Tracers Read Free Page A

ambushed. He would have turned most of his pay over to them anyway. But it might have been nice to hold on to a few bucks for, you know, food.
    Jerry responded with a smile, but it wasn’t a nice one. “It’s your fault, me having to play Sherlock, Cam. Where have you been hiding?” Hu just glared and cornered Cam against the building. Jerry stepped closer too, still smiling his oily smile. “You didn’t forget about us, did you?”
    Cam met Jerry’s eyes. He kept his voice even. “I didn’t forget. I didn’t have the money.”
    â€œWhat do you call this?” Jerry waved the paycheck in front of Cam’s nose. “So what else you got?” Jerry put out his hand. Cam resisted the urge to spit his gum right into Jerry’s waiting palm.
    Jerry was taller than Hu, and skinnier. He also seemed to be pretty obsessed with his hair: he wore it long in the front, but gelled into perfect waves. Jerry took another step forward, reaching into Cam’s pockets.
    â€œCome on, man . . .”
    Soon Jerry had his wallet. A few seconds later he’d emptied it of its contents: two fives. Jerry flung the empty wallet back at Cam.
    â€œThat’s it? Where’s all your money going?”
    Cam spoke through clenched teeth. “To you.”
    â€œYou came to
us
for a loan, Cam. You accepted the terms. Remember? Fifteen hundred on the first of the month.
Every
month.”
    â€œYou’re right. My bad. I’m sorry I missed the payment.” He swallowed hard, still staring into Jerry’s eyes. “It won’t happen again.”
    â€œNo, it won’t.” Jerry pulled a pen out of the interior pocket of his jacket. The lining was a shiny red material printed with little gold dragons. Cam’s eye roll was automatic, no stopping it.
    Jerry didn’t catch it, or pretended not to. “Sign this.”
    â€œBut, Jerry . . . I gotta pay rent.”
    Jerry was shaking his head. Looking almost like he gave a damn. Almost.
    â€œThink I’m doing this for fun, kid? This is my job. I got a boss just like you do. Sign it.”
    Hu grunted as if to add his encouragement. Cam took the pen and endorsed the check. Jerry folded it, put it in his pocket, and stepped away from the wall. Cam followed, and Jerry put a hand on his shoulder. “We like you, man. We really do. But this is the second time you’ve been late.”
    Hu made another sound—this one more of a growl.
    Jerry fixed his eyes on Cam. “Second time,” he repeated. “And that makes us nervous.”
    Cam frowned as Jerry gave him one more shoulder pat. “You owe us fifteen
thousand
dollars, Cam. Plus interest. Don’t miss another payment.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    Cam watched them head inside.
    Jerry turned back to Cam and mouthed through the glass: “Don’t miss another payment.”
    Yeah, because watching Jerry cash
his
paycheck was really making it easy to forget.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    The L train wasn’t late, which was his first piece of “luck” all day.
    But then there was the fact that the left side of his earbuds had crapped out—no doubt more fallout from the madness that morning. Cam pulled the cord out of his phone and threw them across the almost-empty train.
    He rode in silence, staring at the subway map above his head. The L went from Eighth Avenue to Canarsie, and back again. It seemed like a perfect metaphor for his life: riding a train that didn’t actually
go
anywhere—just an endless loop.
    Like the tattoo of an infinity symbol he’d gotten after his mom died. It was inked in stark black on his left shoulder. At the time it had seemed like a comforting idea—that maybe everything in life was some kind of continuous loop, a cycle of birth and death, happiness and suffering. But now the ink just seemed depressingly symbolic.
    When had everything started to go so wrong?