We move into the garage, although there’s barely enough room for all of us to stand in it. Tools and equipment are scattered across the tables between plates with crumbs and pizza crusts. A movie plays on the wall with Batman rappelling down a wall, but I don’t recognize the scene. Another remake?
Wombat pulls out a chair for Zoe and gestures for her to sit down but doesn’t give the rest of us the same courtesy. He grins the entire time, making puppy-dog eyes at her. The boy’s got it bad, and she has no idea.
“We need some money on our IDs too,” I say.
Wombat holds up a hand. “Hey now, no one said anything about making fake accounts too. That’s a whole ’nother deal.” He glances at Trent. “Unless you have another pack…”
“Nope, that was it,” Trent says.
Looks like cigarettes can only ge
