Page 18 of Stone’s Cage

"Twenty."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You look about fourteen."

"I'm dressing younger to get in."

He looks like he doesn’t believe me. I was dressing down though. Shreves wouldn’t take me if was older than fifteen—they want young girls they can manipulate.

"Nobody from around here is going to use 'peripatetic' and have the manners you have. So, what gives?"

I feel like shit. I'm tired of lying. Tired of lying to my parents. Tired of lying to my friends. The shower I had seems a long time ago and I feel dirty again with my own dirty stories.

Playing around with my salad, I take a deep breath as if to force the words out. I'm afraid if I stop talking, I won't finish. "My brother was killed in crossfire, two years ago. September third."

Stone shifts his weight and his mouth opens slightly. "What?"

"My brother, Sam, was caught in crossfire."

"Sam Watson was your brother?"

Now it’s my turn to be startled. How long has he been out of the gang? That's the only way he'd know his name. I sucked I my breath and tried to stay calm.

"He was caught in crossfire between the Hooks and the Wyrms. He was going to NYU, crossing the street. He was dropping off a movie at my friend's house because I was too lazy. Guns went off, and he caught a bullet in his head and he died right there on the street. Just saying it makes me sick to my stomach. It's been twenty-four months. Every day I think about it. Every day." I shake my head, determined not to cry again. "And the missing him, the grief, the guilt, never lets up. Not once. It was my friend's house he was walking to and my movie I was loaning her. I was just too busy to go, and he offered." I slow down now. I've never said any of this out loud before. "Otherwise, it would've been me in the street that night."

"So. You're trying to find out who shot him."

Setting down my fork, I just go on, "He was my only sibling. And I miss him every single day. Every. Single. Day."

Stone's voice is soft. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"I have it on good authority that the bullet came from the Hooks."

"You do?"

"There's a detective who felt sorry for me. She says the gossip on the street was that the Hooks shot him and then tried to pin it on the Wyrms." Fear wells up inside, but as usual, the needing-to-find-justice part of me takes over.

"I don't know who did it," Stone says, standing, plate in hand and walks to the sink. "If I did, I'd tell you." He turns around, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. "So, again, what's your plan?"

This surprises me. I thought he was going to talk me out of something, tell me I'm being stupid. That I shouldn't be in such a dangerous place. But he just pulls out a cutting board and starts chopping up carrots and an onion he selects from the narrow little fridge.

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do. All I know is, becoming a member is the best way to find out who did it."

"And then what's next?"

He's acting as if I have some plans worthy of discussion. I shrug.

"Well, you'd—" he tosses the carrots in with onions. There's a loud hissing and spattering in the pan, "better come up with a plan, of what happens next," he says, and this time he doesn't seem so conversational.

Sensing some kind of dismissal, I set my jaw. "I'm gonna find out who killed my brother."

Stirring the carrots and onions for a moment, he follows up with, "And then what? You gonna kill him? Them?"

I knew I must have looked horrified. "No. I'm not going to kill anyone. I don't kill people. I'm against the death penalty for Chrissakes. I just want them brought to justice. I want to somehow get evidence and—"

"Like someone's just going to hand over information? Like you're some Nancy Drew?" Setting the spoon down hard on the counter, his face is set and his jaw clenches. "It doesn't work that way."