Caravan of Thieves Read Online Free PDF

hated every minute that I lived with Janie, hated most of my childhood, but I was thrilled at that moment to be back in that childhood. The moment I broke free, I felt superior, in charge of the game, as if I had fooled somebody.
    I cut out in front, crossed the street, and went through two yards to the next street over. From there it was a short sprint to the mall. I was in the parking lot, searching for an open car, when I turned and saw Pongo and Perdy across the boulevard, coming toward me. I ran toward the mall and knew I would make it easily,but Shaw pulled out in the SUV and blocked my way. The window was down.
    “Get in.” I hesitated. Shaw said, “If you jump right in, we can lose them and go on our way. If you wait…”
    I didn’t wait. And I didn’t look back to see the looks on Pongo’s and Perdy’s faces.
    “Janie told us you usually headed for the mall,” Shaw said. Then he tossed the photo from Dan’s office in my lap. “Pretty good photographer to make her look like that. Where are we going?”

6.
    I was sixteen and back sharing an apartment with Dan in Albuquerque. One night I came home around eleven and I noticed two rough-looking guys sitting in a car across the street. The apartment was dark when I walked in. Dan grabbed me immediately and whispered, “Don’t turn on any lights.” He counted out two hundred dollars. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. If anyone asks for me, just tell them you haven’t seen me.”
    “Where are you going?”
    There was no light, but my eyes had adjusted enough to be able to see his charming smile reshape his face, the smile he gave to someone who asked a completely stupid question. It was a mix of condescension and benevolence, which is pretty tough to stand from a scumbag. “I’ll be back in a few weeks.” And he counted out another hundred dollars.
    I went into my room and pocketed my utility tool. I learned a couple of years before not to carry any kind of knife, not even a Swiss Army knife, even if you’re using it to butter your bread. Dandid not ask me where I was going when I left the apartment. The rough guys were still in the car across the street. Could have been cops, could have been bad guys. Didn’t matter much. I walked a few blocks to Lomas Boulevard and strolled along until I saw a dark-blue Chevy up on Fifth Street. I broke in and stole the car. First thing I did was fill it up because I figured the trip was probably long and the biggest problem would be pit stops. Then I drove to the back of the apartment building, around the corner from Dan’s car. Around three a.m., Dan snuck out the back.
    He drove west through Gallup and then turned north. I pulled off the highway a few times, then got back on at the same interchange. It was worth the risk of losing him to avoid having him make me. Truckers dominated the road in long packs that shifted positions according to mysterious rules. I hid behind them, just peeking out occasionally to keep Dan in range. He went all the way into Utah, toward Moab. Before dawn he turned west and pretty soon we were the only two cars on the road. I pulled off, found a gas station and a map. It looked like Dan was heading for Lake Powell, which I tried to turn into a logical deduction by remembering that he once mentioned having been in the Navy.
    It took me almost a week to find him, running my rented speedboat up and down the coves and inlets of the lake and the Escalante River and, finally, the San Juan River. Not far up the San Juan I had to stop. There were rapids ahead. I pulled off as close as I could get and climbed a bit on the rocks to where I could see beyond the rapids. The river curved and smoothed out and widened for a while. There were no boaters and no rafters. These rapids weren’t featured on the map I had, so I guessed that meantthe tours didn’t bother with them. I climbed all the way up to the plateau. Far up the river, I could see a small houseboat moored near a beach. I knew it was