Chapter 13: A Saturday

"This one," Gus said.

The clock on the dashboard said 9:41.

"This Saturday is almost over," I said.

"It has two hours and nineteen minutes left," he said.

"Watching the clock is my job."

"Not tonight," he said, and started the truck.

The gas station on Route 9 stayed open all night and smelled like its own roller grill.

Gus bought one hot dog from a boy in a visor and put it in my hand.

A sign over the grill said $1.99.

I reached for my pocket, where I kept exact change for exactly this kind of ambush.

"That's counting," Gus said.

"It's paying."

"It's counting with a coin."

He closed my fingers around the bun, and I found I had lost an argument to a man who had not said anything clever.

I ate the hot dog. It was very good, and I couldn't write that down.

On the way out he bought a scratch-off ticket for five dollars and gave it to me with a dime.

I scratched it on the hood of the truck.

It paid ten dollars.

"Ten is yours," Gus said.

"Five of that is your stake."

"The ticket was a present. The prize is a present on top of a present."

"A present that pays out is a loan with interest."

"Ma'am," said the boy in the visor, through the door he had propped open to listen, "I get off at midnight and I'm not getting involved."

He counted ten singles into my palm. Gus folded my hand shut over them.

"Take it," Gus said.

I took it. I had never held ten dollars I didn't owe somebody.

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