HE SHIVERED AND STARTED THE CAR AND SAT WITH THE heater vents blowing, cold at first but then increasingly warm, a procedure he had already repeated several times as he waited in the cramped confines of the Datsun, his eyes tracing the shape of the prison over and over again: the white guard tower and the blank plate of the door, the fence line topped with barbed wire that leaned inward toward a stone building so imposing and bleak that it looked like something out of a horror movie. It had been past noon when he first pulled into the parking lot and over the course of the subsequent hours the shadows of the tower and the door and the fence had shifted across the asphalt under a flat white sun that descended all day through a wash of pale clouds, its movement marked by the incongruous soundtrack of the Van Halen cassette that reversed again and again in the dashboard deck. Now Diamond Dave was singing, Might as well jump! for the tenth or eleventh time. Go ahead and jump! The melody spelled out by a synthesizer.
He had been thinking of that night in front of Grady’s all day and he thought about it again now as he dozed, mumbling to himself softly as had long been his habit, his head lolling against the cracked vinyl of the seat. How lucky they had been at first. The Quik-Stop had been empty, the cashier out back smoking a cigarette. Rick simply tapped the square green key on the register and when the drawer rolled out he grabbed the cash and the two of them returned to the car and drove away. And then, later that same night, how quickly their luck had changed. The two policemen had looked crazed under the yellow streetlights. And their words. Faghetti, one had said, and the other had laughed. They already had Rick pinned to the hood of the car then, his eyes wide but his voice still defiant, calling the police cockholes. Their response had been to punch him hard in the kidneys and Rick’s face had curled in upon itself like a fist. Nat had watched all of it with his back slipping against the brick front of the building, moving sideways, unable to turn away from the sight, slinking toward the barroom door like a coward. And what he was thinking in that moment was not that his best friend was being arrested but that the money they had gotten from the register at the Quik-Stop was in the inside pocket of Rick’s jacket.
He could feel the rough surface of the wall and could hear the thump of the bass from the jukebox inside the bar, but then he was no longer on that dark street in Reno, was not in Reno at all but instead stood beside a different road in the failing light under huge shadowed pines. The feeling was the same—from Reno to wherever this was—his stomach churning and a tight feeling of despair rising in his chest. There you are. There you are.
It was from this image that he jolted awake. The cigarette had burned almost to his fingers, the ash falling upon his hand now and scattering across the seat. Dang, he said into the vacant interior of the Datsun.
He had just removed another cigarette from the glove box when the door in the fence opened, opened and then closed and at last swung wide. And there he stood. He looked, at a glance, just as he had that night in front of Grady’s, as if no time had passed. Not thirteen months. Not a single day. Thin. Freshly shaven. Even wearing the same tight jeans and rust-colored leather jacket. The dark curls of his hair cut short but otherwise the same. Holding a cigarette with the tips of two fingers as if holding a straw. And what a flood of relief. In an instant all those empty days wiped clean. Alone in the apartment watching lions stalk antelope across the box of the television screen. Marlin Perkins in the Jeep with his binoculars, Jim Fowler at his side. Nothing but an endless strip of empty days, broken at last as the guard shook Rick’s hand and Nat stepped out of the car into the drizzling rain. Hey hey, he said.
Rick said nothing at first, but his grin matched Nat’s own. The door closed behind him and he shifted the small bag to his left hand as they embraced.
Welcome to the free world, Nat said.
It’s free now, is it?
Nat shrugged as Rick threw the little bag onto the back seat and they both stepped into the car. Despite the chill, Rick rolled the window down immediately, the crank squeaking as Nat pulled back onto the highway.
Where’s Susan? Rick yelled over the wind roar.
Don’t know.
What’s that mean?
Means I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in like a week.
Shit, Rick said. I thought she’d be with you.
Me too.
Well, shit. He sucked at the cigarette for a moment and then held it in his hand and pressed his face to the wind, squinting as the occasional raindrop spiked through the open window. Then he cranked the glass back up again, the same squeak marking each rotation. The car silent now but for the hum of the engine and the rush of an occasional oncoming car in the southbound lane.
Beyond the windshield ran fast food restaurants, a grocery store, a run of gas stations all in a row. Above them: the dim yellow sweep of the mountains to the west, their crests backlit under a gray sky the texture of curdled milk. All beyond already in shadow: the town disappearing into itself and the desert opening into scrubby underbrush. An onrushing darkness. Jackrabbit. Rattlesnake. Digger wasp. The owl preparing for its night hunt. The mouse slipping into its burrow. To their right, outside Rick’s window, Washoe Lake: a dark strip taking on the color of the night.
So what do you wanna do on your first day of freedom?
I don’t know. Get a burger. Have a beer. I’d like to know where Susan is.
She’ll show up. She always does.
Yeah, well, she should’ve shown up already, Rick said. She don’t even answer her phone. It’s not like I can keep calling all day until she’s around, you know? He cracked the window enough to flick the butt of his cigarette through the gap and then rolled it closed again. What’s new around town?
Not much.
Who’s around?
I haven’t been out much.
Why not?
Working.
You’re not getting soft on me are you?
Let’s find out, Nat said.
Rick laughed. Then he said, I’m gonna need a job too.
Yeah, I figured.
You think they’d hire me out at the dealership?
Maybe. You mean in the shop?
Anything, Rick said. He was silent for a long time then, the darkness in motion all around them. Then he said, My mom’s gonna need another surgery.
Shit.
Yep.
What’s that gonna cost?
Six or eight thousand probably. I ain’t even worried about that. That’s Medicaid’s problem. What I’m worried about is getting her a nurse or someone to take care of her afterward. They said it’ll be like three months before she’s really up and around. State’s not gonna cover any of that.