Derek was on the roof across from the diner before the sun came up. He felt rested, thanks to Mel. Not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as Charlie used to say, but better than he had since he’d left Charlie’s house.
With his pack beside him and open, the gun lying within fairly easy reach underneath a pair of jeans, he also felt relatively safe. Not, as he’d told Mel, that he really could shoot anyone, but he could certainly threaten. He’d proved that with the punks at Charlie’s house.
The roof was flat with a barely six-inch tall parapet on the side facing the street. That meant he had to lie flat, just in case anyone passing by two stories below happened to look up. It did have one advantage, though. It was higher than the diner’s roof and the ones on either side of it. If whoever was loo
