Red Rider's Hood by Neal Shusterman Page A

a wolf.

7

The Back Room That Didn’t Exist
    M y Mustang was parked near the Cave again. Cedric, in his arrogance, was making no attempt at hiding it, as if he were taunting me. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to the old pool hall and stepped inside.
    The place was true to its name: dark, dingy, and smelling of stale cigar smoke and spilled beer. The pool hall was empty except for the overweight manager, who stood behind a counter, yakking on the phone. Even though I saw no customers, I heard the crack of billiard balls somewhere deep in the recesses of the place. My heart began to race, and I had to take a few deep breaths to get it under control.
    The manager hung up the phone and plodded out from behind the counter. “We don’t open till five,” he said.
    â€œSounds like your back room’s open.”
    â€œI ain’t got a back room.”
    Again I heard the crack of the balls being hit from the backroom that didn’t exist. I grinned at him, and the manager sighed. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.”
    â€œYou’ve already got trouble back there,” I told him. “A little more won’t make a difference.”
    Still, he didn’t let me pass. He just stood there, wide as a wall, leaving no way for me to squeeze past him. I wasn’t about to give up. The only way he was going to get rid of me would be to pick me up and throw me out bodily, and if he tried, I wouldn’t make it easy.
    Then, from the shadowy threshold of the back room, came a voice.
    â€œCedric says it’s okay.”
    I recognized the voice as Loogie Stefano’s, a kid I knew from school—that is, until he dropped out last semester. His real name was Luigi, but an endless stuffy nose had earned him the name Loogie.
    The manager stepped aside. “Welcome to the Cave,” he said. “The management cannot be held responsible for injuries or death.”
    By the time I reached the back room, my eyes had adjusted to the dim light. There were about a dozen of them there—some faces I recognized, some I didn’t. I realized I had no idea how big Cedric’s gang was. Was this most of them, or just a small handful? Were there dozens and dozens of them around town that nobody knew about? I didn’t see Marissa’s brother, Marvin, there, and that was just as well.
    When they saw me, they all looked at one another. Could it be that they were a little bit scared of me? Or maybe they werescared of what Cedric might do to me. Either way, I felt like I had some kind of power in the situation.
    Cedric was at a pool table, ignoring me. He kept shooting until he missed. Then he finally looked at me. “If you got business here, spit it out. Otherwise, get lost.”
    I held back an urge to go postal on him for stealing my car—but I knew that would just get me a one-way ticket to the hospital, or worse, the morgue. I had to play this like a game of pool, cleverly banking my intentions off the sides.
    â€œI know all about you, Cedric Soames,” I told him. “I know all about the ‘Wolves,’ and what you really are.”
    Cedric returned to his game. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
    â€œWho says I’m going to do anything? There’s a roomful of you, and only one of me.”
    He sank the six ball in a side pocket. “Then why are you here?”
    I didn’t answer. Instead I threw a set of keys onto the table. They hit the cue ball and knocked it to the side. “These are the spare keys to the Mustang,” I said. “I got no use for them, seeing as I don’t have the car anymore.”
    Cedric was not expecting this. He looked at the keys suspiciously, like they might blow up in his face. We both stood there on either side of the pool table, the keys between us.
    â€œGo on, take them,” I said. “It’s not like they’re made of silver.”
    He scowled at me and slowly came around