“Are they a gang?” Peter asked. He still didn’t see where this was going. “Close as you’d get in a place as small as Fallon,” the cop said. He raised Peter’s license to his face, looked at it, looked at Peter, lowered it again. But he did not offer to give it back. “Dropouts, for the most part. And one of their hobbies is kifing out-of-state license plates. It’s like a dare thing. I imagine they got yours while you were in buying your cold drinks or using the facilities.” “You know this and they still do it?” Mary asked. “Fallon’s not my town. I rarely go there. Their ways are not my ways.”
