The last time Peg Dahl felt truly alive, she was holding a counterfeit parking ticket and a straight face.
But that was the problem. Buffalo, New York, had buffaloed her. The city was a grimy, snow-choked funnel of dead-end streets and cheaper-by-the-dozen lawyers. Peg had tried to leave twice—once for New York City, where she was too loud; once for Chicago, where she was too honest about being dishonest. Both times, the city had pulled her back like a rubber band. Here, she was a big fish in a puddle. A grifter with a GED and a gift for small-claims chaos.
Because in that moment, Peg Dahl realized she didn’t want to escape Buffalo. She wanted to own the parts of it that everyone else was too tired to fight for. The abandoned warehouses on the East Side. The loophole in the city’s towing ordinance. The old men who still settled bets with envelopes of cash and a handshake that meant nothing and everything.
And for the first time in her life, the city didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like a deck she’d finally learned how to shuffle.
“Tactical,” Peg said. “Not mischief. Tactical.”
The judge pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ms. Dahl. You glued a lego to the gas pedal of his other car.”
