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By Root 1122 0

of the wall that surrounds the parking lot. Sid tells us to stop. He turns and flattens against the wall. The security guard comes around the corner. Sid shoots him in the ear. Sandy screams and tries to run, but I grab her, knowing that he will shoot her down if I don’t. He takes us to the Cavalier and opens the trunk. T is inside. His wrists and ankles are bound with wire, and a gag is stuffed in his mouth. There’s more blood on his face than before, and a red-soaked pillowcase is wrapped around his calf where the crossbow bolt hit him. But he’s conscious. When the lid pops open he lunges weakly at Sid, who brushes him off.

—Get him out of there.

I reach into the trunk, wrap my arms around him, boost him on to my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and start walking to the Chrysler. Sirens are approaching. Sid makes Sandy open the trunk of the Chrysler. There’s an old blanket inside, probably Hitler’s. I lay T on top of it. His left eye is swollen shut and his right has blood in it, but he’s looking at me, seeing me. The gag is made out of duct tape sealed across something stuffed in his mouth. His nose is swollen and clogged with blood. He’s slowly suffocating. I look at Sid.

—I’m taking his gag off.

I rip the tape away before he can stop me, but he doesn’t seem to care. He watches me, studying my moves. I pry a blood-slimed piece of cloth from T’s mouth. He chokes and grabs my hand and hisses.

—Save me.

Sid pushes Sandy at the trunk.

—Her too.

She tries to take a step back, shaking her head from side to side, her hair flailing the air. I pull her to me and slip my arm under her legs, lifting her as if to take her across a threshold, and deposit her next to T. Her eyes are huge. She’s trying to say something; another scream will burst from her mouth in a moment. I slam the lid closed, muffling her cry and cutting off T’s guttural pleas.

Sid hands me the keys and we get in, me behind the wheel, him beside me, holding his gun. We pull out of the lot, away from the El Cortez, as emergency vehicles arrive. I catch a glimpse of the other security guard kneeling next to his dead partner, and then we are back on the Boulder Highway.

Sid wants a hideout.

—Dude, twenty-four hours of cruising around in that Cavalier? Talk about ill shit. Don’t want to be on the road in a stolen car, don’t want to risk trying to steal a new one. Don’t want to park too long in one place and have people being all, Hey, what’s with the two dudes sitting around in that car for so long? So cruise, park, call you, leave another message, cruise some more. And talk about golden tickets? Finding your cell number written on T’s hand? Huge. I mean, dude, that’s the only reason he’s alive. I mean, if we didn’t have a way of talking to you and threatening to kill him? What would be the point, right? So it all worked out. But if I don’t get to sit still for a few hours, I’m gonna freak. Also, dude, like you probably noticed this by now, but I totally reek.

He’s on a killing high again.

Feeling real.

And he wants to take a shower.

I take him to T’s trailer.

I SLOW down as we get closer, and point at the Super 8 up the road.

—You seen any news?

—Naw, dude, told you: drive, park, call, drive some more.

—They found that car you stole.

—Yeah?

He points at the entrance to the trailer park.

—Think they found this place?

I shrug.

—Might have, if someone from the Super 8 saw you guys come over here. You want a place to rest, this is the best I can do.

—OK, dude, it’s cool. Let’s do it.

He hefts his gun.

—But, dude, if there are cops? It’s, like, blaze of glory time.

I can tell he’s into the idea. But there aren’t any cops.

HE WON’T let T and Sandy out of the trunk. That’s OK with me. It means they’re out of the way.

Inside, we flip on the TV. The local stations are covering the parking-lot killing at the Cortez. They don’t know about Rolf yet. Soon, someone will see the dreadlocks on Rolf’s corpse and realize he’s the guy in the police sketch going around, and then CNN will pick up the story.

Sid makes me come into the bathroom with him. I