“Let’s just make sure that cop car’s not in the area,” Curt said. He took out his radio and checked with each of the other groups. When he got an all clear, he slipped the bolt cutters out from his jacket and made short work of the padlock. He gave the cutters to Steve before yanking off the broken lock. The gate squeaked as he pushed it open.

“Let’s make this fast,” Curt said as the three jogged to the pickup truck.

Steve raised the edge of the tarpaulin. Even in the moonlight, Curt and Steve recognized the dark green of the Power Row Crop Duster.

“All right, go to work,” Curt said to Mike and Clark.

Clark deftly wielded the Slim Jim between the driver’s side window and the truck’s side panel. Instantly the door unlocked. He looked over at Mike.

“Open the door,” Mike said from where he was standing in front of the pickup. “If an alarm goes off, pop the hood.”

“Wait a second!” Curt said. “You mean to tell me an alarm might sound?”

“There’s no way to keep it from going off if there’s an alarm,” Mike said. “But it won’t go long provided I get under the hood.”

Curt scanned the neighborhood. As late as it was, there were still a few lights in the apartments across the street. Recognizing he had little choice, he nodded to Clark to go ahead. But he wasn’t happy.

The instant Clark opened the door, the truck’s horn began beeping and the headlights began flashing.

Clark popped the hood open. Mike put the flashlight on the engine. In seconds, though not soon enough for Curt, the horn stopped and the lights went out. Mike closed the hood as quietly as possible and came around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Clark was already leaning into the cab, expertly working under the steering column.

“I need the light,” Clark said. He stuck his hand out behind his back. Mike passed him the flashlight like a relay racer handing off a baton.

With his ears still ringing from the truck horn, Curt looked up and down the street. He half expected to see lights go on in windows all over the apartment building opposite. Instead his radio vibrated.

While Curt brought the communicator to his ear, the pickup truck engine turned over weakly.

“Shit, it sounds like the battery is low,” Clark said. He was now sitting behind the steering wheel. “This heap must have been parked here for a long time.”

Curt pressed the “listen” button. Nat’s voice came through, along with the usual static, saying that there was a problem.

“What kind of problem?” Curt demanded nervously.

“Kevin and Luke have taken off after a couple of fags,” Nat said.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Curt spat. “Go get them and get them back in your truck! And get the others, too.”