19
Shelter
“Tell me again,” said Jake, “how it was wrong to take the old man’s van, but it was right to take the hippie’s car.”
Mort was driving. They were north of Redding, California, on Interstate Five, heading into the mountains that would take them over the pass and into Oregon.
“Gordon was an okay guy,” said Mort. “He was like our friend. He gave us a ride, a long one, and he gave us food, and he told us about his life.”
“The hippie guy gave us a ride.”
“But no food or stories.”
“Stories?”
“About what he stole.”
“The watch, you mean?” said Jake.
“Yeah, the watch. And the money. It was obviously a big deal to him, hard to tell it, but he told us.”
“That’s the difference?” said Jake, obviously doubting it could be the difference.
“Louisa always told me you don’t piss where
