Chunk made his way toward the Loud house under the cover of darkness, following alleys and side streets and crossing through darkened backyards. Whenever he came to a street, he would pause, look both ways (crouching down if he saw headlights), and then dart across. He saw the black Lincoln only once: It was creeping down Armando Avenue, the searchlight sweeping gutters and empty tenement stoops. He saw a cop car moving slowly on Tipton Street near the railroad tracks, and ducked behind a Dumpster. He didn't know if the cops would be actively looking for him, but he sure as hell didn't want to find out.

For a time, he walked along the railroad tracks, throwing cautious glances over his shoulders. Thick grass overgrew the ties; in places sections were missing entirely, taken by junkies and scrapped for drug money, probably. At Winchester Avenue, the tracks bent and ran through the stockyards. Cranes and decomposing factories and warehouses stood against the night sky. While passing a low building with broken windows and a crumbling roof, he heard something clatter to the ground, and jumped a foot: A cat streaked out from behind a pile of rubble, and he laughed at himself.

At Rosedale Street, he left the tracks and followed a slime slathered alleyway piled with bags of garbage that ran behind a row of businesses: A laundromat, a Chinese restaurant, and a head shop where he occasionally bought cigarettes. The latter was one of those places that had a big glass display case full of pipes and bongs "for tobacco use only." Sure, mate, pip-pip, let me smoke my cigarettes out of a gravity bong. Franklin Avenue was three blocks south. Following Central Place would get him there quickest, but it was the main drag for the southwest side of Royal Woods: The chances of him meeting the goombahs in the Lincoln or a crooked fucking pig were too high. He would have to cut through Miller Park.

He waited in the shadows for a few cars to cross the intersection before running across and into the park. He got as far away from the street as he could, putting a stand of trees between himself and it, and navigated a long concrete walkway past playground equipment and a baseball diamond. Chunk knew the park well: Lynn Loud's baseball team practiced here, and sometimes Luna lent her Chunk's services. Not that Chunk minded. What was the difference between loading and unloading speakers and baseball bats? Actually, baseball bats were lighter, unless you had a fuck ton of them tied together. He stopped, sparked a cigarette, and drew a deep breath, the rush of nicotine calming nerves he didn't even know were frayed.

Not for the first time that night, it occurred to him that they might be watching the Loud house. He figured this was a serious operation and they'd been keeping track of him. If so, they knew he went there a lot. He should forget his phone; he didn't want to bring the Louds any heat, and if one of those prickholes saw him sniffing around, there would be plenty of heat.

What kept him going was the vague feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe he had already brought them heat. The mob didn't usually mess with ordinary people unless they got in the way. That went double for women and kids. Then again, things were getting pretty desperate when he ran with them, and that was twelve years ago. He remembered one time a guy saw some stuff he wasn't supposed to see, and some boys went over to his place and killed him and his old lady. And they didn't just fucking kill her, they killed him and then waited for her to come home. See, they were afraid he told her what he knew and if she came home and found him dead, she'd go to the cops. Back in the old days, no one touched a woman. These guys hacked one up with kitchen knives and got fucking made for it.

The Louds might be in danger.

He sighed to himself. Why'd he have to get involved with them in the first place? Why did he get involved with Luna? It's not like she paid him much. He already knew the answer though: He was lonely. He hadn't seen his family since 2005 and would probably never see them again. His nieces, his nephews, his own siblings, his mother...he didn't even have a fucking picture of them. He was alone in a town he'd never heard of until the feds moved him in back in 2013, and he knew no one, didn't really want to know anyone. Then, one night, while he was bouncing at The Fuze Box on Chandler Ave, Luna and her band played. After her set, she came up to the bar and got a soda. He was talking to the bartender, and when she heard his accent, she thought it was just the coolest thing ever. "Oh, you're British? Rockin'!"

She followed him around like a little puppy dog for the rest of the night, asking him about London, asking him about this British singer and that. She annoyed the piss out of him, but he found himself liking her despite that. She kind of reminded him of his own kid sister. She was big into rock and roll too, only back then grunge was the big thing.

Luna played the next weekend, and that's when she asked him if he wanted to make some extra cash helping her move shit around. Sure, kid, why not? It's either that or go sit alone in my apartment. He was expecting a little more than ten bucks for three hours of work, but when she asked him to come back the next day, he didn't say no. It really wasn't about the money: It was about doing something with his time...and being around a family. Yeah, he wasn't a part of it, but it was nice seeing it.

He should have told her to fuck off, but he didn't. He really should have known better. He knew that some bullshit like this might happen: Doesn't it always when you get close to people?

Lincoln Loud sat between Luna and Luan on the couch, his hands on his knees and his heart racing. The two men stood over them, the one with the gray hair scanning their faces with a little smile. "My name's Detective Morris and I'm gonna ask you a few questions, okay?"

Lincoln glanced at his mother and father: Their faces were white and drawn, his mother's trembling hands clasping his father's arm. They looked afraid. Luan, wedged between him and mom, noticed it too, her brow furrowed. She looked from them to Detective Morris.

No one spoke, and Detective Morris looked around. "Alright. We need to know about Chunk. Big guy. Nose ring. Hangs out here a lot."

"What about Chunk?" Luna asked.

"Well, you see," Detective Morris said in that Brooklyn accent of his, his hands spreading, "Chunk was involved in a shooting tonight."

Luna's heart clutched. "A shooting? Is he okay?"

"Oh, he's fine," Detective Morris said.

"He was the one doing the shooting," the other one, Detective Stone, said.

Luna blinked. Chunk? Shooting? "Who'd he shoot?"

"Buncha people in a 7-11," Detective Morris said. "Killed, like, five guys. It was gruesome."

"Yeah, he just started shooting," Detective Stone said, "dunno why. Guess he lost it."

"Chunk wouldn't do something like that," Luna said, shaking her head. "He's a cool guy."

"Luna..." mom said cautiously, but Detective Morris held up a hand. He knelt in front of Luna, his eyes an icy shade of blue.

"Your friend murdered five people tonight, and he's out there, right now, lookin' for more people to kill. We need to know if he has any..." he made a circular gesture with his right hand "...haunts, you know, places that he likes to hang out or go that we don't know about."

Luna's eyes narrowed. "He didn't do it. I know him."

A shadow crossed Detective Morris's face. "I'm telling you he did. I got video tape proving it."

"No you don't."

"Luna!" dad said.

"Shut the fuck up!" Detective Morris roared, turning to her parents. He turned back to Luna and snatched a handful of her shirt. His breath was hot and rank against her face, and her heart started crashing.

"Hey!" Lori yelled.

"Get off of her!" Luan cried.

His lips a tight, angry slash, Detective Morris dragged her to her feet and flung her to the floor. She smashed into the carpet face first. Everyone was yelling and protesting.

"Shut the fuck up, alla ya!" Detective Morris's accent was getting thicker the angrier he got. He pulled the gun out and aimed it square at Lori's head. On the floor, Luna pushed herself up, her eyes widening when she saw the gun. "Keep quiet or I swear to God I'll blast ya in ya fuckin' faces! Jimmy, grab that bitch offa the floor before I kick her stupid face in!"

Jimmy came over, and Luna cringed. He grabbed her by the back of her shirt and yanked her up, dragging her over to the couch and shoving her into her spot. She was immediately beset by the worried hands of her brother and sisters.

"I'm gonna ask one more time. Does this rat bastard have any places he hides?" The gun was still pointed at Lori, who stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. She was frozen, her chest tight. No one spoke, and he jammed the gun against her forehead. She screamed.

"Take it easy, Tony," Jimmy said, putting a hand on Tony's shoulder, "will ya?" He knelt down.

"Look, we need to find this guy. If you got anything we can use, no matter how little you might think it is, tell us, and we'll leave you alone. If you don't..." he shrugged.

In her mind's eye, Luna saw Chunk's phone sitting on her dresser.

"Please," Mr. Loud said, "we don't know anything about the guy. He comes over and helps Luna move her equipment. That's it."

Tony pressed the gun against Leni's head now. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth like a girl getting ready to be stuck with a needle. He cocked it, and Luna's heart rocketed into her throat.

"I have his phone," she blurted. "It's upstairs on my dresser. He left it. Maybe-Maybe there's something in there you can use. Just...please don't hurt my family."

Tony looked at her. "Yeah? His phone?"

She nodded. "My dresser."

Tony glanced at Jimmy. "Take her to get it. If she tries anything, snap her neck."

Jimmy nodded. "Come on, kid."

Luna stood on shaky knees and went upstairs, feeling like a traitor. Sorry, dude, she thought. She got the phone and handed it to Jimmy, who slipped it into his pocket. Back downstairs, Tony was talking into his own phone. "Just...come over here. We might have something."

He hung up and took Chunk's phone from Jimmy. He turned it over in his hands and smiled. "He'll be back for this. I can fucking feel it..."

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came at the front door, and Jimmy answered it. Two men dressed in suits entered. One of them was grinning and looking around like he was at Disneyland; the other looked ashen and sick, his gaze downcast.

"Hey, Tommy," Tony said to the grinning one, "you meet the Loud family yet?"

"I met 'em last week when you had me and Frankie stakin' 'em out." He scanned the family. Luna didn't like the look in his eyes. "We gonna have some fun with 'em?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Fun?"

"Yeah," Tommy said, lifting and lowering his shoulders. "You know...fun."

"No, I don't fuckin' know," Tony said, his tone suddenly dark, "and I don't think I wanna know."

Tommy shrugged. "I mean, it's no big deal..."

"Yeah, well it is a big deal when my own fuckin' nephew thinks he's gonna come in here and be a common fuckin' pervert." Tony shook his head. "Go outside," he said, waving his arm. "Walk around the house and make sure he's not crouching in a fuckin' bush."

"Alright. If I see him, though, I'm whacking him and taking the credit."

"You do that."

Tommy went outside and Tony put his hands on his hips. "That fuckin' kid really gets me sometimes."