CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
There was only one person who could have summoned us this way: His Majesty himself, the Crowned King of the Corners, the man quillier than a porcupine, slicker than dish soap, and more cunning than a neighborhood rat—King Porky himself.
The SUVs took the gravel alleyways, avoiding main streets as much as possible, slipping over them like shadows. The lead car had its music bumping, and I could hear the lyrics even though the windows were rolled up. The music rattled the sides of both cars.
The gangster in the passenger seat rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted into the backseat, and I resisted the urge to cough. Bo waved the cloud away.
As we passed behind houses, I wondered if the residents knew the king’s entourage was passing by. Sometim
