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There’s a nervous tension in the silence. Maybe a nervous excitement. I don’t get the impression that almost-lawyer Lily is big on recreational crime.
“I meant it,” I offer, because she’s put up with a lot from me today, and I don’t want her to think I’d make her an accomplice in a felony or anything. “We’re not going to hurt anything.”
“What’s the crime, then?”
“Trespassing. That’s it.”
She turns, her hair catching the light from the center console.
“Trespassing for what?”
“For justice.”
I keep my eyes on the road, watching for glowing eyes and shadows at the tree line. Lily keeps looking at me. I can feel her eyes in the dark.
Slowly, eyes forward, I reach down and turn on the radio.
A woman’s voice fills the silence talking about the power of love or some bullshit.
A Pat Benatar song fades in.
Lily sighs. “How does trespassing help anyone get justice?”
“It does if you find some hostages.”
“Hostages?”
“Look, it might not be that bad.”
“Wait. Wait.” Her hand flashes in my peripheral vision. “How did you decide on this particular crime? Is there, like, a message board where would-be criminals gather and exchange tips?”
Well.
“Yeah.”
Lily twists in her seat until she’s completely sideways. “Are youserious?”
“Shh. You’re going to wake up Snowball.”
She breathes deep, like she’s on the verge of bursting into flame. “A message board. You get your tips from a message board.”
“Some of them. Other ones I get on Facebook. It varies from time to time…”
“Don’t say it.”
Now Ihaveto. “…or from crime to crime.”
“Oh my God.”
“You still think I’m hot, don’t you? That’s the worst part.”
“Yes.” Lily folds her arms over her chest and slumps back in her seat. “Yes, it is.”
We listen to Pat Benatar.
The song ends.
A commercial for a no-commitment cell phone plan comes on.
