“I don’t know. The whole thing sounds strange to me.” I handed the paper back.

Mason shrugged off my intuition and tugged me back down the street. He whistled loudly and waved his hand, hailing a taxi to a quick stop.

We climbed into the yellow cab. The gray-haired driver looked us over as we climbed into the backseat.

“Where we heading?” he asked, looking back and throwing a flabby, hairy arm across the seat.

“This address right here,” Mason said, handing over the paper.

“Humph,” the man grunted.

I looked at Mason to see if he caught the driver’s response to the address he saw written on the paper.

He was lost in his thoughts as he stared out the window. He was a man on a mission. I couldn’t understand the point of it. His thoughts of taking whatever it was he was supposed to pick up away from Payton was just stupid. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t find out—these people we were her friends.

We rode for about twenty minutes before we reached our destination. We ended up on a long stretch of road with only a few little houses on one side. On the other side was what looked to be some kind of factory nestled in beside an old junk yard surrounded by a rickety old fence.

The cab driver looked back at us, not willing to let us leave until we paid him. I nudged Mason back to life. He was busy looking out his window taking everything in.

“Here, keep the change,” he said handing over the money. “Which one is it?”

The old man cleared his throat. He rubbed a hand across his gray stubble and pointed toward the junkyard.

“Have a nice day,” he said, driving off.

The tone of his voice told me he didn’t mean it at all. My heart sped up at the realization we were alone now on this barren street.

“It’ll be fine,” Mason said, taking my hand. He sensed my apprehension. “I’m sure we can walk a ways up the road and find someone to take us back.”

I nodded as we headed across the street. As we got closer to the fence that surrounded the entire junkyard, I felt so small below the towering gate. A big red sign hung above our heads, silently swaying back and forth with the breeze.

“Gary Stingy junk and parts,” I read aloud. “That name sound familiar to you?”

Mason looked up and shook his head. Great.

Mason rattled the fence, sending several snarling dogs barking. He looked around for any signs of life—it seemed abandoned. I looked around until my eyes settled on an intercom. I pressed the button and a buzz swirled through the air.

Mason stepped back, releasing his hold on the fence.

The intercom cracked and hissed as if it were on its last leg.

“Can I help you?” someone asked.

I couldn’t gauge the age of the voice at all. I crossed my arms and let Mason do the talking.

“I’m here for Payton,” Mason said, short and to the point. He tapped the fence. It was obvious he was as antsy as I was.

“I’ll be right there,” the voice said, leaving us in silence.

Mason ran a hand through his hair. He paced back and forth and finally came to a stop when we both caught sight of the man coming toward us. He was massive, covered in blue jean overalls. His hair fluttered in the wind. And the black rubber gloves that ran all the way to his elbows shook with each step. He looked like the killer in those horror movies I used to watch.

As I looked around, I realized the whole setting could have been from one of those horror movies.

“I hope you’re lucky today,” I mumbled.

“You say Payton?” the man asked standing before us now. He towered over us both. He rubbed at his face, streaks of dirt and lord knows what else etched his features. His other hand was holding a blowtorch. I prayed it was used for an honest living and not torturing people like us.

“Yeah, I said Payton,” Mason said, giving a quick nod.

The man brought his hand above his head and unhooked the gate. It rattled and clanged before screeching open.

“I thought she had second thoughts,” he said to no one in particular. He slammed the gate shut, getting the dogs revved up again. Cars were stacked on top of each other in glorious heaps.

“Who are you exactly?” he asked, staring down at the two of us. We were heading toward a beat up trailer, its siding in appalling condition.

“I’m Payton’s son, Mason,” Mason said, extending his hand toward the grizzly man. He removed a glove and shoved his grease-caked fingernails in Mason’s direction, accepting his handshake.

“That’s right.” He shook his head as if he understood now. He opened up the trailer door, letting us in first.

I held tight to Mason’s shirt as we went inside. My breath caught in my chest at the stale smell of dust and cigarettes.

“Have a seat,” he said, going behind an old brown desk stacked to the ceiling with papers.

I looked around at the makeshift office, staying at the very edge of my seat. I wasn’t about to get comfortable. Its cracked plastic stabbed my thigh. I nervously intertwined my fingers, totally unnerved but trying to keep it together.

Mason sat down next to me, his chair falling sideways—it was missing a leg. If I hadn’t been so nervous, it would have been funny.

“Well, give me a couple minutes to get things together. Like I said, I didn’t think she was having you come.” He stood up and left the trailer, his feet pounded against the floor with hard thuds.

I looked at Mason the minute we were alone. I really hoped he wasn’t as stupid as he was acting right now.

“This doesn’t feel right, Mason,” I said as soon as we were alone.

Mason looked at me, his expression unchanging. He was trying to make sense of it, of everything that was happening. I had already and I knew it wasn’t good.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but something isn’t right. We shouldn’t be here.” I stopped talking as soon as the door opened. The man who’d just been here came back in carrying a black duffle bag. Another man followed in behind him.

He stood in the doorway, his muscular frame evident from the sunlight coming in through the windows. He was a tall man, handsome and tan—the complete opposite of the grizzly man with the duffle bag. I looked over at him and a small smile flashed across his face as we locked eyes. I didn’t smile back. He was blocking the door for some reason and I knew it couldn’t be good.

“Well, come take a look. Your mom asked for my best,” he said, waving Mason over.

Mason grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me up with him. I looked at the scary man, his expression stayed the same. We both peered into the bag at the same time. The bag contained a large variety of handguns and shotguns.

That certainly didn’t make me feel any better.

“Guns,” Mason said.

“That’s my specialty,” he said, rifling through the bag. He pulled out a long black case, brandishing a large knife. I swear it was sharp enough to kill a bear with one swipe. “And knives.”

“I don’t know what she’s looking for and I don’t have any money.” Mason backed up.

I looked around the room knowing the only way we were leaving was if we could get past the man blocking the door. “That makes sense seeing your mom told us to forget it,” the man at the door said. He stepped forward, eying the two of us.

“Yeah, she told us you were a piece of work. Mom knows best right? She assumed you’d still show up though,” the grizzly man said.

Mason shrugged.

I looked around the room for anything I might grab to defend myself in case things turned ugly.

“We can leave,” Mason proposed as he took my hand. “Come on, Kendall.”

I stayed where I was. That was a stupid assumption on Mason’s part because we weren’t going anywhere.

“No, I don’t think so, Mason,” the handsome one said. He touched my hair, letting it slip through his fingers. He seemed amused with our dilemma.

“Look, Kendall has nothing to do with my mom and me,” Mason said.