Leo said.“Yeah, I kinda agree with you,” I said, but climbed out of the truck anyway. I headed across the parking lot without waiting to see if he followed me. Objectively, I could recognize that taking Leo last minute Christmas shopping at Wal-Mart was a pretty terrible idea and yet still get a perverse pleasure at seeing him recoil at the enthusiastic greeting from the Salvation Army bell-ringer.He moaned, low and agonized, as we stepped through the automatic doors and onto the slick, mud-slushed floor. Shoppers streamed past us, bundled up in thick coats and hats, burdened with carts and kids and lumpy bags. Christmas tunes piped over the loudspeakers, cheerful and upbeat. Leo turned desperate, pleading eyes on me. Under the harsh fluorescents, his pale skin looked particularly waxen.“Don’t make me do this,” he said.I just grinned. “You owe me,” I told him. “Last night-”“Fine,” he snapped, his eyes flashing gold. “Grab a fucking cart.”Last night I’d ended up sitting cross-legged in the supply room of Heckerson’s take-out fried chicken restaurant, my bloody hands pressed to the torn out neck of the middle-aged counter lady.
