Even though the tasks are menial, I’m fully immersed. Cranking the radio so loud that I’m sure it’s echoing down the street, I’m elbow-deep in grease, losing myself in the intricate engine of a 2018 Camry. It’s a relief, focusing on this and nothing else.

I can’t think about my dad, or Vic, or Nero. I’m just working hard and fast, getting it all done as quickly as possible.

I get so lost in the work that I’m actually starting to feel good. That old Joan Jett song comes on the radio, and I start singing along, forgetting that the auto bay doors are open, and anybody could hear me:

“Bad Reputation” - Joan Jett (Spotify)

“Bad Reputation” - Joan Jett (Apple Music)

“Is this your theme song?” a male voice growls in my ear.

I shriek, straightening up so fast that I slam my head on the open hood of the Camry.

Bright stars burst in front of my eyes like flashbulbs. I put my filthy hand up to my temple and feel warm blood trickling down.

I spin around, coming face to face with Officer Schultz, who’s standing way too close to me.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp.

“You weren’t answering my text messages. Or my phone calls.”

“I’m working,” I snarl. “I don’t exactly have my phone attached to my hip.”

He hasn’t backed up, so there’s only a couple inches of space between us. He has me pinned between him and the Camry. My head is throbbing, and my heart is still pounding from the shock of the surprise.

“Can you move?” I say. “My head is bleeding.”

“Let me look at it,” Schultz says.

“I don’t need your help.”

He pushes me down on the nearest bench, not listening. He grabs a handful of paper towels and presses them against my temple. He’s sitting right next to me, his tanned face only inches away from mine. I can smell the spearmint gum on his breath.

“Sorry I surprised you,” he says.

He’s smiling. He doesn’t look sorry at all.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I mutter. “If anybody sees you—”

“I’m not wearing my uniform.”

“So what? You don’t live here. People will notice you. And not to burst your bubble, but you reek of cop.”

“Come on,” he says. “In these clothes?”

Today he’s wearing some kind of Tommy Bahama shirt and cargo shorts. It’s slightly less obvious than his sports gear, but it still doesn’t strike quite the right note if he’s trying to look like a tourist. It’s that military haircut, the stiff set of his shoulders, and the watchful way he looks around the room. Tourists are a lot more clueless.

“So what do you have for me?” he says.

I rattle off what little information I gathered at Levi’s last party—mostly the names of people I saw buying drugs.

Schultz doesn’t seem very interested in any of that.

“What about his supplier?” he says.

“How am I supposed to figure that out? Levi doesn’t even like me, let alone trust me.”

There is one piece of information that might interest him.

“Sione beat the shit out of Nero Gallo,” I say. “You could arrest him for that.”

“Arrest him?” Schultz scoffs. “Give him a medal, more like.”

I sigh in irritation. “You don’t give a shit about any of the crimes I’ve actually witnessed. So I don’t know what to tell you,” I say.

“You could tell me what you were doing at Alliance Bank,” Schultz says coolly.

My throat tightens.

How does he know about that?

This motherfucker is following me.

I want to tell him off, but I try to play dumb instead.

“I was opening an account,” I say.

“Nice try,” Schultz sneers. “You don’t have the bank balance to interest Raymond Page.”

“You’d be surprised. Once I dug through the couch cushions, I had almost thirty-eight dollars.”

Schultz is not amused. He presses the wad of paper towels hard against the cut on my head, making me wince.

“Is everything a joke to you, Camille?” he growls.

“I don’t find stalking very funny,” I say, glaring right back at him.

“I wasn’t following you,” Schultz says. “I was tailing your buddy Nero.”

“I didn’t even see him there,” I lie.

“Did you see his new girlfriend?” Schultz asks, his voice a soft hiss.

Now my throat is clenched up so tight I can barely breathe. I feel that same rush of bitter jealousy, remembering how beautiful Nero and Bella looked, standing side by side. She is the type of girl he should date, if he actually wanted to date someone. Rich. Gorgeous. Well-connected.

I’m a fucking nobody. An embarrassment. Can you imagine Nero introducing me to his family? He’d never do it. My dad vacuumed out Enzo Gallo’s car for god’s sake. You might as well date your maid’s daughter.

“Are you talking about Bella?” I rasp.

“Of course. Who else?”

“I didn’t know they were dating. Good for them.”

My lie is incredibly pathetic. Schultz shakes his head in wonder at how stupid I sound.

“I hear they’ve had some kind of on-off thing since high school,” Schultz says, staring right into my eyes. “I bet she’s a hellcat in the sack. Girls with daddy issues always are . . .”

“I told you,” I whisper. “I’m not friends with any of these people . . .”

“Right.” Schultz nods slowly. “You’re just a loner. A loser. Is that right, Camille?”

God, I fucking hate him. He’s still pressing that wad of paper towel against my skull, digging his thumb into the cut. Deliberately trying to hurt me.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m guessing you’re in the same boat. Seeing as we went to the same school, and I never even heard your name before.”

I see a muscle jump in his jaw. Oh, he didn’t like that. Schultz can dish it out, but he can’t take it.

“You look like the sporty type,” I say. “Let me guess—you made the freshman team, but not varsity . . . never got that letterman’s jacket . . .”

“No,” Schultz says quietly. “I never did. But I’ve gotten plenty of awards since then. Locking up the scum of Chicago. The fucking rats that feed on the filth of this city.”

I push his hand away, standing up from the bench.

“You know,” I tell him. “Not everybody chooses to be a rat. Some of us just happened to be born in the gutter.”

Schultz stands up too. He can’t bear me being taller than him. He has to look down on me.

“Spare me your sob story, Camille,” he says. “You make choices every day. The same as everybody else.”

“Do you actually see a hero when you look in the mirror?” I ask him.

“I like what I see just fine,” he replies. “I know you’re close to Nero. It’s no coincidence you two are always in the same place at the same time. You stick to him, and you report back to me. No more fucking around, Camille. This is your last warning.”