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same steely gaze he had seen in his rearview mirror. The odor of alcohol exuded from Ty. Mark expected, but couldn’t detect, any scent of gasoline from the white canister that sat on the back seat.
    As they turned into the gas station, Mark anticipated what Ty might do. He’ll probably ask for cash again and try to ditch me, he thought. Ty had offered to walk back to their dry Chevy, carrying the canister. There was no way that this bony man would be able to lug a full, five-gallon gas canister back to the car. Mark decided that he would insist on putting gasoline into the canister, but would only give him a gallon and a half or two at most so that Ty couldn’t require a ride back. Besides, Ty had promised to walk back.
    After he parked at the pump, Mark got out fast, keeping a close eye on his passenger. A new wave of concern swept over him when Ty didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he remained in the back seat with the door closed, ducking his head as if to hide from view and then raising it again to look around at cars parked in the station’s lot—searching.
    Why hadn’t he just pressed down on his accelerator, shrinking these guys in his rearview mirror until they vanished from his life and, soon after, his memory? The safest scenario, in hindsight, would have been to call the con from within his locked car when the traffic light was green. Call it cowardly—it would have been the safer decision. He could have shouted through his window that their con was obvious and threatened to call the police. But in that case, he was certain they would simply flip him off and then hit another corner of the city where another traffic signal would freeze another set of naïve or intimidated contributors for a bounty of cash.
    The scenario that had the potential to be most satisfying was the one Mark chose: exposing them to their faces—irrefutably. But such satisfaction required proportionate risk and when he saw these cons, and realized the cash they were raking in by feigning need, the price seemed worth it.
    He rationalized that he would have been miserable if he had done nothing. The stinging regret of inaction was fresh and had rotted his insides for weeks. Since Carlos’s suicide, he wrestled his thoughts away from “what if” scenarios every day. Fantasies of intervening in time to save his friend interrupted his concentration many times each day. Mark felt shame for being a best friend who didn’t do enough to see and end his friend’s spiral into fatal discouragement.
    Now, faced with this con, he was driven to take action to avoid more regret. It could result in a small, yet significant triumph after weeks of self-punishment.
    He left his keys in the ignition and kept his driver’s door open so he could jump back in for a quick exit if need be. He swiped a debit card at the pump’s keypad—all while watching Ty, still crouched in the back seat.
    He leaned into the car and said, “A gallon or two ought to get you going, right?”
    Ty opened his door and got out, pulling the gas can out behind him. He circled behind the car, checking in all directions and dropped the can, a few inches from the concrete by Mark’s feet. It bounced and teetered a few times emitting a hollow plastic sound like a child’s toy drum. Ty looked in every direction except Mark’s.
    “You need a rest room?” Mark asked, as he inserted the pump nozzle into the canister. He knew that Ty didn’t need a restroom. He knew Ty was up to nothing good.
    “Naa,” Ty said. He looked toward Wilshire. Mark expected to see the old Chevy drive in at any moment.
    Mark squeezed the pump’s trigger. The reddish unleaded fuel pooled at the bottom and began rising up the sides of the canister.
    “How far you going?” Mark said.
    “Far.” Ty glanced down at the canister and nodded. “Real far.”
    “Well, it’s not much, but I hope this little bit will at least get you guys unstuck and part way there,” Mark said.
    Ty sucked his teeth