Sometime after Mom had died, the two of them went into some covert business together that Conner claimed was nothing more than selling scrap metal they’d scrounged. I didn’t buy that for one second, not since the time I’d watched the two of them beat the shit out of a guy in the back alley of our apartment. Any time I brought it up, though, an argument would ensue, always ending with Conner telling me to mind my own business. I didn’t like it, and I sure as hell didn’t like Angelo. The guy was a creep sundae with a rotten, moldy cherry.
