Sometimes you got lucky. But when you did, it usually wasn’t that great.

Casual questioning of the two women at Rick’s previous apartment had revealed Rick hadn’t lived there to begin with. The women had let him crash there temporarily while he looked for a job. After much discussion and opinionating, they’d agreed that the most likely place to find Rick was at another friend’s place.

Troy shoved his hands in his pockets, tugged his cap down lower, and started to walk, gaze on the sidewalk, ignoring the sporadic foot traffic. Coffee aromas came and went. He passed two coffee shops and dozens of people with paper cups.

He stopped across the street from a painted lady Victorian home. At one time the house had probably been something to admire, but its glory days were long behind it. Faded paint and plywood nailed over two of the windows spoke of its neglect. Weeds filled the small yard behind the chain-link fence. The home had been divided into five rental units. Two on each level and another in the attic space.

The women believed Rick’s friend lived in the attic. As Troy watched, a man and a woman came out, arguing loudly about her footwear. The man stated that she wouldn’t be able to walk a half block let alone the mile that they needed to go. Her vocal disagreement made Troy’s ears burn.

The man’s familiar carriage made Troy continue moving down the sidewalk. He stopped to tie his shoe, subtly observing the bickering couple. Troy couldn’t get a good look at the man, but the woman was dark-haired and petite. She gestured, punctuating her words. They moved through the gate and headed west.

Across the street Troy followed, strolling slowly through the mixed neighborhood of residences and small businesses. At one time it’d been all single-family homes. Now it appeared 70 percent of the old homes had been converted into business or multifamily housing.

The man was definitely Rick. Troy’s mind shifted the puzzle pieces involved in catching the man, searching for a new plan. He preferred to encounter his targets near their vehicles. It was simpler to take control and drive off in their vehicle with the unconscious body. A target on foot was harder. Joe Upton’s isolation had made his turn very simple, but Rick was presenting issues. The man was in constant motion and always with people.

Troy’s research had shown that Rick didn’t have a car. Or a license. The man moved from loser job to loser job. He seemed to survive by bumming rides and housing off his “friends.”

The couple stopped at the window of an old bookstore. Troy tried to get a clearer look at Rick’s profile in the reflection. He’d aged along with the rest of the group, but in Troy’s opinion he’d aged the most. Rick’s lined face wasn’t that of a thirty-five-year-old. It belonged on a much older man.

It isn’t the years; it’s the mileage.

Rick had had many years of hard living. He was the opposite of Joe, who’d spent most of the past decade living off his parents, and another opposite of Carson Scott, who’d moved into the public’s eye and charmed them. Rick could have lived a good life, but he had a screw loose. Their group had been aware of it in the past, but none of them had known how dangerous he was.

Back then he’d seemed like a leader, the type of person people wanted to hang out with, hoping that some of his coolness would rub off. Troy had stood back and laughed while Rick called other teens pussies and fags. If he wasn’t the one saying the words, then he hadn’t endorsed it or hurt anyone, right?

Wrong.

They should have stood up to Rick, but instead they let him fly unchecked. Carson and Aaron joined in sometimes. Joe usually stood by and watched but kept his mouth shut. Troy had seen the desire to do the right thing in his eyes, but Joe had never spoken up. Guilty by association.

They were all guilty.

Two months ago Troy had weighed his options before gathering the old group. He could have gone to the police and turned himself in, giving evidence to implicate the other four, but he’d wanted them to do it themselves. They should have seen it was the right thing to do. He’d tried to find Rick, but the man had been living under the radar for too long. He’d settled for confronting Carson, Aaron, and Joe together, believing he could convince them that they had to do the right thing.

He’d seen the truth; surely they would, too.

They’d met late in the evening in a parking lot outside a 7-Eleven. With a little digging on the Internet, Troy had figured out where they lived and worked. The three men had responded to his request to meet once he’d threatened to go to the police and tell all. They’d been visibly nervous as they waited for everyone to show.

Then he’d dropped the bomb.

Carson had reacted in shock, stating he had a career to think of. He claimed he’d paid back society through his community service as a government employee.

“Isn’t that a paid position?” Troy had asked. A paid job didn’t have an element of sacrifice.

Their group sin called for atonement.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve willingly taken on one of the hardest jobs in the country. Our salary doesn’t begin to compensate for the hours. And I’m trying to better this world.” Carson had looked at Aaron. “What have you done with your life besides change tires and fuck up a marriage?”

“I’ve lived a good life!” Aaron had shot back. “I didn’t steal or do drugs or beat on my wife. I learned my lesson. Just because you think you’re King Shit of Turd Island doesn’t give you the right to look down on me.”