Play the Game by Charlene Allen

Author:Charlene Allen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

The Devil’s Daughter

I must’ve known it was coming. I’d heard Singer’s probably-girlfriend say “sweetums.” But still. Singer’s kid? Right in front of me?

“We, uh, went to school together,” Robbie says. “Way back, like middle school.”

“Yeah, well, great to meet you,” the girl says, dripping sarcasm. She’s so white she looks almost see-through. “Can we get out of here, Rob? I don’t care where we go, just get me the fuck outta here.”

Robbie tries to pull us to the side, but the girl’s right behind him. “Look,” Robbie says. “I know this is weird. . . .”

Singer’s kid, I think. The kid of the guy who killed Ed. She’s young. Cute. Couldn’t look less like Singer. But my body doesn’t know that. Something sharp and acidy boils in my gut. And at the same time, I’m thinking—she must know stuff. Has to. If somebody close to Singer killed him, his kid’s a hell of an intel source.

“Like she said,” I say. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

“All of us?” Robbie looks like I’ve lost my mind.

“All of us, Rob,” Chela says. “You got that great car of yours. Let’s go get some chow.”

“Whatever,” the girl says, like she’s been in the conversation all along. “Let’s just go. I vote for pizza.”

She takes the front seat, a slice of pink neck showing under her pink hair. I stare at it. The car feels the size of a coffin. Robbie gets in, twists around in his seat, asks if I’m sure. I nod. And he drives off.

“What a shit show,” the girl says to Robbie, ignoring Chela and me. “I don’t know how long you were in there, but those assholes actually—”

“Junie!” Robbie cuts her off. “Look, I needa concentrate on driving, okay. We’re gonna—I guess we’re gonna go for pizza, all right?”

“Whatever,” the girl says. But a minute later she’s pointing out the windshield. “Pizza Beach, right? How come you’re going this way?”

“Just gimme a minute!” Robbie snaps. He takes a few more turns, and I know he’s buying time till he can think what to do. I wonder if the girl can feel me staring at her. If Robbie’s right and I lost my mind. All I know is, I’m feeling big hot anger, and there’s zero reason to try and shut it down.

Robbie slows the car. “All right, there it is,” he says, pulling into a parking space. A “Pizza Beach” sign’s at the end of the block. There’s something final in the sound of our shutting the doors, thwup, thwup, thwup. Then we’re walking up the sidewalk. My eyes stuck to the girl, hers on Robbie, who’s marching straight ahead, not looking at any of us. Inside, it’s tiny, two rows of booths with a skinny aisle between. Not too crowded, and not all white people, I notice. The smell of baking crust hangs in the air as the girl slides into an empty booth, her pink hair clashing with the red plastic seat cushions. I sit across from her, feel the hardness of my face.

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