Page 21 of Kane

“For what?” I ask, over the engine.

“Cards are trackable,” he says. “Whoever’s after you, looking for you? If they’re actively searching for you, they’ll know we were here, the gas station. I keep using my card, I may as well leave a trail of signs pointing right to us. Can’t trace cash, babe.”

“How do you know this?” I ask.

He just grins at me over his shoulder. “I ain’t always been a Boy Scout.”

“I do not know what that means.”

“I haven’t always…” He bobs his head side to side. “Operated on the right side of the law, let’s just say.”

I cannot help a gasp of shock. “You mean…you are anoutlaw?” It comes out a little too pleased, but it is very exciting to me.

Everything about him is exciting. He is an adventure, and my life has been totally boring.

He laughs. “I guess you could say that, yeah.” He laughs again, louder. “Don’t sound so excited—most folks wouldn’t consider it a good thing.”

“I am not most people, Kane.”

A snort. “Yeah, babe, I’m gettin’ that.” He kicks up the stand and puts one foot up, balances on the other. “Ready?”

I cling tighter. “Ready.”

We go to an ATM and he withdraws a large stack of cash. Then to a different bank, more cash. The third bank, he goes to the drive-through teller window and requests a withdrawal, and some rubber bands. The last thing he does is sort the cash into rolls, binds them with rubber bands, and shoves most of them into the bags of his motorcycle. A few, he pockets. One he hands to me.

“Pocket. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” I ask, peering at it. “Why would I need money?”

He shakes his head. “Babe.” Another amused scold, perhaps?

I frown. “This word, it means many things to you. I cannot translate them all.”

“We get separated, you need money. You ain’t got ID, you ain’t got a phone. Very least, you need some cash.” He frowns at me, but it is curious, puzzled. “You tried to walk out of the store without paying, and now you’re looking at a roll of cash like you ain’t ever seen it before.”

“I do not have money, Kane. I have an identification card, but that is all, and I have never used it.”

“So how do you buy shit?”

I shrug. “I do not.”

He blinks. “Explain.”

We’re in the parking lot of the bank, engine idling, standing beside the machine.

I shrug. “I have no need. All is done for me by my Pappa, or his men. If I wish to purchase something, I make my selections and…I do not know. Someone else deals with it.”

“You don’t have a driver’s license?”

I laugh. “My goodness, no. Of course not.”

His eyebrow lifts. “You laugh like it’s a crazy question.”

“It is, Kane. I am not allowed todrive.”

“Notallowed?”

“Oh no. Of course not. It would not be proper. It is simply not done.”