Koontz was driving, his hands gripping the steering wheel abnormally tight. In the tiny space of the automobile, yesterday’s argument loomed as a large gulf between them. Mike didn’t know how to bridge that gap, or if he was supposed to even try.They turned into the parking lot of the junior high. Though it was eleven in the morning, over a dozen kids loitered outside the building, several of them smoking. They regarded the police sedan with flat stares as Koontz pulled into a front parking space. Mike watched a fresh sheen of sweat dot his partner’s upper lip.“Damn kids,” Koontz muttered.They opened their doors and headed out.Nobody approached them. The students didn’t appear any older than fifteen, and they seemed content to hold their ground. But Mike was feeling his partner’s nerves now as well. There was something about the way the kids watched them, frank and shameless, as if they knew something Mike and Koontz didn’t. As if they’d already sized up the two older, larger detectives and found them wanting.By the time they reached the front school doors—once glass, but now boarded up to hide the bullet holes—Koontz was shaking out his silk suit jacket over and over again.
