“Do I have to?” Carl imitated, and Ward and Lars laughed. JoJo tried, pathetically, to laugh along as if he were in on the joke.
Ward seized JoJo’s face in both hands and glared into JoJo’s frightened, wet blue eyes (which were trimmed in eyeliner, for God’s sake!) Ward gave him a sly smile, and then he reached into JoJo’s brain.
He dug through a bunch of crap—shopping for records, helping his stupid female friends pick out make-up and hair products. Then he found useful tidbits—JoJo socking away spare coins, scrounged from lunches he’d chosen not to eat and the occasional gift of a dollar from his grandmother. He kept it all hidden in the box of an old watercolor set from childhood, which he stashed under his bed.
“Eighteen dollars and seventy-three cents,” Ward said. “You’ve got it hidden under your bed. You want to buy a ticket for Iggy Pop.” This set Ward’s two friends laughing.
“How did you know?” JoJo asked. Ward’s knowledge of his secrets seemed to scare him even more than the threat of getting his face bloodied, or sucking off Lars. “How can you know that?”
“Go fetch it for us, you little mutt,” Ward said. “All of it.”
“No!” JoJo’s face broke down, and he really did start to cry. “I’ve been saving it forever.”
“What did you say?” Ward grabbed JoJo’s blousy shirt and lifted him to his feet, and JoJo goggled up at him, shocked. “Did you say no?”
“That’s what he said!” Lars told him.
“I can’t, I need it,” JoJo whined.
“I can’t, I need it,” Carl imitated, which made Lars laugh.
Ward didn’t laugh, but instead drew back his fist and popped the little silky runt in the face. JoJo cried out as blood flung from his nose and splattered across a graffiti-covered train car. Ward let him stagger away a few steps, and then he pounced.
He punched JoJo in the stomach, doubling him over, then shoved him down to the gravel again. He kicked at JoJo’s ribs while the kid squirmed on the rocks. Lars and Carl joined in, slamming their heavy black boots into JoJo’s face and arms.
Ward dropped to his knees, straddling the bleeding, mewling little glam brat. He turned JoJo onto his stomach and laid his face across the nearest rotten chunk of old railroad track. JoJo struggled and squirmed, but Ward held him in place.
“I could have Carl bring his boot down, smash out all your teeth,” Ward whispered into JoJo’s ear, where a shiny blob of gold dangled from his pierced lobe. “Ever seen that happen before? They spray out like popcorn, pieces of tongue, blood all over. Is that what you want, kid?”
JoJo whimpered a “no.”
“So, tomorrow, you bring the cash to school. Eighteen dollars, seventy-three cents.” He petted JoJo’s pretty blond head. “And if you whine about it, we’ll break your fingers, one by one.” Ward had heard these threats in cheap gangster movies. “Do you understand me, JoJo?”
JoJo nodded, his eyes regarding Ward with naked fear. Ward winked at him and stood up. Carl and Lars both had fear in their eyes, too, after his calm, matter-of-fact threats to JoJo. Good. Let everyone fear him. Fear meant respect.
Ward turned and walked away without another word.
“See ya, glitter girl!” Lars shouted. He gave JoJo an extra kick in the stomach before following Ward and Carl out of the train yard.
Ward smiled to himself. Tomorrow, he and his buddies would each be six dollars richer. Ward believed in dividing the spoils evenly, because he wasn’t interested in spoils. He was interested in respect, loyalty, and fear. Even in this dirt-poor, rat-infested hell of a city, money was nothing compared to such things.
Chapter One
Esmeralda Medina Rios rode the bus home to their studio apartment on South Boyle Avenue, where they could hear traffic from Interstate 5 all night long. Their building was old, with some exposed wiring and gaping holes in the plaster walls. Esmeralda stepped over an unconscious, tequila-drenched heap of an old man on the stairs and continued up to their second floor apartment.
She was exhausted. Ashleigh’s spirit had possessed her only for a matter of weeks, but in that time, Ashleigh had managed to wreck Esmeralda's life.
First, her mother had kicked her out, or rather not allowed her to move back in, when Esmeralda had returned home to Los Angeles on the back of Tommy’s bike. Ashleigh had been a terror who never showed Esmeralda's mother the least amount of respect, and of course Esmeralda's mother had always hated Tommy, the dirty blond gringo she’d brought home. Her mother had much preferred her previous boyfriend, Pedro, who worked construction while studying law at night. Esmeralda hadn’t spoken to Pedro in over a year.