HE WASN'T RUNNING FROM HIS FATHER. HE WAS RUNNING FROM THE COPS. The rain hammered down outside, and the boy stood dripping in our garage - me, Frank, Big Danny, and four other guys from the club. The kid couldn't have been more than nine. His clothes hung off him like rags, and he held a baby girl wrapped in a soaked blanket, her face red and blotchy from crying. "He's going to hurt her," the boy whispered, his teeth chattering. "Please. Just one night." We didn't ask questions. That was the ru