Cody looked out at the dark streets of Buffalo, blurred by the raindrops on the car window. The car was stuffy with heater air and the urine smell of stale cigarettes on Woody’s clothes. Woody drove with both hands, his lanky knees poking up on either side of the wheel. Cody cracked the window, and the rattle of the engine and the thudding wind filled the car.
“Close that, you’ll let the rain in,” said Woody, reaching a bony finger for the switch on the door.
“It’s hot,” said Cody.
Woody said nothing, he just reached down and flipped off the heat. Cody closed the window. The car was quiet. Woody poked at the radio knob and scanned through the stations.
Cody shifted in his seat. He and Woody had passed most of the hour drive in silence. Cody was restless. They just needed to get back to Niagara Falls, cross the border, and get to the drop point. Then he could walk away from Woody and his shitbox car forever, one thousand dollars richer.
“Take me home tonight,” murmured Woody, singing along to the radio. He reached into the cupholder and pulled out his cigarettes. He shook one out, put it to his lips, and lit it. The car filled with blue smoke. Cody’s eyes burned. He opened the window again. Woody didn’t say anything.
“Well, want anything before we leave America?” said Woody. “You know, they have different cereal here. Could stop at a CVS for ya.”
“We’d have to declare it,” said Cody. “I don’t want to get held up.”
Woody waved his cigarette. “Naw, you don’t have to declare stuff. They just ask you how much you spent, you give them a ballpark. Look, we got Target, Dunkin Donuts, there’s an L.L. Bean over there. We got none of this in Canada.”
“I’m good,” said Cody.
“Suit yourself,” said Woody. He turned the wheel, pulling off the road into a large strip mall.
“Where are you going?” said Cody.
“You know what’s cheap here? Liquor,” said Woody, coasting through the parking lot. “You can get a forty of vodka for like twenty bucks.”
“Yeah, because you have to pay duty,” said Cody. “Duty on a forty is like fifty bucks.”
Woody stared at him. “Jeez, for a guy smuggling bricks of coke across an international border, you’re real concerned about the import regulations.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.
“That’s why I am!” said Cody.. “Why complicate it! Let’s just go and get this done.”
“Relax,” said Woody. “Stay with the car.” He slammed the door and locked it with the key fob. Cody’s window was still cracked, and rain began to spatter through the gap.
Cody looked out at the unfamiliar landscape. It was all the same, an expanse of roads, parking lots, and box stores, but there were small differences. The traffic lights strung on wires. A slightly different typeface for the street signs. Unfamiliar logos on the stores. Hobby Lobby. Olive Garden. Sunoco. It all combined to press down on him, reminding him that he was far from home, in another country. Cut off. He had his phone on airplane mode to avoid roaming. He wondered if anyone wondered where he was.
It didn’t feel like this afternoon, getting off work at 2:30, that Woody had nudged him in the ribs, shown Cody a text on his ancient flip phone. “Chicken,” was all it said.
“What,” Cody had said, looking up at Woody. He glanced over his shoulder.
“This is my guy I was telling you about,” said Woody. “What are you doing the rest of the day? Want to make some real money?”
Now, sitting in the parking lot of the Liquor Depot, Cody watched as Woody slunk across the slick pavement, carrying a big bottle of vodka by the neck. Cody shook his head. As if they needed one more thing to worry about. Woody opened the side passenger door behind Cody, instead of going to the driver’s side.
“Can we go?” said Cody.
“Yeah, I just gotta stash this,” said Woody. He had the seat flipped back and was fiddling with the plastic side panel of the car’s interior.
“What are you doing? Don’t mess with that!” said Cody, twisting in his seat. “Come on, just put it under your seat or something.”
Woody continued prying the panel up, trying to pop it off. “Are you crazy? If they see the bottle, they’ll search the car. Will you fucking relax? I’ll just put it in here with the other stuff. Makes no difference.”
Cody craned his neck and watched as the panel popped off. Inside were two brown packages covered in tape, jammed in the space between the interior panel and sheet metal. Woody adjusted them, then set the bottle beside them.
“Dude, it won’t fit!” said Cody. Woody picked up the plastic panel and slotted the right side into place, then pushed on the left. It was held in place by plastic tabs that just clicked into place, but it took a bit of force to get it there. Woody hit it with the side of his fist. It caught, but bulged obviously.
“It looks fucked!” said Cody. “Come on, just take it out.”
“Relax,” snapped Woody. He clambered into the backseat of the car and kicked the panel to force it into place.
“If you break that–”
Crack. The panel flopped back against the seat cushion.
“Did you just break it?” said Cody. His ears rang. Woody pushed against the top of the panel uselessly.
“Shut the fuck up!” shouted Woody. “Of course I can’t fucking put it back with you whining constantly at me! You didn’t have to come, you know! Just turn around and shut the fuck up!”
Cody covered his face with his hands and leaned forward. Woody wrestled with the panel.
“We need some tape,” he said quietly from the backseat. “It’s just this tab snapped off.”
Cody said nothing. Woody went around the car and got in the driver’s seat. He started the engine and drove out to the street. Cody slowly twisted around and looked at the panel. It mostly fit, except the top corner sagged out, leaving a two-inch gap. To even the stupidest, least observant border guard, it would be an instant giveaway.
“We’re fucked,” said Cody. “Just let me out of the car.”
“There’s a Target,” said Woody, turning the wheel. “I’ll get some tape.”
“Okay, but I’m getting out,” said Cody. “I’m not doing this. I’ll take a cab across.”
Woody pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine.
“Wait here,” he said, opening his door.
“I won’t,” said Cody, unbuckling his seat belt.
“You will,” said Woody, staring at him. “We came across together. If we don’t come back together, that’s suspicious. They could search the car.”
“Not my problem,” said Cody. “We would have been fine if you hadn’t–”
“What do you think I’m gonna tell them if they search my car and find the drugs and you’re not there?” said Woody. “It is your problem. They know you’re here. And I’ll make damn sure they get you if they get me. So it is your problem. It is your problem. Just stay in the fucking car.”
He slammed the door and jogged toward the glowing Target entrance. Cody watched as the raindrops splatted against the windshield, growing heavier.
