Only when it reached the far end did it cut its lights and ease itself into the brush alongside the road. The motor grumbled and went silent.

“Well, fuck me!” Fat Larry wheezed, looking around as he took another drag off the joint Doug Baugh had just passed him. “What the hell are we doing back out here?” He shivered. “I don’t like it. It’s goddamn spooky’s what it is.”

Tommy climbed out from behind the wheel and crawled atop the car’s hood, reclining against the windshield with his hands behind his head. “I don’t know, I kinda like it out here. Any reason why I shouldn’t? Huh?” In the front Doug just shrugged stupidly, drained his beer can, and crushed it against his forehead. “What about you, Fatso?”

Larry climbed out the back window and staggered threateningly around the side of the car. “Don’t call me fatso,” he warned.

“That’s right, Tommy,” Doug corrected, lighting another joint and grafting it to his lower lip. “He doesn’t like fatso. Now lard-ass, that he doesn’t mind, but fatso . . .”

“I don’t like that either.”

“Then why did you let Miller get away with it?”

“Well, I . . .” The fat kid mulled it over and kicked at the grass, then caught their questioning glares. “What, you think I’m scared of him? Bart Miller? Hell, that redheaded fart, I could feed him his ass for breakfast if I wanted to.”

“You just didn’t want to, is that it?”

Larry grated his teeth and looked as if smoke might puff from his ears. “Why don’t you get out of the goddamn car, Baugh, and I’ll show you how scared I am.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Doug smiled between hits on the joint as he put his feet up on the dash. “I’ll just stay in here. Thanks anyway.”

“Chickenshit.”

“I think I know why Larry held off,” Tommy decided. “He didn’t want to screw Miller up and make them chicken out of the bet. Isn’t that right, Larry?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

“After all, fifty bucks is fifty bucks, right? Who knows, we may have enough left over to pay your brother back for the beer. Maybe.”

“Hey, Tommy,” Doug wheezed through another drag. “What makes you think we’ll win the bet?”

Tommy gave them a gap-toothed grin. “Old son, I’d just about say that money is in the bag.”

“Uh oh,” Doug said, climbing out of the car and suddenly interested, “I’d say the boy’s got something up his sleeve.”

Tommy opened his jacket sleeve and peered inside. “I don’t see anything. . . .”

“Quit jackin’, Tommy. What’ve you got in mind?”

The oily grin spread even further. He slid off the hood and sauntered to the back of the car, taking his time until the others followed behind. Then he popped the trunk open. “Who’s for big fun?” he asked, swinging it wide.