It had been nearly a week since I came up with my plan, but every single night got messed up. Twice, I fell asleep before Dad did. Once, I set the alarm, but that set Jack off and Dad woke up.
Mark was becoming a regular visitor. I wandered into the living room after supper one night when Dad had to take a phone call, leaving me alone with Mark.
“Hey, little man. What’ve you been up to?” Mark stretched his legs out.
“You’re kind of here a lot.” Oh, man. I couldn’t believe I said that. I watched his face for insult, but he nodded.
“My dad told me the same thing.”
I sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Why are you here so much?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Remember when you first moved here and you felt like everyone hated you?”
“Yeah …”
“And even though you’d seen some stuff, you couldn’t get anyone to understand you?”
“Yeah …”
“Well”—he glanced off to the side—“that’s how I feel.”
“But you’re from here!” I erupted.
He shook his head. “Not anymore. I just … Everyone expects me to be the same as I was before. I’m not.” He drew his eyebrows together. “I mean, I’m still me, but I’ve got this whole other thing now, you know? And nobody wants me to have it.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Except your dad. He knows.”
And then I realized there are some bonds that are sacred. Like the bonds between soldiers. Between families. Between Jack and me.
Bonds that cannot be broken.
Only I could protect Jack. It came down to me. He was more loyal than any friend I’d ever had, and he trusted me. Prater, that policeman, even Dad—they were against Jack. But he was innocent and I knew it. I would capture that coyote on film and deliver the true enemy.
Waiting out Dad that night was hard. I tried to read, but my head kept dropping with sleep. Jack slept at my feet; he had no hint of the mission that lay before me.
At midnight, I slunk out of bed, careful not to disturb Jack. I crept into the hallway and padded my way through the dark, quiet house to the kitchen. When I threw open the refrigerator door, there was the chicken, wrapped up in aluminum foil. I took it out and went through the back door, closing it gently.
The midnight air was cool, and a chill shuddered right through me. I crept around the house to the trash cans. Earlier, I’d positioned them for the perfect camera angle. Now it was time to load the bait. I unwrapped the chicken, and the delicious smell of garlic and spices rose up. My stomach gnawed at me—I’d pretended I wasn’t hungry at supper because I wanted to leave as much chicken as possible for the trap.
I broke off a drumstick and smeared the inside of both trash cans and lids with it, making sure they got good and greasy. Then I broke the meat apart and put some in both cans and left the lids teetering on the rims. Yeah, when those fell down there would be plenty of noise. I looked up to my window. Perfect.
I slipped back inside, washed up, and slid into bed with no one the wiser.