“Where the hell are we going?” I said.
“I’m not a vagrant, Finlay,” I said. “I’m a hobo. Big difference.”
“It’s you, me and Roscoe,” I said. “Right now, the only safe thing is to assume everybody else is involved.”
“Would the bus driver remember?” Finlay said.
“No,” he said. “For another reason altogether. It’s like a window of vulnerability is wide open right now. An exposure. It’s been very risky, getting worse all the time. But now it could go either way. If we get through it, nobody will ever know anything. But if we don’t get through it, it’ll be the biggest sensation you ever heard of, believe me. Either way, it’s going to be a close call.”
He stood up and leaned on the wall. Rested his foot on the edge of the steel toilet pan. Looked at me. Wouldn’t answer. Now for the big question.