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"I'm asking what you would charge to take me all the way across the country. And your reflex is going to be to say no amount of money be cause I'm talking about totally putting your life on hold for more than a week, without notice. Restaurants, hotels, lost business, canceled Fourth of July plans, additional stress—it's a lot to ask. But I'm willing to pay a lot. Or rather, my employer is willing to pay a lot. Look."

She twisted around and dug into a tattered duffel bag that Abbott hadn't previously noticed. When she came back around, she was holding two thick folds of cash, each bound with rubber bands. He physically recoiled at the sight of it, mainly because not a single reasonable person has ever carried money that way.

"This is one hundred thousand dollars," she said, waving the cash around like a mind-control amulet. "The guy who hired me has this kind of money to throw around, and no, he's not a criminal, he's a legitimate rich guy, if such a thing exists. No, I can't tell you who he is. All I can tell you is that he needs this box by the Fourth at the latest, and it has to be kept quiet. Today is Thursday. We can make it easily; we don't even have to travel overnight. Four days of leisurely driving and we'll get there Sunday evening, no problem. One hundred K is my starting offer for you to make this drive. Make me a counteroffer."

At this stage, Abbott was considering this request in the exact same way he'd have considered a request to be transported to Venus in exchange for a baggie of rat turds: He just wanted out of the crazy conversation as quickly and safely as possible.

He said, "I'm sure there are plenty of people within a few miles of here, probably a million of them, who'd love to take you up on this. But I really can't. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No. No, you're perfect for this, I can tell already. And I can't keep asking people; I have to get on the road, and I have to do it now. The more drivers I have to ask, the more people know about this, and that's bad. Secrecy is part of what I'm paying for. And I'm not crazy, I know how I look. Though I will have to tell you about the worms at some point. But no, I'm dressed like this for a reason. How about one fifty?"

A third fold of cash was added, and Abbott had to force himself to look away from it. He prided himself on not being enslaved to mindless greed, but way back at the rear of his noisy brain was a tiny voice pointing out that this amount of money would let him move out on his own and tell his father to fuck off (though it would definitely have to be done in that order). It would be freedom, for literally the first time in his life. He imagined a factory farm pig escaping into a sunny green pasture and seeing the clear blue sky for the first time. Though he was having trouble imagining the pig looking up. Could pigs do that? He'd have to google it later. Wait, what did she say about worms?

The woman grinned and sat up straighter, the posture of an angler who's just seen the bobber plop under the surface. It kind of made Abbott want to refuse just to spite her.

"But there are rules," she said, a finger in the air. "You can't look in the box. You can't ask me what's in the box. And you can't tell anyone where we're going until it's over. After that, you can tell anyone anything you like. But no one can come looking for us."

"Well, there's certainly nothing weird or suspicious about that. So, why don't you just rent a car and drive yourself?"

"No driver's license. I used to have one, but the government took it away. They said, You're too good of a driver, it's making the other drivers look bad, you're hurting their self-esteem."

"I just...I really can't, sorry. You say I'm perfect for this, but I assure you I'm the absolute perfect person to not do it. That's, what, like, fifty hours of driving? I don't even like to drive for one hour."

"You drive for a living!"

"Oh, I just started doing this a couple months ago to—"

"I'm just teasing you. I know you probably didn't grow up dressing as a Lyft driver for Halloween. But no, you're my guy. You're not married, right? I don't see a ring. No kids, I can see it on your face. If you have another job, it's one you can walk away from; it's not a 401(k)-and-health-insurance situation. You probably live with a parent, so even if you have pets, there's somebody to feed them while you're away. You're old enough that nobody's going to assume you were abducted. You're, what, twenty-four? Around there?"

"Twenty-six. Did you just deduce all that on the fly?"