Have you got enough room to reach in and cut them?” She brandishes the scissors from the glove compartment first aid kit. I hear snapping sounds. “I think that’s all of them,” she reports. “But how can we know for sure?” We get back in and turn on the radio. Dead air. We hit the road again, feeling a little bit safer. We still have to worry about the police in case the car is reported stolen. We drive clear through the center of Amarillo, and it seems as if we’re about to exit the town on the other side, since it looks like the suburbs again. All at once, Tori barks, “Stop!” right in my ear. I slam on the brakes, shaken. “What?” “Look!” She points to a high fence with a sign: NO TRESPASSING. “What about it?” I demand. She indicates a second sign, newer than the first. WAREHOUSE FOR LEASE 35,000 SQUARE FEET AVAILABLE MAY 8TH “Don’t you see?” she says urgently. “It’s what—the fifteenth? The sixteenth? It’s hard to stay on top of the
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