Naz and I stop at a gas station and pick up some ice. We dump half of it out, tie up the bag, and voila: an ice pack for my tennis ball-sized hickey. I don’t go back to school. We go to lunch instead, both ordering cheeseburgers and fries from Patriot’s.

“So now what?” I stir my juice with a straw. “Your lead didn’t pan out, huh?”

Naz gazes out the window as he pops in fry after fry and then studies me. “That was only part one. Turns out the Incubus Apostles are a lot bigger than those clowns.” He nods toward the window. “Or even Roffio. They may extend outside Marshal Park.”

“But I thought the gangs identified with the different boroughs. That way they can concentrate on selling drugs instead of turf wars.”

“That’s the way it was, but some of the bigger boroughs with five sections, like Aquinas Grove, sell more drugs and make more money than the smaller boroughs like Marshal Park, so gangs like the Incubus Apostles …”

He pauses, and I can feel him bristle.

He clears his throat. “Gangs like the Incubus Apostles want a piece of a bigger pie.” He returns his attention to me as if he’s waiting for an answer.

“Was that a question?”

“No, but this one is. Have you had enough?” He indicates the bag of ice on the table, now making a small puddle.

“I’m fine,” I say, and I actually do feel much better.

“Uh-huh. Just the same, maybe you oughta sit the next one out.”

I ignore his suggestion and change the subject. “How’s D?”

“How’s Hailey?” He laughs.

We finish our lunch on the easier subjects—Soul, basketball, and Lincoln—and then go our separate ways—Aquinas Grove?