Mitch eyed the man standing on the block ahead. “I don’t know, it’s supposed to be so dangerous.”

“That’s what a lost weekend’s about, man. Mystery!” Warren picked up the brown bag from the floor between his legs and took a sip. “C’mon, have some before we pick him up.”

Mitch took a nice long pull. The light turned green. “I don’t know…”

“It’s green, man. Let’s move it.” Warren rolled down his window as they moved across the intersection. “Hey, dude, hop in.”

The man—boy, really—hesitated. He was barely out of his teens, but something about the roughness of his demeanor belied the youth in his eyes. “Where you headed?”

“Where ya wanna go? We’re on a road trip, dude. Hop in, it’s okay.”

Mitch didn’t say anything. The boy looked at him, trying to figure out what was going on. Mitch looked out the driver’s side window.

Then the boy was in the back seat, Warren was blabbering about splitting gas, and Mitch was pulling forward, toward the exit to the expressway. East or west? It didn’t matter, he supposed. He decided on east, for no reason he could think of.

The car smelled of pizza. Maybe that was why the boy decided to get in. He looked hungry. The boy looked up and caught Mitch scoping him out in the rear view mirror. Mitch looked away guiltily.

Warren was still talking. There was no stopping him, it seemed. “Yeah, man, it’s a lost weekend. We might head upstate, score some ’shrooms, some ecstasy, something like that. How about you? You get high?”

“I have,” the boy allowed. He rolled his head to one side, stretching. He had a tattoo on his neck, Mitch noticed. “Haven’t in a while.”

“Ha! You wanna? ‘Cause we’re gonna get wasted, dude. We’re gonna get so fucking wasted, and then we’re gonna rent some hookers and do blow off their ass. It’s gonna be awesome. You in?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably on the back seat. He caught Mitch’s eye in the mirror again. There was something fearful in the boy’s eyes; something pleading.

“You should definitely come in on it with us, dude. I mean, you might as well, you’re along for the ride anyway, right?” Warren picked up the forty-ounce from between his feet and took another slug. “Pass it around, man. We’re getting wasted already.”

Warren turned around to pass the beer to the boy in the back. Mitch drew the semi-automatic from under his belt and blew Warren’s face off. He put the gun back, pulled over to the side of the road, opened the door and kicked what was left of Warren out onto the berm.

Mitch looked at the boy in the back seat. “You okay?”

The boy blinked.

“You have a little blood on you. Here, take some Kleenex.”

The boy fumbled for the tissue and dabbed at his face.

Mitch smiled. “You don’t talk much. I like that. You can sit in the front if you want.”

The boy hesitated.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. I can even drop you off at the next rest area. Whatever you want.”

Slowly, the boy got up and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Cool. My name’s Mitch. What’s yours?”

“Craig.”

“Nice to met you, Craig. I think you’re a much better bet than Warren was.”

Craig grinned. “He just wouldn’t shut up, huh?”

Mitch gunned the motor, and the Mustang sped off into the night.

Copyright 2008 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.

Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.