55
I saw the town cop talking to the arcade owner and another man who I recognized from earlier. He’d been our first stop of the morning. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying. The cop held up what looked like Anthony’s spiral notebook, said something about meeting the parents at the station, and walked away. And there through the backseat window of the cop car was Anthony. The jig was up. I was close enough to see that he looked sad and scared. That’s the best way to describe him. My share of the money didn’t seem that important to me anymore. The cop got in, turned off the lights, and drove Anthony away, and I ran down the alley and all the way home to mow the grass for my mother.