Here is what happened when we went into the barn—me, I mean, and Jeff and Ed P. and Harry Mac.
Jeff led the way. Ed P. and Harry Mac followed. For another minute or so, I couldn’t do much but stand there by the Camaro, gripping my stomach and trying not to throw up. I was in pretty bad shape at this point. My gut hurt from Jeff punching me, my face hurt from Jeff slapping me, my hand hurt from having splinters in it, my shoulder hurt from falling on it when Harry Mac tripped me, and my lungs ached from running so hard. Plus I had a whole bunch of other assorted cuts and bruises to show for my afternoon’s adventures.
More than that, my brain was kind of swirling. I knew it was not a good idea to be hanging around with these guys. But for the reasons I’ve already explained, I was kind of—I don’t know—curious about what was going to happen next. It was interesting. It was exciting. It was just the sort of thing a preacher’s kid wouldn’t do.
So after another moment of recuperating and catching my breath, I straightened up and followed the three of them over the sandy driveway to the barn.
Jeff was unlocking a padlock that held the barn’s big door closed. Then Ed P. took hold of the door and sort of walked it open. Inside, it was dark and shadowy.
“Get her going,” said Jeff to Ed P.
Ed P. squatted down just inside the door. I could see him yanking at something—the way you yank on the cord of a lawn mower or a motorboat. After a couple of yanks, I heard a gas engine rumble to life. I guessed what it was: a portable generator. Sure enough, a moment later some lights flickered on inside the barn.
Jeff turned to me and grinned and made a grand gesture, sweeping his hand toward the barn as if to say: Enter a world of enchantment.
Which I did.
The first things I noticed inside the barn—the first things anyone would have noticed—were two cars. Very, very nice cars. Luxury cars, like something some of the richer people in town might have driven. One was a great big black Audi, brand-new. The other was smaller, a cool, sleek silver Mercedes, also new. The barn was lit by these hooded lamps held up on tall silver poles, and the bulbs were directed at the cars so that the cars were sort of spotlighted as if they were on display.
“Whoa!” I said. I moved around the two cars, staring at them. I don’t mind saying I was impressed. My dad drives a Volkswagen Passat. It’s about five years old and kind of rattles when it gets up past fifty miles an hour. My mom drives a clunky minivan that I think dates back to cowboy-and-Indian days. I have a learner’s permit and I get to drive the Passat sometimes, but mostly I still get around on a bike. Staring at the Audi and the Mercedes in the barn, I was mesmerized. I forgot all my aches and pains as I imagined what it would be like to sit behind the wheel of one of these babies, to drive one of them through town with everybody standing back to admire me.
The rest of the barn was mostly clutter and dust. A hard-packed earth floor. Tangled extension cords. There was also a small sitting area in one shadowy corner. There were a bunch of old office chairs there—swivel chairs with torn upholstery—plus an old sofa that looked like someone had rescued it from a garbage dump. There was a small cooler too, a big white Styrofoam box with a blue Styrofoam lid on it.
Jeff plunked down on one of the chairs. He sprawled in it like a drunken king on his throne. He swiveled back and forth. Finally, he leaned back and pried the top off the cooler so that it slipped over and stood slanted, leaning against the cooler’s side. He reached into the box and pulled out a can of beer. He tossed it to me—so quick, I caught it kind of automatically. I held on to it for a second and then tossed it away again to Harry Mac.
Jeff laughed at me. “You’re not gonna tell me you don’t drink, are you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m gonna let you guess.”
Everyone stopped moving. Harry Mac and Ed P. looked at Jeff to see if he was going to get angry at me for being a wise guy. But after a second, Jeff laughed.
“S’what I’m talking about,” he said to Harry Mac, pointing at me. “He’s a tough little punk. I like that.”
Now that they knew what they were supposed to think, Harry Mac and Ed P. nodded in appreciation of my tough little punkitude. Jeff tossed Ed P. a can of beer and took one for himself. The barn popped and hissed as they tore open their tabs.
“So,” said Jeff, kicking back in his chair. “What do you think, punk?” He was indicating the cars now. “They’re nice, aren’t they?”
I looked the two cars over some more. I nodded. “They’re nice, all right,” I said.
“Which one you like best?” Jeff asked me.
I moved around in front of them, examined their fenders.
“I guess if I had to choose one, I’d take the Audi,” I said. “It has this feeling about it like . . .” I couldn’t think of the right word.
“Money,” Jeff said, nodding at it. “It feels like money. It’s a money car.”
I nodded too. He was right. That’s what it was. It was the sort of big limo-like car people drove when they had a lot of money.
“Get in,” said Jeff.
I looked at him, uncertain, excited. Did he mean it?
He lifted his chin at the car. “Go ahead. Get in the car. See what it feels like.”
I shrugged. Why not? I thought. I went over to the Audi and tugged on the handle. The door didn’t open.
I glanced over at Jeff.
“It’s locked,” I said.
“Is it?” said Jeff—though I was pretty sure he already knew it was. He gestured at Harry Mac with his beer can. “Sam says the car is locked, Harry.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry Mac answered dully. Harry said everything dully. He had the kind of voice where, the minute you heard it, you knew he had the same insight and intelligence and sensitivity as a clump of dirt. “That’s too bad.”
“Well, don’t just stand there, man,” Jeff Winger said to him. “Teach our new friend Sam how you get into a car when it’s locked.”
Harry Mac slowly understood and slowly smiled. He walked over to the Audi—no, he swaggered over to the Audi—swaggered like he felt like a big man because Jeff had given him this important task. He was wearing a black hoodie. He reached inside its pocket and pulled out a tool: something sort of like a Leatherman, one of those tools with multiple blades and extensions. He held it up to me.
“Know what we call this?” he said.
I shook my head.
“We call it Buster,” said Harry Mac. “Know why?”
I shook my head again.
“Because it busts into things. Watch.”
I watched. Harry Mac unfolded a long thin blade from the Buster. He worked it smoothly through the edge of the Audi’s window. A moment later, the door clicked open.
“Cool, huh?” said Jeff from his chair.
I nodded. Because I had to admit: it was pretty cool. It was just the kind of thing I wanted to see. The kind of not-too-good thing a preacher’s kid never does see.
“Now watch this,” said Harry Mac.
I leaned in at the door and watched as Harry Mac lay down on the front seat and reached under the steering wheel. Using another of Buster’s extensions, he worked behind the dashboard panel for a moment. Then suddenly, with a thrilling roar, the Audi’s engine started.
Harry Mac sat up and held up the Buster for me to examine. “Easy-peasy, right?” he said.
Jeff laughed with delight. “You should see the look on your face, punk.” Then he gestured with the beer can at Harry. “Shut it off,” he said.
Harry Mac used the Buster to turn the engine off. He got out and shut the car door. It let out a tone as it locked.
“Now you do it,” said Jeff.
Startled, I turned to him. “Me?” I said.
“Sure. Show him how to pop the door, Harry.”
It didn’t take long. In just a few minutes, Harry taught me how to use the Buster’s blade to unlock the Audi. I got in the car and sat behind the wheel. Oh, man, it was nice! A nice feeling. Soft, soft leather seats. This great, fresh, sweet smell like it was brand-new, straight from the factory. And with the built-in GPS monitor and the elaborate radio and temperature controls, the dashboard looked like something you’d see in the cockpit of a jet.
I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the steering wheel. It was easy to imagine sailing down the highway in this beauty. Not likely to happen in real life. When I got my driver’s license, I’d be lucky if I would occasionally get to borrow the Passat like my older brother sometimes did. Pretty doubtful I would ever get to drive something like this.
“Now show him how to start it,” said Jeff.
Harry Mac showed me how to use the Buster again. When I made the Audi roar to life on my own, I laughed out loud. It was an incredibly exciting feeling to have that big machine smoothly humming around me. It made me feel powerful, like now I could get into any car I wanted anytime.
Jeff got out of his chair. He carried his beer over to the open door of the car. He looked in at me with his weaselly eyes. He pointed his chin at the Buster I was still holding in one hand.
“There’s a lot more that thing can do, punk. Wanna see?”
I looked up at him. The car hummed around me. Everything felt exciting, dangerous, different from anything I’d done before.
I thought to myself: Hey, what’s the harm? It’s not like I’m stealing anything. The cars are already here.
“Sure,” I said out loud. “Show me.”