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them, they had a triangle-shaped nick on the right instep. The whole neighborhood heard the two of them going at it, with their mother in the middle, first yelling at them to stop and then begging them.
    I stare at those boots and I wonder, What are the chances?
    But I open my mouth anyway. I say, “Hey.”
    The guy in the mask turns toward me, which I guess is what Mr. Mirelli has been waiting for because the very second the guy turns his head, I see out of the corner of my eye Mr. Mirelli slipping his hand under the counter. I think he must have some kind of button down there that sets off an alarm. I figure he’s pressing it. That’s the only reason I say what I say next. I think that Mr. Mirelli has tripped the alarm and that the cops are getting the information that there’s something going down in this store and any minute now they’ll be on their way here. That’s why I say what I say.
    I say, “Leon?”

Chapter Ten
The Masked Man
    I planned. I thought through all the angles. I knew down to the minute when I was going to walk through the door and exactly what I’d do once I was inside. When I found someone in there I hadn’t counted on, I didn’t let it throw me. I adapted. I kept going. After all, I walked in there as a man with a plan. I was going to see it through no matter what. It was going to be easy—at least, it was the way I mapped it out. I’d wait until the old man and the girl were alone in the store. I’d go in. I’d wave the gun. I’d grab the girl. I’d go. Done.
    There’s this thing I heard one guy say to another guy in a movie once: If it wasn’t for bad luck, you’d have no luck at all. That’s how I feel when I’m surprised by someone in the store that I hadn’t expected. But I roll with the punches. I work around him. I refuse to let him stop me from doing what I came in to do.
    But my plan starts to unravel.
    First, I take my eyes off the old man for a split second when the guy I hadn’t counted on says, “Hey.”
    Then, by the time I turn back to the old man, I see him pulling his hand out from someplace under the counter.
    At the exact moment I see what he’s pulling out from under there— a gun—I hear the guy I hadn’t counted on say, “Leon?”
    I’m staring at that gun—that’s something else I didn’t plan for. I don’t remember anyone saying anything about a gun. Then someone is saying my name—“Leon?”—as in, “Leon, is that you under that mask?” I feel Rosie’s arm stiffen. I see her turn. I see that she’s not scared anymore. I see that she’s staring into my eyes. Then she’s reaching out with one hand. She’s reaching for the balaclava on my head, and I know she wants to grab it and yank it off.
    So I pull back—fast.
    I put on The Voice.
    I say, “This isn’t a game.”
    And the old man says, “It sure as hell isn’t.” Then he says, “Who the hell is Leon?”
    I think, This is all wrong.
    First of all, even though I’m still holding a gun, no one seems to be afraid of me anymore.
    Second, the old man is also holding a gun. It’s pointed right at my head, and I know he’s not going to back down. It’s what they call a Mexican standoff. It’s down to either who will shoot first ( Nobody! my brain screams. There isn’t going to be any shooting!) or who will back down first. I’m tempted to cave. But after coming so far, I can’t make myself be the guy who blinks first.
    Third, the other guy is staring at me, and I know that he knows without a doubt that it’s me under the balaclava. I don’t know how he knows, but he knows. Which pretty much wrecks what’s left of my plan.
    Finally, the girl is frowning, like she hasn’t figured out why I’m doing what I’m doing, like the only explanation she can come up