Chapter 4
By the time the cruiser arrived, Billy Ray and his zombie brigade were gone. The cop who responded looked to be about sixteen. He and Billy Ray could have attended high school together. Maybe sat in the same homeroom. Compared notes on the same girls.
The kid—the cop, that is—walked up to us, a quizzical look in his baby blues.
“Did one of you call about a disturbance?”
I raised a hand. “I did. The disturbers have hit the frickin’ bricks.”
Jamila counted her barrettes and combs, shaking her head. “One’s missing.” She squatted to peer beneath the cars again.
The cop’s brow furrowed. He scratched it with his pen. “I can file a report, if you’d like.” His tone suggested, “Why bother?”
“I think we should,” I told Jamila.
“Why?” She squat-stepped sideways, ducking her head and
