“You need something, kid?” Grave asked, not unkindly, his voice low enough that it didn’t draw a crowd. Eli didn’t ask for food or money or sympathy, because this wasn’t that kind of moment. He leaned forward instead and spoke just loud enough to be heard by the men closest to him, his words compressed by urgency.
“That gray van,” he said, nodding subtly toward the park, “has been circling the playground since noon, slowing near the little kids, no plates, same route every time, and the cops won’t listen to me.”
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