I smiled slightly. “Would I be interested in what?”
“Driving me back home?” he asked sheepishly. “I don’t think I would trust anyone else with my safety.”
“Well, that’s just sad.”
FRIENDSHIPS SHOULDN’T BE FORMED IN PARKING LOTS
11
Marion, Illinois, was home to one of the highest-security prisons in the country. The inmate Hall of Fame included Noriega, John Gotti, and, most chillingly, Pete Rose. Needless to say, I was a little bit nervous when the driver unceremoniously dropped us at a bus depot five miles from the prison. Knowing my luck, there would be a jailbreak, and I would end up cannon fodder in some sort of standoff. I stuck close to Collin’s side as we exited the squat little concrete building marked “DEP T.” I think someone had stolen the O.
“How much time do we have?” I asked.
“Two hours until midnight,” he said. “What now?”
“I was really hoping you had some ideas,” I told him. “I am fresh out.”
The depot parking lot was dimly lit by badly maintained streetlamps, casting long shadows over the handful of cars parked there. In the far corner of the lot, a tall man with dirty-blond hair was leaning against the side of a dark blue El Camino, talking on his cell phone. On his bumper was a large blue and white sticker that read, “Howl, Half-Moon Howlers, Howl!” I edged a bit closer and saw that the bottom of his license plate read, “McClure County.”
“No way.” I laughed. “He’s from Half-Moon Hollow!”
Collin drew his brows up. “Yes, and you seem very excited about it.”
“We could ask him for a ride,” I said, pulling Collin behind a partition outside the station so we could watch the man discreetly.
“Are you serious?” he scoffed. “You’re nervous driving past a prison, but you’re willing to solicit a ride from a stranger?”
“Don’t say ‘solicit.’ It makes it sound dirty. And something good has to happen tonight, right? What are the odds of someone from the Hollow parking right outside the bus depot when we happen to get off the bus? It’s like a sign. And I don’t even believe in signs.”
“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed. “What happened to being annoyed by cockeyed optimism?”
“This is more like reckless desperation,” I said. “We’re out of options, unless you’re open to the idea of grand theft auto. We’ve come too far to give up now, Collin. If I backed away, could you get an idea of whether it would work out?”
He nodded, and I made myself busy with the barely functioning soda machine near the door. When I came back, sipping a tepid Coke, Collin was frowning.
“Not him,” he insisted.
“Why not him?”
“He’s a vampire.”
“So are you.”
“But I’m a trustworthy vampire. He’s decidedly … untrustworthy,” he said, glaring in the direction of the El Camino. “Back-alley deals and seedy connections.”
“But no violent tendencies or dead hookers in his trunk?”
“No,” he conceded. “But it’s an El Camino. He doesn’t have a trunk.”
“I’ll be fine, I’m sure. You’ll be right there with me, right?”
“I will, but not where he can see,” Collin grumbled. “If you’re alone, he’ll be more likely to help you. I don’t know if that makes me trust him more or less.”
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” he said. “Just play up your ability to find trouble in an empty room. It will remind him of someone and make him more sympathetic to your plight. I’ll be right behind you. Signal me if you get the least bit uncomfortable.”
“Thank you,” I said as he pecked me on the lips.