Despite the rear seat between him and his friends, he could hear them talking.
“Just everyone be cool,” Canton said.
“Yeah,” said Tyler. “Like I’m going say, ‘We got nuthin’ in the trunk!’ I’m not an idiot. Not like George.”
“Fuck you,” said George.
“Okay, here we go,” Canton said. “Jeez, there’s still a line.”
“It’s only like ten cars. It won’t take long.”
Derek struggled to get comfortable. He hoped it wouldn’t take them long to buy tickets and get parked. He knew it was his imagination, but he felt as though he was running out of air, that he was having trouble breathing. His heartbeat was moving into second gear.
He felt the Nissan turn. Canton would be pulling up to the gate, where there were two ticket booths. Right beyond them, towering over them, in fact, would be the back side of the four-story screen. Once the tickets were bought and the gate cleared, the car would pass through an opening in a ten-foot wooden perimeter fence designed to keep people from sneaking in.
The car would follow the driveway to the far end of the property, where the concession stand was located, then do a one-eighty, facing the screen head-on. Derek figured once they’d picked a good viewing spot, they’d let him out.
But first, they had to clear the gate.
The car stopped, inched forward. Stopped, inched forward.
Come on come on come on.
Finally, Derek heard Canton shout: “Three tickets.”
Then, not quite as clearly, a man’s voice. “Just the three?”
“Yep, just us.”
“Ten bucks each.”
“There ya go.”
A brief pause, then the man’s voice again. “You sure it’s just the three of you?”
Canton: “Yep.”
Tyler: “Just us.”
George: “You can’t count?”
Shit, Derek thought. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?
The man selling tickets said, “And you guys know, there’s no booze allowed. You can’t be bringing anything in like that.”
“Of course,” Canton said.
Another pause.
Then: “I’m gonna have to ask you to pop the trunk.”
“Sorry?” Canton said.
“The trunk. Pop it.”
Shit shit shit shit.
Well, what was the worst that could happen? Derek figured once this guy found him in the trunk, with the beer, he could do one of three things. He could deny them entry. Or he could charge Derek ten bucks, confiscate the beer, and tell them they could pick it up on the way out. Or the son of a bitch could call the cops.
Derek figured bringing in the police was pretty unlikely. Did the Promise Falls cops really want to be bothered with someone sneaking into the drive-in for free?
At this point, Derek didn’t much care. Right now, he’d happily endure a full body-cavity search if it meant getting the hell out of here.
Canton said, “Uh, I don’t think you have the right to do that.”
“Yeah?” the man said.
“Yeah. I don’t think you have the authority. You’re just some dick selling tickets.”
“Really. Well, my name is Lionel Grayson, and I’m the owner and manager of this place, and if you don’t pop that trunk, I’m calling the cops.”
Maybe it was more likely than Derek thought. Fine, so be it.
“Okay, then,” Canton said.
Derek heard the driver’s door open. But then another door, on the other side of the car. Tyler had been sitting behind Canton. Which meant George was getting out.
Tyler said, “Jesus, George, what are you—”
Derek didn’t hear the rest as both doors slammed shut.
Canton was saying, “You know, this being the last night you guys are open, we were just wanting to have a little fun and—”
The man, this Mr. Grayson, sounding closer now, “Just open it up.”
“Okay, I hear ya, I hear ya.”
Then, George. “You know, man, this is America. You think being a fucking ticket seller gives you the right to violate our constitutional rights?”
“George, just let it go.”
All three voices at the back of the car now. Derek was still pretty sure Lionel Grayson wouldn’t call the cops. He’d just tell them to piss off. Turn their car around and send them on their way. Derek already had a plan. They’d go back to his place, download a Transformers movie to the flat-screen, and get drunk on his couch.
No need for him to be the designated driver any—
Bang.
No, it was more than that it. So much more than just a bang. In the trunk, it sounded to Derek like a sonic boom. The whole car seemed to shake.
It couldn’t have been something on the screen. One of the Transformer robots blowing up, say. You had to be in the car, have the radio tuned to the right frequency, to hear the movie.
And even if this had been a regular movie, in a theater, the bang was too loud.
It sounded very close.
George.
Could he really have been that dumb? Had he gotten out of the car with the gun? Had he started waving it at the manager? Had he pulled the trigger?