Kids These Days by Drew Perry Page A

just tell.
    â€œBut he doesn’t seem the type for jail,” I said.
    â€œWhat is the type?”
    â€œFiercer?” I said.
    She chewed on her lip. “Walter,” she said, twisting in her seat. “The check. Do you think they can trace the check?”
    â€œDo I think they can what?”
    â€œThe police. The check. Do you think we’re in this?”
    â€œOK,” I said. “Wait. We don’t even know if there’s a ‘this’ to be in. And, yeah, they can trace the check. We deposited it. It’s ours. But we haven’t done anything. If somebody needs the check back, we’ll give it back. That’s all.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    â€œWhen you were with him,” she said. “When you were with him, did you see anything like this?”
    â€œAre you asking me if I’ve been dealing marijuana for a week without telling you?”
    â€œI’m asking you if there’s anything you know about. Anything you haven’t told me.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Jesus Christ. I mean, I can’t figure out exactly how all his money works, but we haven’t been in any gunfights in the town square, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    â€œThat’s not what I’m asking.”
    â€œWhat are you asking?”
    â€œI’m not. I’m not asking anything.”
    I changed lanes, passed two trucks carrying culverts, worked a little bit on the math of what might be happening to me, to us, to Mid. Whatever it was, it was not good. Only motivational speakers and singers were better off for having gone to jail. For your average pizza house owner, jail time was probably not R&D.
    â€œHow could he do this to her?” she said.
    â€œWe don’t know if he did.”
    â€œHe did something.” She put the ultrasound pictures in the glove compartment. “Also, what was going on with the smoothies?”
    â€œThey were named after explorers. They were all combo deals.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI didn’t ask.”
    She said, “Don’t ever get arrested, OK? Don’t ever make anybody come to jail to get you. This is awful.”
    â€œI’ll try.”
    â€œI’m not kidding around. You don’t get to go to jail. Neither of us does.”
    â€œI bet he didn’t choose this,” I said. “I bet this isn’t what he had in mind for today.”
    â€œI still want us to make a rule.”
    â€œOK,” I said. “It’s a rule.”
    â€œThank you,” she said, and right then it occurred to me that if I’d been riding with him that morning, chances seemed better than average that whatever it was that had happened to him at Island Pizza would have happened to me, too.

    The jail was a low cinderblock building set into scrub, with grassy areas cleared out all around. It was also the sheriff’s office, the DMV, the courthouse, the tax and tag, and city hall. It took us four tries to find the right door.
    The inside was nowhere near as nice as the waiting room at Varden’s office, but it was the same basic idea: chairs and a window with somebody official behind it. You gave your name, you sat down, you held tight. Carolyn was already signed in on the register. We assumed she was in the back, wherever that was, with Mid. We were the only ones in the room. “I hate it here,” Alice said.
    I said, “I think you’re supposed to.” The woman behind the glass looked up at us and frowned. There was a Coke machine off in the corner, unplugged, its door half-open. There wasn’t anything in it except a few cans of Tab. I asked Alice if she wanted one.
    â€œThey won’t be cold,” she said.
    â€œStill,” I said. “They’re right there.”
    â€œYou can’t just take one,” she said. “You can’t steal from a jail.”
    I went back up to the desk. “Do you have a water