On a cooler day, Gus might have wondered who would have been crazy enough to build a wrecking yard on a lot that could be developed into multimillion-dollar-view homes. But the heat of the sun made it clear why that had never happened. The canyon directly below the yard was Santa Barbara’s most active landfill, and the stench of rotting garbage made breathing almost impossible.

Now they were finally at the impound yard, and Shawn was still trying to get Gus to respond.

“So you really think this is my fault?” Shawn said. “You’re going to blame me?”

Gus grabbed the fence and pressed his face against the links. Autos stretched out across acres. In the middle of the lot, like the god the cars all worshipped, a yellow crane towered over the car crusher.

Gus searched the lot for a sign of blue.

“No,” Gus said. “I’m going to blame myself. You’ve been taking advantage of me since we were kids. It’s my fault for letting you.”

“Well, as long as you’re not blaming me,” Shawn said.

In the far distance, Gus saw a glint of blue metal. The roof of his Echo seemed to be calling to him for help.

“There it is,” Gus said. “It looks so lonely.”

“It’s got all those other cars to play with,” Shawn said. “It’s probably having a great time-won’t ever want to come home.”

Gus thrust his finger at Shawn’s face. “We’re getting the Echo now.” Without waiting to see if Shawn was following, he turned and marched down the fence toward the impound lot’s entrance.

A small tin building stood at the far end of the fence. A sign on the door designated it as the office, which was helpful since otherwise it might be mistaken for the punishment box at an Alabama prison camp. Gus pushed open the door and was met by a searing blast of hot air.

“Close that damn door,” a voice growled from inside. “You’re letting the air-conditioning out.”