly the time I was standing there? Was it some weird kind of accident that they looked over and saw me standing there?
Except that wasn’t the way it had happened. When I first noticed them, they had been standing near the square, scanning the crowd on my side of the street. They had been looking for someone. Had they been looking for me? But how could they have known I was going to be at the Eaton Centre? I started to shake even harder. Had they been watching the Ashdales’ house? Had they followed me and Mrs. Ashdale downtown? Had they been planning all along to shoot me? What if they were watching the house now? What if they were waiting for me the next morning when I left the home?
And what about the other man I had seen, the one who looked like he didn’t belong? I had definitely seen a gun in his hand. Who was he? And why had he shot at me?
What was going on?
I stayed inside the whole of the next day. I don’t know how many times I peeked out the windows. Maybe dozens. Maybe hundreds.
The phone rang just before dinner. Mr. Ashdale answered it. He was on the phone for a long time. When he finally hung up, he came into the kitchen, where I was helping Mrs. Ashdale make a salad.
“That was an Officer Firelli,” he said. “He called to let us know that they had made some arrests based on the identifications made by you and some other witnesses.”
Mrs. Ashdale breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” she said.
Mr. Ashdale and I looked at each other. I could tell by the grim look on his face that he was thinking the same thing I was—it wasn’t anywhere near over. The cops had made some arrests. They had picked up some guys on weapons charges. But no one had been killed. No one had even been hurt. It was just a matter of time before the guys who had been arrested were let out on bail—and probably not very much time either. Then what? If they really had been shooting at me, what if they decided to try again? And what if, next time, they didn’t miss?