"David, c'mon!"
He didn't even to think to turn around before he jumped the fence, even though he knew they were coming. Real cops with real guns. No more of this stupid kiddy shit, no sneaking away from a lardass mall cop with a couple of video games under their sweaters.
They'd robbed a house. They were running from real cops. He had a diamond necklace and a couple hundreds shoved in his pockets.
Because of him, they got away with it.
He was part of the gang now, and it was one of the best times of his life. Was. Until Dad found out his son was a gangster, made up some bullshit story about being transferred (to save his own ass, of course) and got his Dear Davy out of that "dangerous environment".
Now he was stuck here in Loserville, California, walking through a fucking construction site.
In the corner of his eye, a flash of blue. Between some pipe and what, upon closer inspection, looked like charred flesh.
"Cool," he grinned.
It was a box. Light, tiny, kinda warm, really blue. A perfect fit in his pocket.
"Finders keepers, losers weepers."