“I don’t see this Pardue guy falling for it again though.”
“Same crime, different execution. It’s brilliant, really. I’ve been searching the interwebs. Everyone falls prey to it. Everyone.”
She waves a hand in the air. “You think everything you do is brilliant.”
Arden pauses again. Now all three cans are tied to a string, and tied to each other. He gives it a good shake and marvels at the ruckus it makes. “It’s true, I’m of above-average intelligence. But I can’t take the credit for this one.”
“It’s just that I can’t get caught for this.”
He lifts her chin with the crook of his finger. “We absolutely will not get caught.”
* * *
They ditch their bikes in the woods about a quarter mile down from where Arden knows Deputy Pardue takes his 2:00 a.m. naps. The moon gives them plenty of light as they walk along Highway 20, stepping around the occasional dead possum and away from the road when the sporadic car passes by. The humid late-September air clings to them like invisible netting. Arden feels his hair sticking to the back of his neck and wonders if Carly is getting eaten alive by mosquitos like he is.
It’s hard to imagine that he didn’t even know her six weeks ago, when school started. It’s hard to imagine a life where there was no Carly. He wonders whether she and Amber would have gotten along. Probably would have teamed up against me.
Arden gives the signal to slow their pace as they approach the small gravel inlet where the deputy pretends to be monitoring for speeders, but where he’s actually got the windows of his patrol car fogged up in his deep slumber. Carly gives him a quizzical glance.
“You think he’s got company in there?” she says.
“Nope. He gets those results all by himself.”
“Gross.”
“Yep. Your mind should pay the gutter rent.”
She laughs. “He’s sleeping? Really?”
“Like a baby hedgehog.”
She slides the backpack off his shoulders as they near the car, handing it to him with the stealth of a ninja. “The cans won’t wake him up?” Then she cringes as she snaps a twig beneath her feet. “How about that?”
Arden shakes his head. “Nope. That’s why we brought the air horn.”
They creep along, and Arden slowly unzips the backpack and eases the cans out of it. He crouches down by the trunk and ties the string connecting all the cans to the exhaust pipe. Motioning for Carly to get in position in the woods behind him, he fixates his thumb on the go button of the air horn.
And presses hard.
In the moonlight, he sees the silhouette of Deputy Pardue jump to life in the front seat. Arden takes off for the woods behind him. “Carly?” he whispers.
“Over here,” she returns. She’s just a few feet away. They squat in the light brush, watching their prey. The engine to the patrol car roars to life. Arden can hardly contain himself. A deep laugh swells up inside him.
“Be ready,” he says. “It will be fast.”
And it is. Deputy Pardue puts the car in gear and doesn’t even get onto the highway before the sound of the cans stops him. He opens the car door, putting one leg, then both outside the vehicle. He stands, then, shining his flashlight toward the back of the car, walks toward the trunk at a steady pace.
“Go!” Arden whispers, and they both take off, Arden to the driver’s side, Carly to the passenger’s side. He puts the vehicle in gear before ever shutting the car door.
“Arden, you son of a bi—” he hears Pardue roar.
But they are already gone.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Carly squeals beside him. “I can’t believe we just did that!”
Arden rolls down the window and shouts his adrenaline rush into the night. Feeling unstoppable, he grabs Carly’s hand and gives it a big sloppy kiss. “Darlin’, believe it!” He starts flipping buttons on the dash until the woods around them are illuminated with electric blue.
She snatches her hand away from him and covers her mouth with it. “Ohmigod. Pull over. We have to give it back. Now. Arden, please. I’m freaking out here.”
She really is freaking out. She’s got her knees pulled tight to her chest. Back and forth she rocks, the seat belt the only things restraining her from dumping herself into the floorboard. This is the first time Carly Vega has ever looked small and frightened. He turns the lights off. “Geez, Carly, you should have told me if you had any reservations like this.”
“I did! I specifically said—”
“But you went through with it!” He runs a hand through his hair. “You always say no and then you’re the first one out of the corral!” God, what has he done?
“I know! I’m so sorry. You’ve got to pull over. I can’t do this. I can’t. I have so much to risk. I should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what sooner? What have you got to risk?”
“It’s my parents. They’re not dead.”
“What?” And what does that have to do with stealing a sleeping deputy’s patrol car?
“Arden, how fast are you going? You need to slow down.”
But it’s too late. The blue lights are already flashing behind them.
Twenty-Three
The room has no windows, no creepy two-way mirrors. Just a single camera in one of the ceiling corners. A card table with a fold-up chair on each side, no cushion. It’s not meant to be comfortable here. The institutional décor, the cold temperature, the hard metal chairs. It’s all meant to be intimidating.