The Carrier by Preston Lang

The student walked back in the
bar.
    “ These kids. Spoiled
rotten,” the older man said.
    “ Yeah, I know
that.”
    Marcus’s phone rang.
    “ Okay, what’s going on?”
Danny asked.
    “ I think I found the
car.”
    “ What’s it look
like?”
    “ Another Toyota, Delaware
plates. No college stickers. Looks like a woman’s car. Light green
air freshener.”
    “ Did you put the tracker on
it?”
    “ Not yet.”
    “ Why not?”
    “ I’m not even sure it’s the
one.”
    “ Light green air freshener?
Jesus. Okay. Delaware. Well, we got to bet on something: put it
on.”
    “ Okay. I got to go back to
our car to get it.”
    “ You don’t have the tracker
on you?”
    “ No, I—”
    “ Okay, hurry up.”
    Marcus hung up the phone.
    “ You wouldn’t be law
enforcement, would you?” the old townie asked.
    “ Maybe you shouldn’t listen
in on people’s private phone calls,” Marcus snapped.
    When he got back to his car he could
tell something was wrong, even in the dark. The car looked shorter
somehow. The tires. He called Danny back on his cell
phone.
    “ The tires are slashed,” he
said.
    “ What do you
mean?”
    “ I mean, they’re slashed—all
of them.”
    “ On my car?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ How did they—you left the
car?”
    “ You said to get the
tracker.”
    “ They just slipped behind
you, slashed the tires?”
    “ I don’t know who did it.
All these college kids running around.”
    “ Okay. All right. Can we
drive it?” Danny asked.
    “ No, we can’t drive
it.”
    Danny made some odd grunts into the
phone. He didn’t have a quick answer for this one.
    “ Danny?”
    “ Okay. Go and put the
tracker on their car—the Delaware car.”
    “ Then what?”
    “ That’s step
one.”
    Danny hung up the phone, and Marcus
walked back to where the small Toyota with Delaware plates had been
parked, but when he got there he saw it was gone. He called Danny
again.
    “ They’re gone.”
    “ Damn it. All right. We can
do this. I’m going to get us a car,” Danny said. “Be ready to get
in.”
     
    ***
     
    Danny watched students stagger around
Main Street—yelling, flirting, laughing. Well, who’s got a car I
can borrow? There were all kinds of vehicles parked along the
street, some of them had kids sitting inside. If this was how it
was on a Monday night, things must get way out of hand on the
weekend. Probably one of these private schools where rich people
send their bad children to keep them out of trouble; but then they
end up in one big playpen with other bad, rich kids.
    Danny saw a young man, small-boned and
alone behind the wheel of a Lexus. Danny got in the passenger
seat.
    “ Hi,” he said, “I’m Dr.
Chun, assistant dean of student conduct.”
    “ What?”
    “ What department are you
in?”
    “ I—what?”
    “ Drive down Main Street,
son.”
    “ I’m—I’m waiting for my
friend.”
    “ Are you stoned?”
    “ I—what is this?”
    “ Start the engine, please,”
Danny said sternly, and to his great relief, the boy started the
engine.
    “ Mister, Dr. Chun, I don’t
know what this is. I’m not a—my friend and I are just going to go
to another friend’s place. We’re not—we haven’t—we don’t . .
.”
    “ I see. Can you take the
next left?”
    “ Please, sir. What can I
say?”
    “ Stop here.”
    The boy stopped the car, and Danny
gestured to Marcus to get in the back.
    “ This is Dr. Fields, the
comptroller. I think you know what this is about?”
    “ No. What’s going
on?”
    “ What do you think is going
on?”
    “ I think you’re . . . trying
to carjack me or something?”
    “ Why would the dean of
student conduct carjack you? Does that make any sense? Go ahead and
call the cops if that’s what you think.”
    The boy hesitated, then took out his
cell phone. Marcus grabbed it out of his hand and put it in his
pocket.
    “ Keep driving,” Danny
said.
    “ I don’t want to get
hurt.”
    “ Who does?”
    “ You’re not, like, a dean