I always liked Hale. He and his friends were poor kids who went to school with us. We took it upon ourselves to teach them the tricks we’d learned at home, which they picked up quickly. Although they started as helpers in our cons, they soon ran their own games.

As much as my old grifting life made me sad, I still longed for the days when we would sit around and eat pizza. Those were good times, proud moments when a band of teenagers owned the world. I wondered if Hale or Scott or Yuki could still be there, if any of them would be around after so many years.

I stared at the pizza place for a while, then I walked up and down the street, taking in the area. Most of the buildings were the same, but I noticed that the gas station at the corner was boarded up. Business wasn’t exactly booming.

The door to the pizza place opened, and a man stepped out who reminded me of Hale. He had the same gait that Hale used to have, but he had a more solid body, muscular and perhaps a bit taller. Could it be Hale Drummond, all grown up? If it was, then he looked pretty good.

As the man approached, I watched carefully, trying not to stare too hard. When he got closer, I could tell it was him—I saw that familiar face, aged seven years, with a hint of mature ruggedness. Good old Hale! I was amazed to see him still hanging out at the pizza place, and I wondered if he’d recognize me. I was older, too, and my hair, which used to be dyed brown and shoulder length, was now shorter, spikier, and bleached white, falling about my head unpredictably. He was going to have something to say about that.

Hale stopped at the sidewalk and paused to talk on his phone. I wanted to run up to him and say hello, but he seemed busy, so I waited. When he hung up and turned to walk my way, I smiled and started to speak.

Then I spotted it. Something was wrong—he wasn’t looking at me.

In a flash, I understood what was going on: Hale hadn’t recognized me. And worse, he was about to rob me—I knew it. The way he’d paused on the street with his back to me, pretending to be on the phone, was an obvious ploy that all of us had used. And the way I’d walked aimlessly up and down the street when I first got here loudly proclaimed that I was lost and confused. An easy mark. I found it strangely amusing that after seven years of clean living, my former friends were now targeting me.




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