Smoke shoved him away and started laughing. He turned up 2 Pac on the CD player, every other word fuck and nigger. Smoke reached under his seat and snatched out the Glock. He shoved it between Weed’s ribs, getting off on how bad the little shit was shaking. Weed put his hands over his face. He farted and burped.

“You pee or shit in here, and I’ll blow your dick off,” Smoke told him.

“Please, Smoke,” Weed begged in a tiny, pitiful voice. “Please don’t, Smoke.”

“You gonna do what I say from now on?”

“Yes. I’ll do anything you want me to, Smoke. I promise.”

Smoke tucked the pistol back under his seat. He turned up 2 Pac and started rapping along. There was no further conversation as Smoke headed across the river toward Huguenot Road, winding here and there, cutting over to Forest Hill, avoiding tolls whenever he could. Weed had gotten very quiet. He dried his eyes and kept his legs tightly crossed. The kid was so puny his Nikes barely touched the floor. Smoke knew all about timing. He knew exactly how to make people do what he wanted.

“Feeling better?” Smoke asked, turning down 2 Pac.

“Yes,” Weed politely answered.

They were on Midlothian Turnpike now, passing German School Road.

“You know what an oath is?” Smoke asked.

He was nice now, relaxed and taking his time, as if they were going out for a hamburger or just cruising.

“No,” Weed softly answered.

“You need to speak up,” Smoke said. “I can hardly hear you.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Weed said more loudly.

“You ever been a Boy Scout?”

“No.”

“Well, to be one you got to take an oath. On my honor I promise to do my best and on and on, whatever. That’s an oath. Something you swear to, and if you break it, something really bad happens.”

Businesses along this stretch of Midlothian Turnpike were all about cars and trucks and everything that went with them. A Cheers restaurant had gone out of business, and an adult bookstore had only one car in the lot. Smoke cut up an unpaved side street and drove through the middle of a trailer park, where balding, muddy yards were littered with metal chairs, flowerpots and ceramic lawn ornaments. Scrawny cats darted out of the way. Wind chimes tinkled, and parked trucks reflected the sun.

They turned into the cracked, weed-infested parking lot of the Southside Motel, which had been out of business and boarded up for years. A chain was strung across either end of the drive leading into it, air conditioning units outside the rooms rusted, a breeze sucking dingy white curtains in and out of broken windows. Junipers had grown out of control in clumps, shielding entire blocks of rooms, and grass was dead and treacherous with broken glass. Smoke drove around to the back of the motel and parked next to a Dumpster.

“Remember when I drove you through here last week?” Smoke said. “Remember, the first rule is, nobody parks back here. You see all the No Trespassing signs?”