Skunk Train by Joe Clifford

Author:Joe Clifford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When they got to AutoReturn, Lizzie ached to prove Melanie wrong. Melanie liked to act like such a tough, big city chick, but that’s all it was: an act. Within her own circle, she could push people around, which she’d been doing to Lizzie for years. Lizzie hated admitting, if even to herself, how little she’d miss her when she went to Occidental.

True, Melanie hadn’t gotten the breaks Lizzie had, but how was that Lizzie’s fault? Other people being happier than Melanie, which was damn near everyone, pissed her off. She manipulated every circumstance in her favor, from splitting bills at restaurants to going in on gas, whatever she had to do to level a make-believe playing field. Melanie couldn’t believe anyone else was honest and forthright. In her world, trust equated to stupidity.

Except when they stepped inside the impound office, the situation became clear. Something wasn’t right.

Forget the depressing-as-shit atmosphere, the phony empathetic posters plastered on the wall—they had pictures of people crying, tearing their hair out, with reassurances that the city understood how frustrating it must be to lose your car—when they were the ones who’d taken it. Only in San Francisco would they try to turn having your car towed into a teachable moment. Even on a Sunday, the place drew a crowd, hungover hipsters paying the price for trying to squeeze in and make one last Guerrero Street bar before closing time.

When one of the windows opened, Lizzie, in a show of faith, and perhaps to show up Melanie, handed over her credit card to the man behind the glass. Lizzie even chastised the man for being rude to her friend yesterday, but Kyle explained it was a different guy. Still the man apologized and said he’d be happy to help. Then he asked for Kyle’s license, which was when things began turning weird. Kyle didn’t have one.

The other three looked at each other.

The man stared.

“I lost my wallet.”

“Do you have a license number?”

Kyle didn’t say anything.

“How old are you, son?” the man asked.

“He’s sixteen,” Lizzie said.

“I’m fifteen.”

Melanie snickered.

“I’ll be sixteen soon.”

“So you don’t have a license?” the man said.

“Technically? No.”

“What do you mean ‘technically’? Either you have one or you don’t.”

“Then I don’t. I have a learner’s permit. I’m not from here.” Kyle waited. “I live up north. Like by Willits.”

“Which means you can’t drive on the highway to get down here,” the man said. “Let’s see the permit.”

“Told you. I lost my wallet.”

The man behind the counter looked at Lizzie, who could only shrug. “Okay, kid,” he said. “Let’s try this another way. What’s your last name?”

Kyle spelled it out and the man typed it in.

Lizzie didn’t like where this was going.

“No truck under that name, sorry. You sure it was towed here?”

Kyle nodded.

“It wasn’t towed in Daly City or Fremont or somewhere else? Because this is just for cars towed within SF city limits.”

“It was towed here,” Kyle said, face turning red.

“Was this your mom’s car? Dad’s?”

Kyle shook his head no, as the customers behind them began to shuffle and moan.

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