He’s dreaming about walking out the front door of his house and getting in a badass set of wheels and driving it away and deciding never to go home and no one ever being able to catch him.

Andy touches Paul’s back.

– You OK?

Paul turns and slaps his hand away.

– Don’t touch me, puss, I’m fucking fine.

He drops the cutter.

– So leave the bikes alone, whatever, but I’m robbing these motherfuckers blind.

And he sets off down the hall toward the bedrooms.

Andy looks at George and Hector, points at the door.

– C’mon, guys, we got to get out of here.

George and Hector look at one another.

And they follow Paul.

– Fine. Whatever. I’m getting out of here.

Andy goes to the window and looks out. The girls are back across the street, playing on the sidewalk. He touches his bike, imagines the havoc if the Arroyos come home with them still in the house. Imagines the feeling if something were to go down without him being there, and then he goes down the hall.

He watches the doorways as they toss Fernando’s and Ramon’s rooms and sees Hector find the fistfuls of stolen gold and silver chains hidden in the body of a donkey piñata. Sees Paul sweeping Fernando’s dresser top clear of combs and hairnets and bandanas and a small shrine of the Madonna, sees him finding the rolls of singles and fives and tens stuffed to the back of the underwear drawer. He goes back into the hall and opens a door and finds the closet Timo’s been dumping his stuff in and picks through it, taking a single photograph and walking away and pulling open another door and looking into the garage.