Prologue
A HOT SUMMER’S EVE
ONE
FROM INSIDE A rambling white Colonial home on a shaded street that smelled of blooming wildflowers, a woman called in a pleasant Southern accent: “TW-Two? Where are you? Mama needs you to go to the store now.”
There was a pause before she called again. “TW-Two? Deuce?”
Timmy Walker Jr., TW-Two, also known as Deuce, was twelve and standing just inside the woods that adjoined his backyard.
Go to the store? Deuce thought. He had better things to do than ride his bike all the way there and back for his mom. As a matter of fact, he had much better things to do.
The back porch door opened with a creak.
“Deuce,” his mother called. “C’mon, now. I’ll take you out for an ice cream sundae later?”
That was tempting, but Deuce stuck to his plan and eased off on a familiar path that led downhill to an old logging road and a creek that meandered through the woods. It was late in the day. The light was slanted, coppery, and the air was still sticky and hot.
Holding a beat-up old pair of binoculars his granddad had given him, Deuce thought: Hot and sticky. That’s good. Seems there’s way more activity when it’s all hot and sticky this time of day, getting on into night.
Deuce looked down at his camouflage T-shirt and shorts and thought, I’m dressed perfect. Should be able to get real close, and I’ve got the right gear.
Mosquitoes whined. He slapped at one that bit his ear, hearing the building thrum of cicadas in the trees and smelling smoke from a distant fire. He dug in his pocket and got out a cigarette he’d taken from his mom’s secret pack.
He lit it, took a drag, and blew smoke at the mosquitoes. That helped.
Still smoking, Deuce crossed the creek and kept on the logging trail, which paralleled the waterway for almost a mile before splitting off. He went left, then started uphill, pausing every few moments to listen. Nothing.
Even so, the boy remained certain he’d see something good tonight. It was late Friday afternoon. Prime time. Late summer. Primer time. And you didn’t always have to hear them first. He’d learned that, hadn’t he?
When Deuce neared the top of the rise, he put on a camouflage head net that almost matched the T-shirt and shorts. He eased slowly up onto the crest of the hill, peering through the tangle of vines and leaves in the last golden rays of day. Nothing.
He took a step. Nothing. Another step.
There!
Deuce smiled, hunched over, and snuck forward and downhill toward a clearing at the end of a rutted dirt road. There were beer cans and wrappers strewn about, a brush pile, and, on the far side of the clearing, a lone blue Toyota Camry.
The engine was off. The windows were down. No music was on. Deuce was sure he knew why the car was there. He lifted the binoculars and peered across the clearing into the Camry’s backseat, where a couple was writhing.
Deuce saw the naked back of one of them. The girl!
Perfect.
And blond! More perfect.
She sat up suddenly; she was seventeen, eighteen—beautiful! Then another topless blonde, younger, very pretty, rose up beside the first one. They began to kiss and caress.
TWO
THE TWELVE-YEAR-OLD THOUGHT he was going to have a heart attack, the scene made him so breathless. Shakily, Deuce lowered the binoculars, dug in his pocket, and came up with an iPhone 4 he’d bought used online. He found the camera icon and pressed it.
This is going to be epic, Deuce thought. No one will ever forget this one.