Are you kidding? Of course. They’d be thrilled to find a car here tomorrow morning because then they could charge you all they wanted to.

To this I am quiet.

I tell you what, he says. Why don’t you let me leave you in a motel with your car there and then you can call around for quotes in the morning and have it towed someplace courtesy of the auto club.

Sure.

Immediately he turns onto a side road and we ride past some old clapboard houses with lawns and shade and faded yellow grass. He turns into an alley, coming behind some low buildings, barely missing a rusted gutter pipe. He seems confident now of where we are going. We cross three more side streets and then veer into the parking lot of a motel from the rear and it occurs to me that he knows this place well and probably planned to bring me here all along.

You coming in? he says, halfway out the truck door and fingering shut the lock.

He leads me into the office.

After he rings the bell a door opens. A man comes out from a room flickering with television light that illuminates an old plaid couch deep inside. He closes the door behind him and steps beneath the fluorescent lights. The light gives his hand a ghostly color as he gets out a registration card.

Before I can reach for it, the tow truck man begins filling the card out. This seems strange, but I just stand quietly as he finishes. I am nervous because although I have the cash from selling Buster, I have no credit card, and in these places they usually want some sort of an imprint for a deposit. My hand slips into my pocket and fingers the lump of bills and I try to think of what to say. But Stone finishes the card and slips it back to the motel man, who clatters a key onto the table and slides it over to Stone, who then turns from the desk. The hotel man does not ask for any money and remains there watching us.

Okay, buddy, Stone says.

I do not move. He hesitates, looking at me.

Don’t look so pale, buddy.

What about a deposit? I say.

Don’t worry about that.

But I think the hotel guy forgot about it, I tell him.

A twitch of concern passes over his face, and he eases between me and the man, obscuring the man’s face with a shoulder.

It’s okay, Stone says.