points with the hammer.The tall guy nods and coughs. It’s rough and throaty, like he’s going to hack up a lung. When he’s done he reaches into his shirt pocket, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it.
They weave through the maze of cars, talking and laughing. Hoodie swings the hammer, slamming it into taillights as he goes. The noise echoes around me, waking Cassie. She lets out a soft mew. I press her against my shirt. One more peep from her and in the sleeping bag she goes.
They’re close enough now for me to hear every word.
The bald man stops, hacks up something, and spits it out. Hoodie shakes his head and frowns. They start walking again. It’s hard to tell where they’re headed. I figure it’s one of the cars closer to the exit. They aren’t as banged up as the SUV.
Hacker says, “So, Richie, you gonna tell me what we’re lookin’ for?”
Hoodie has a name. Richie.
Richie says, “Guess.”
“It’s not money.”
A short laugh. “You got that right.”
“Drugs?”
Richie pounds another taillight. The next car is the Nova.
He says, “Drugs would be sweet, but no. Think about it. With the guests being so restless and all, what’s the most valuable commodity given our current
sit
-u-ation?”
“You ask me it’s smokes, man. A carton of Lucky Strikes would make my week.”
Richie’s at the Nova. He smashes one taillight, then the other. I feel each blow as if the hammer is hitting me.
He kicks at the broken glass. “I hate Novas. Knew a guy that had one. Sucked oil like a Slurpee. Couldn’t sell it so he set it on fire and walked away.”
Hacker says, “So it’s not money or drugs. Why did Mr. Hendricks send us out here at dark-thirty when we should be sleeping?”
Richie stops and looks at him. For a second I think he’s going to club Hacker with the hammer. Then he says, “Guns, you bald-headed dumb-ass. The Holy Grail!”
Hacker says, “But we found ’em all. Three pistols and a shotgun. That’s it.”
Richie says, “This is America, my friend. A garage this size—we should’ve filled a U-haul by now.”
A flashlight beam stabs through the window. Shadows chase each other across the door and roof. Quiet, like an otter into a river, I slide down to the floor space behind the backseat and curl into a ball. Cassie mews in protest. Her tiny claws rake against my ankles. I resist the urge to bury my head in the sleeping bag. I need to hear what they’re saying.
Hacker says, “I done the Navigator already. I’m positive there ain’t no gun.”
Richie says, “And I’ve got information
con
-tradicting that statement.”
The Navigator! A gun! My brain races—where?
Hacker says, “Like what?”
Richie says, “The lady that owns the Navigator needed asthma spray for her boy. She compensated Mr. Hendricks by telling him about a gun her husband stashes in the car.”
“Where’s it at?”
“In a safe under the driver’s seat.”
I picture the black metal box just two rows away from my head.
“A safe, huh? She give you the combination?”
“It needs a key. Says he hides a spare somewhere up front.”
“What if her information is wrong?”
“There’s gonna be an instant shortage of asthma medication.”
They laugh. Hacker goes into another coughing spasm. He’s so close I smell the smoke from his cigarette. He spits—it thuds like a meatball hitting the car. A flashlight beam scans the inside of the SUV. I duck my head into the sleeping bag but leave enough of a hole so I can hear. I’m hoping all they see is a pile of rags. The handle lifts on the front passenger door. It opens.
Richie says, “You broke this window, right?”
“Third day. Gotta love bustin’ up a Navigator.”
“You wipe the glass off the seat?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, it’s all on the floor now.”
The door slams closed.
I nudge Cassie with my foot. She moves, just barely.
Footsteps crunching toward the back. The rear passenger door opens.
Richie says,
They weave through the maze of cars, talking and laughing. Hoodie swings the hammer, slamming it into taillights as he goes. The noise echoes around me, waking Cassie. She lets out a soft mew. I press her against my shirt. One more peep from her and in the sleeping bag she goes.
They’re close enough now for me to hear every word.
The bald man stops, hacks up something, and spits it out. Hoodie shakes his head and frowns. They start walking again. It’s hard to tell where they’re headed. I figure it’s one of the cars closer to the exit. They aren’t as banged up as the SUV.
Hacker says, “So, Richie, you gonna tell me what we’re lookin’ for?”
Hoodie has a name. Richie.
Richie says, “Guess.”
“It’s not money.”
A short laugh. “You got that right.”
“Drugs?”
Richie pounds another taillight. The next car is the Nova.
He says, “Drugs would be sweet, but no. Think about it. With the guests being so restless and all, what’s the most valuable commodity given our current
sit
-u-ation?”
“You ask me it’s smokes, man. A carton of Lucky Strikes would make my week.”
Richie’s at the Nova. He smashes one taillight, then the other. I feel each blow as if the hammer is hitting me.
He kicks at the broken glass. “I hate Novas. Knew a guy that had one. Sucked oil like a Slurpee. Couldn’t sell it so he set it on fire and walked away.”
Hacker says, “So it’s not money or drugs. Why did Mr. Hendricks send us out here at dark-thirty when we should be sleeping?”
Richie stops and looks at him. For a second I think he’s going to club Hacker with the hammer. Then he says, “Guns, you bald-headed dumb-ass. The Holy Grail!”
Hacker says, “But we found ’em all. Three pistols and a shotgun. That’s it.”
Richie says, “This is America, my friend. A garage this size—we should’ve filled a U-haul by now.”
A flashlight beam stabs through the window. Shadows chase each other across the door and roof. Quiet, like an otter into a river, I slide down to the floor space behind the backseat and curl into a ball. Cassie mews in protest. Her tiny claws rake against my ankles. I resist the urge to bury my head in the sleeping bag. I need to hear what they’re saying.
Hacker says, “I done the Navigator already. I’m positive there ain’t no gun.”
Richie says, “And I’ve got information
con
-tradicting that statement.”
The Navigator! A gun! My brain races—where?
Hacker says, “Like what?”
Richie says, “The lady that owns the Navigator needed asthma spray for her boy. She compensated Mr. Hendricks by telling him about a gun her husband stashes in the car.”
“Where’s it at?”
“In a safe under the driver’s seat.”
I picture the black metal box just two rows away from my head.
“A safe, huh? She give you the combination?”
“It needs a key. Says he hides a spare somewhere up front.”
“What if her information is wrong?”
“There’s gonna be an instant shortage of asthma medication.”
They laugh. Hacker goes into another coughing spasm. He’s so close I smell the smoke from his cigarette. He spits—it thuds like a meatball hitting the car. A flashlight beam scans the inside of the SUV. I duck my head into the sleeping bag but leave enough of a hole so I can hear. I’m hoping all they see is a pile of rags. The handle lifts on the front passenger door. It opens.
Richie says, “You broke this window, right?”
“Third day. Gotta love bustin’ up a Navigator.”
“You wipe the glass off the seat?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, it’s all on the floor now.”
The door slams closed.
I nudge Cassie with my foot. She moves, just barely.
Footsteps crunching toward the back. The rear passenger door opens.
Richie says,
Similar Books
