Rory’s nauseous just thinking about the curves to come. He swallows a handful of pills that make a sick crackling sound as they clear his dry throat. “What do we do now?” Pike takes a curve too fast, easing his hands on the wheel, letting the tires slip on the wet blacktop, then find their own way back to traction. “Nothing.” “We don’t tell nobody? About him dealing drugs and shooting up black kids?” Another curve. Pike grips and slams the wheel around it like the truck’s a part of himself he’s trying to beat into shape. “That’s something you tell somebody about. You sure as hell don’t sit on it and wait for him to kill somebody else.” “Who are you planning to tell?” “Somebody. The newspapers.” “When we get back give a call to the Enquirer. I’m guessing they ain’t gonna move real quick on a story that could restart the riots. On your say-so alone.” “Then I’ll try the black papers. I know there’s got to be at least one black paper.” “There’s plenty of them.
