Eric rolled his eyes. “You been watching too much television, man.”

“No, he’s right,” Stevie said as he slipped them on. “No point leaving them a business card.”

They fanned out, each checking the open or unlocked sheds that held gaudily painted signs and boards, boxes of stuffed toys, a popcorn maker with the glass missing from its sides, and bits and pieces of old carnival games and stands. At one locked door, all they had to do was tap the pin from the hinges to peek inside. The space behind was stacked with crazy mirrors from a fun house, so they carefully replaced the pins.

Finally, nothing was left but the shed they’d parked behind, the one shed with a hefty padlock. It stood a foot off the ground on rock supports. The windows were too high to look through even standing up in the Jeep and balancing on the roll bar. Worse, the door was hinged from the inside.

Lamarr reached into the back of his van and pulled out a tire iron.

“I don’t know, guys,” said Stevie. “So far, all we’ve done is trespassed. This knocks it up to breaking and entering.”

“No pain, no gain,” said Lamarr, sliding the flat end of the tire iron up under the hasp.

Before he could put some muscle into it and lever the hasp right out of the wood, Eric said urgently, “Somebody’s coming!”

Out on the road, a car slowed down and they heard it enter the brush-lined drive. As one, they dived back behind the barn and crouched motionless in the weeds to peer through the rocks that supported the building. The car stopped out of sight, and whoever was driving had cut the motor.

Silence for a long moment; then they heard the car door open and close, and soon a pair of sneakered feet and jean-clad legs came into view. The legs hesitated, then came straight on toward the locked door.

Because they had been waiting subconsciously for the jingle of keys, the next sound, a wrenching of metal from wood, was so unexpected that it took them a moment to comprehend.

Lamarr got it first.

“Shit! The bastard’s a fucking thief!” Tire iron still in hand, he came roaring up out of the weeds. “Hey! You! What the hell you think you’re—”

With Stevie and Eric uncertain whether to follow or try to hold him back, he bulled his way between the van and the shed wall, started to turn the corner, stepped into a mole run, twisted his ankle, and went down so hard the ground around them shook.

By the time the other two got around Lamarr to look, the thief, if that’s what he was, had already jumped back in his car and was halfway down the long dirt drive, kicking up clouds of dust. Between the dust and the glare of the late-afternoon sun in their eyes, the only thing they could be sure of was that the vehicle appeared to be a dark midsize sedan.