Curt Gilbert and Michael Delgado traded a look. Jaws tight, both of them picked up the tweezers, plucked a hair, and scanned the code to pay.
Theodore Farley turned for the door, his shoes landing on the concrete with a dull, heavy sound.
At the threshold he stopped and looked back at me.
"You've got more nerve than Kay."
He gave a cold laugh. "Three days. We'll see who's still standing."
The next morning the roar of three delivery trucks choked the alley shut.
Cases of imported formula. Two solid-wood cribs. Diapers from three different brands, no two the same.
The forty-square-meter dump had nowhere left to set a foot.
My father and stepmother slipped in before the sun was even up.
She pressed herself against a crib, stroking the wood over and over, all but drooling.
"Oh my, this crib's gotta be worth a small fortune."
My father didn't say a word. He just hoisted two cases of formula onto his shoulder and headed out.
"Maureen, haul the rest down to the corner shop."
He didn't even look back. "Old Lee buys at half price. That's a good chunk of cash."
I crossed to the door in one step and blocked him.
"Put it down."
He glared, spit flying.
"I'm your father! So what if I take a little of your stuff?"
My stepmother said nothing. She'd already sidled up to the bassinet, eyes working.
"Scott, those two brats are the real money tree."
"Carry them straight to the Farleys. Squeeze a few million out of them for a bride price."
My father dropped the formula and lunged for the bassinet.
I stepped back, pulled the black call button Theodore Farley had left the night before from my pocket, and pressed the red switch.
"Farley property under attack. Second floor, 4 South Alley."
My father threw his head back and laughed.
"You think a busted walkie-talkie's gonna scare anybody?"
Two minutes later the security grille outside the window gave one enormous crack.
Glass burst inward, and three bodyguards in black came through the frame.
My father's laugh was still caught in his throat when the lead man's fist connected.
Two bloody teeth flew out and hit the bare plaster.
My stepmother spun to run and took a boot to the small of the back, going down face-first.
The head bodyguard turned to me and lowered his head.
"Ms. Pruitt. How do you want this handled?"
I pointed at the open door.
"Throw them out of the complex like trash."
"Don't dirty the place where the kids sleep."
The bodyguards dragged the two of them out by their collars.
My father clutched his bleeding mouth and cursed, the words coming out mangled.
"Maureen, you ungrateful girl! I'll call the cops and have you locked up!"
I walked over and bent down to look at him.
"Go ahead. Call."
"Tell them you stole food out of Theodore Farley's son's mouth, and see if anyone dares touch it."
He started shaking head to foot, didn't dare make a sound, and went scrambling out on hands and knees, dragging my stepmother with him.
The head bodyguard handed me a ring of keys and a key card.
"Mr. Farley's orders. The conditions here are too poor."
"A high-security riverside apartment is ready. Please move there immediately."
I took the keys and swept a glance over the supplies packed into the room.
"We move."
That night I settled in at the riverside apartment with the babies.
Once they were down, I started clearing out the heap of junk luggage Kay had shipped back earlier.
When I tore into a box of old diapers, my fingers brushed something hard tucked in the lining.
I peeled back the cardboard. Inside was an old phone with a shattered screen.
I plugged it in, keyed in Kay's birthday, and it unlocked.
In the notes app, a file titled Sugar Daddy Rotation Schedule popped up.
I opened it and looked at the dense rows of rotation entries, my finger resting on the screen, not moving.
The screen lit up.
A text from Vancouver.
"Take your beating and shut up. Be a good little dog and don't ruin my good time in Vancouver."
