On the walk back to the cemetery, I kick a few empty cans down the street that attempt to bar my way. Coach has just shown me another level of trust by giving me the key to his house, and I’m betraying that trust by being deceitful. I hold the key in my fist as if it might try and escape. But I have to. I’m gonna need this key—I look at it resting in my palm now—to come and go, to give myself the freedom to carry out my mission. Maybe Coach knows that. I look back at the house and then carry on.

Several blocks from the cemetery my watch chirps and buzzes. It tickles my wrist. Naz is on the move. I stop. I need to keep my distance. I don’t need to follow him. The satellites will do that, and the tracker will relay his position to my watch. I slip into the first market and pretend to browse the shelves. I will, however, keep him close, in my sights so to speak.

Naz heads north up Panama Park Street. It’s getting darker and colder. Where’s he going? I leave the market and make my way to Panama Park. Naz slows down, and I match his speed, keeping several blocks between us. Naz stops. I use my finger to swipe my watch and zoom in on his position. The Excelsior?

I look up the Excelsior on my phone. It’s an all-night movie theater that shows martial arts flicks around the clock. He must be looking for a place to crash.

When I arrive, people are standing in line at the ticket booth, and a small crowd stands inside, milling around and getting refreshments. I’m relatively sure I can melt into the crowd and not allow Naz to detect my presence. I don’t want to stay and watch the movie; I just want to make sure the tracker is working and that this is where he’ll be. I buy a ticket, bypass the refreshment stand, and make my way into the theater.

I sit in the corner in the back row. I make a mental note to get my night-vision goggles when I go back home, last year’s Christmas gift from the General. I chide myself for not bringing them in the first place. What was I thinking? I try to think of what else I have, that Dad might have given me that would help me in my efforts and make a mental list.

The Last Samurai plays on the screen as I scan the dark auditorium. I should be able to spot him by his hair, which was wild at the cemetery. There he is, in the front row, only he has his hood on. I make my way down the aisle. I’ve seen this movie a few times, including once with Naz, but decide to pay my friend one last visit.

I sit next to him. Naz doesn’t flinch, but his odor precedes him.

“You stink,” I say

He scoffs.

“I’m serious.”

I watch a few more scenes and stand up, deciding to leave Naz alone with his stench. Since I’m relatively sure Naz will stay out of trouble for a while, at least the three weeks he promised, I head back to Coach’s. I’ll spend the last couple of days before Christmas vacation making everything appear normal with Soul and Coach and then head back to Soldiers’ Plank to spend two weeks with Mom.

THE NEXT WEEK is uneventful, other than my need to lie to Coach and Soul when they ask me about Naz. Actually, I’m not lying. I haven’t heard from him, as he doesn’t return my text messages, but I do know where he is, where he goes every day. I look at my watch again. He sits at the cemetery sometimes, for two, even three hours. I resist going there, not sure if my presence will help or make matters worse.

And he’s added a wrinkle on his hamster treadmill. After leaving the theater, he goes to Albatross Street, which could only mean MeeChi’s. Only time will heal the wounds, something my mom and dad would agree on, and MeeChi’s is a good start. He never goes far from the cemetery, back and forth from there to the theater and then MeeChi’s and back again. He must know the dialogue from The Last Samurai by heart.

Today, after the last day of school leading into Christmas break, I check on Naz one last time before I head back to Soldiers’ Plank to see Mom. I try to hand him some cash, but he won’t take it; he just looks at my hand, and we walk the several blocks to the theater almost in silence. The ‘almost’ equals two lonely words delivered unrequited by Naz:

“Two weeks,” reminding me of my deadline with a countdown.

I have no desire to sit in the theater with him as I had planned today. The awkward silence would do neither of us any good. I do leave him with four more words, hoping for a laugh, a comeback … anything.

“You need a bath,” I say and mean it. He reeks.

But only silence returns. I watch him pay for one ticket, wondering where he gets the money and then catch the Helix one block up and two blocks over.

On the two-hour train ride home, I pull out my notebook and add to my list of things to acquire for my mission:

I remind myself the knife is for cutting and not as a weapon. Either way, it will come in handy.