We grab food from the restaurant we walked past before and take our seats under one of the green umbrellas. Liberty doesn't each much, again. I turn my head when she catches me prying. I don't bring it up either. Maybe girls don't eat as much as I thought. Or maybe she just doesn't have an appetite.

I'm surprised she's still here. I expected her to leave but she hasn't yet. I assume she's changed her mind about breaking into the old prick's house then.

"So what's the plan?" Ben asks, wiping sauce off his hands with a napkin.

"We'll check his house out, see if his stuff is there," I lean my elbows on the table's black framework. "If that doesn't give us an indication, the news agency that talked about seeing Stewart after he was supposed to be dead is not far from here."

Ben checks the time, "I think it's too late for anyone to be at the agency."

"Yeah fine. We can do that part tomorrow."

"What about Stewart's wife? Where does she live?"

"They're still here in Baltimore."

"Do you have an address?" Ben throws his wrappers in the trash directly behind him.

"Not yet."

Liberty lets out a slight sigh, turning her head to watch a car drive by.

"If I had a little help then maybe this would go by faster," I tell Ben but hope Liberty gets the idea. She doesn't notice my jab at her but if she did, she doesn't show it.

  "I wouldn't know where to start," Ben lets out a dry laugh. "This all seems pretty stalker-ish."

"There's no other way," I say, looking at him.

"Sure, it'd be nice to rip the expiry label off my back but we have to be prepared to see this fail too."

"If it fails, we won't be here to see anything now, will we?"

"You know what I mean," Ben says a little more seriously, tilting forward slightly as he readjusts his jacket.  "I just don't want anyone to get their hopes too high. It can end badly."

"I know that," I begin but he cuts me off.

"Just don't be surprised if the house is empty or if the newspaper office tells us to fuck off, is all I'm saying."

"Nothing surprises me, Ben," I reply. "But it's better than doing nothing. I can't sit on my ass and wait for my day to turn the corner."

Ben holds his hands up in mock surrender, "And I'm not asking you to. As long as nobody's deluded about the reality of this situation, I'm fine with distractions."

Before I can get a word out, Liberty finally speaks up. She folds the brown bag that's on the table, looking down at her thumbs as she replies.

"I'm fine with distractions," she says, lowly. "Distractions are the only thing that'll get me through this."

She avoids looking at me, instead glancing up at Ben before returning to her fixation with the road. I can't tell if it's deliberate or not but I brush the thought away just as quickly as it came.

"Any ideas on how we're doing this?" I ask no one in particular.

"So many things could go wrong with this plan," Ben says. "No offence or anything but we don't know about any alarm systems or maybe a guard dog."

"In an empty house? I doubt it," I reply.

"Then an alarm system. It may as well be a nosy neighbor in the window."

"One of us will cover," I shrug. "One opens the door. And the third..."

"And the third stands guard on the street," Ben says, hesitantly.

"Perfect," I say but Ben's still unconvinced and Liberty is still staring at the road.

"Which one of us knows how to pick a lock?" Ben asks, looking between Liberty and I.

Liberty then turns her head, presumably to rejoin the conversation. She surprises me though when she gives Ben a gentle nod as if to say, I do.

"You know how to pick a lock?" I ask her, my eyebrows slightly raised in disbelief. "Why do you know that?"

"Why don't you know how to pick one?" she deflects the question.

"You're avoiding the question," I tell her. I guess she didn't like me pointing that out so she shifts her gaze to Ben, completely ignoring me.

"Don't worry about the lock," she tells Ben. "Just make sure nobody sees me when I do it and we'll be fine. The more sketchy we act, the more attention we'll draw. Act like you own the place and we'll be good to go."

  "Have a lot of experience in this?" I ask, knowing it'll piss her off even more. It's funny. I don't think she realizes how transparent she is.

"Maybe I do," she says with a straight face. She looks tired but even more than that, she looks done. Even while she still has plenty of time left, she's more done than Ben and I combined.

"Okay, well. We have a plan for tonight," I clasp my hands together.

"What time does this go down?" Ben asks.

  I think about it for a moment, watching the chef throw salami on a piece of bread inside the yellow café. It's quiet for a while and I can hear the slow whirring sounds of car engines in the connecting streets.

"Late," I say, still tuned into the cars in the distance.

"It's not even sunset yet so," Ben drawls out. "What time we thinking? Midnight?"

"Midnight works," Liberty speaks. "I don't think we'll see many people out that late."

"We have literally 7 hours to kill," Ben states. "We can go to the hotel and then come back later tonight."

"That would probably be best," I say, glancing at the bags under Liberty's eyes.

We book two hotel rooms not far from where we are. On the eighth floor, Liberty leaves us while Ben and I stay in the elevator for the tenth floor. That's where our twin room awaits us.

When we get in, I throw my stuff on the armchair next to the window. Ben follows and starts unloading next to one of the beds.

  "It's a nice room," he says, inspecting the room phone and then the pillow.

"Yeah," I mutter, pulling the curtains apart.

"Chain hotels are pretty much identical to each other," he continues. "They standardize stuff the way every McDonalds looks the same."

"I've never stayed at a hotel so this is it for me," I say, placing my jacket over the back of the chair.

"Huh. They have a closet if you want to hang your stuff."

"I don't," I reply. "But thanks."

"Do you mind if I crash?" he asks as I pick up a pair of white disposable slippers from beside the wardrobe.

"No, go ahead."

It doesn't take long for Ben to sort through his things and get into bed. The gap through the thick green curtains allows enough light to help me navigate the room. For a while, I sip on the hotel room-made coffee from one of the free sachets. Some of it stays behind in the white mug, getting cold as I re-watch Dave Chapelle. My lips move along inaudibly. I've watched it enough to know this part of the segment by heart.

Ben's soft snoring makes me aware of the fact that I've been hunched over the wooden table for a while now. I close my phone and stare at the window and the sky peering through. It's still light out so I grab my coat and socks, pushing my feet into my shoes and leaving with the hotel key.

In the elevator, there's a guy in a red baseball cap and cleaning supplies trolley. He mumbles a gruff 'hey', which I return.

As I'm about to look away, a shiny black pin on his vest catches my attention. I know what it is even though he gets off on the next floor. As the doors close, we look at each other and it's a moment of realization but a sliver of curiosity too. He's wearing the pin I haven't dared to wear yet is burning a hole at the bottom of my backpack. He's a dead man walking. Just like me.

When I make it outside the hotel, it's much colder. I stick my hands into my pockets and stroll down the street where a couple walks into the coffee shop next door. Tourists. In the window, a woman holds her phone over her croissant and coffee, taking a picture.

It'll be dark soon. The sun isn't above me anymore. Instead, I can see parts of it past the buildings. Golden rays like fingers splayed apart. I hear the gentle repetitive thud of a basketball close by. I take the turn and the court reveals itself. There's a kid, probably a teenager, playing by himself.

He looks at me over his shoulder once before making the shot.

"Good shot," I say, my hands still clamped in my pockets. What I really want to say is, 'Good shot, mind if I join?'

He doesn't reply nor does he invite me to play. Instead, I get a nod of acknowledgement before he resumes bouncing the ball.

I take a seat by the wall at the back, face to the street. I light a cigarette and by then, he's already off the court. I wish he'd left the ball behind but this isn't a movie. People aren't looking to make friends any more than they are looking to be social. I guess I looked scary enough to frighten him off. Smart boy. God knows what would happen if I'd been the creep he was certain I was.

I get the chance to watch the sun descend from here. It's a clear view behind the basket. I'll miss stupid things like this, getting to play basketball after school. It's weird. I haven't thought about that in a long time. Now that it's fleeting like the sun in my eye, it feels like someone's finally knocked the ball out of my palm.

The sky turns a deep blue. Then purple. And then it turns into something in between.