Free Hollow Man by Mark Pryor

best friend in years, and over a girl who intrigued me beyond any other. It felt like a black hole was drawing me in, and I crossed that dusty gap as the fragile safety of my life crumbled under my feet, disappearing with every step of those twenty yards. Tunnel vision blocked out the tedium that waited behind me, kept me from seeing the safety of my carefully contrived world, and the glimpses of my life that I did get were of a job demotion and a decision from Marley, a forever ban from playing music at the Norman Pub. So right there, at the edge of a moonlit field in the wrong part of town, with a gun for comfort and a mystery unfolding before me, my involvement had ceased to be a choice.
    When I got close, she moved forward, the pale skin of her face glowing like platinum in the moonlight, but her eyes were narrow, as though she wasn't happy to see me.
    â€œGus said you'd come,” she said. “I wasn't sure.”
    I didn't know what to say. The spell was almost broken by her flat tone, her unwelcoming face, as if I'd misread her, misread this evening. But this was a mystery in itself, part of her game perhaps. While I figured it out, as tricksters and liars will do, I refrained from committing myself to an emotional position and instead turned the focus outward, away from her and away from me.
    â€œWhat's going on?” I asked Gus. “Whose car is that?”
    Gus looked over his shoulder as if he didn't know it was there, then back at me. “I don't know.”
    I looked at her standing beside him. Her face softened and she smiled suddenly, a coy and teasing look. “You don't recognize it?”
    â€œA Ford van near a trailer park, I'd guess it belongs to Gus's client. But I can't imagine either of you would be stupid enough to actually steal it.”
    â€œWrong on both counts,” she said. “The first count. For now.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œIt's a 1995 Ford Transit van,” she said. “Same make and model, different color. I wanted to show Gus that it was easy to steal.”
    â€œBorrow,” Gus said hurriedly.
    â€œWhy would Gus care that it's easy to steal? Or borrow?”
    â€œAsk him.” She shrugged. “It was his story, after all. And the point of his story, unless I'm mistaken, was that some guy rides around with sacks of cash in a car that's easy to…” She shrugged again.
    It was true, of course, it was the point of his story. But she'd taken a story that you shake your head at and made it into a game that could land someone in jail. Also, I wasn't sure who was supposed to be in this game, or what the rules were. All I could think was that she'd recognized three people who needed money, including herself, and that was reason enough to roll the dice. But she was mistaken if she thought I needed money badly enough to steal.
    I started as the rear doors of the van opened behind her. A boy stuck his head out and looked at me, the same boy I'd seen at the JJC. Her brother.
    â€œCan we go?” he said. “My iPod battery is dying.”
    â€œWait, he stole the van?” I asked.
    â€œI told you,” she said. “He has experience in matters criminal.”
    â€œAnd how nice of you to encourage him.”
    â€œI'm his sister, not his mother.” Her voice was soft. “Maybe we'll do a shift at the soup kitchen tomorrow. You ever help out at the soup kitchen?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “What exactly do you want from us?”
    â€œOh, Dom, don't be so suspicious,” she said. “So judgmental. Gus told a story, and we all wondered how easy it would be to steal that man's car.”
    â€œI didn't wonder that.”
    â€œYes, you did.” It was the first hard note I'd heard in her voice, and again, she was right.
    â€œFine,” I said. “I also wonder what it'd be like to drive at a hundred and twenty on I-35, but I'm not going to do it.” I also wonder what it'd be like to fuck you, but