3
The last thing Lucas had counted on was driving all the way down here to Jerome, only to be turned away at the door to the hall where the Halloween dance was being held.
“Sorry, man,” said the kid at the door, who was wearing an old-fashioned black and white striped prison uniform. “We were sold out by eight-thirty. Better luck next year.”
Luck. There was a joke. His much-vaunted luck hadn’t helped him out much in this situation.
It passed briefly through his mind to try pulling a Damon, to rise to his full height and demand, “Do you know who I am?” But this was probably the last place in the world a trick like that would work, and so he’d only muttered, “It’s fine,” and then moved a few paces away from the building so he could gather his thoughts. Turning around and going straight b
