“You Wombat?” Chris asks.
“That’s me.”
“Adam O’Neill sent us. He said you can get us some fake IDs.”
“Hmm.” Wombat checks us out, but when he sees Zoe his eyes widen. “Yeah, I might be able to help you out.”
Zoe shoots me a “What’s happening?” look and I shrug. He probably thinks she’s cute or something. Seems funny, since this guy probably isn’t even alive yet back in the present.
“I can do it, but five IDs…That won’t be cheap.”
“We got cash,” Chris says.
“Cash? Seriously?” The guy laughs. “How long you been hanging on to that?”
“About thirty years.”
“Thirty years?” Wombat keeps laughing, doubling over like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day.
I should have known cash wouldn’t work here after the salespeople at Smartgear turned it down. We might have to use Future-Adam’s account one last time, but then the police might be able to trace us here.
Trent lights up a cigarette. “Whatever, will you take it or not?”
Wombat stops laughing and stares at Trent. “Whoa, is that a cigarette?”
Trent flicks his lighter back and forth. “Yeah, why?”
“Do you have more?”
Trent arches an eyebrow and brings the cigarette slowly to his mouth. “I might.”
“Whoa, okay, wow. Cigarettes.” Wombat rubs his scruffy dark beard. “I’ll do the IDs for a pack.”
Saved by Trent’s nasty habit. Who knew cigarettes would be worth more in thirty years than thousands of dollars in cash?
Trent pulls a new pack out of his backpack and tosses it to the guy. “Done.”
“Sweet. Step into my office and I’ll sort you out.”
We move into the garage, although there’s barely enough room for all of us to stand in it. Tools and equipment are scattered across the tables between plates with crumbs and pizza crusts. A movie plays on the wall with Batman rappelling down a wall, but I don’t recognize the scene. Another remake?
Wombat pulls out a chair for Zoe and gestures for her to sit down but doesn’t give the rest of us the same courtesy. He grins the entire time, making puppy-dog eyes at her. The boy’s got it bad, and she has no idea.
“We need some money on our IDs too,” I say.
Wombat holds up a hand. “Hey now, no one said anything about making fake accounts too. That’s a whole ’nother deal.” He glances at Trent. “Unless you have another pack…”
“Nope, that was it,” Trent says.
Looks like cigarettes can only get us so far. And he won’t take our money…but I might have an idea.
“We only need one account,” Chris says. “We can share it.”
“And it only has to last until tomorrow,” Trent adds.
They argue with Wombat, while I slide up beside Zoe. She’s sketching everything in the garage with meticulous detail, the scene practically popping off the page.
I lean close enough to whisper, “He likes you. Go see if you can get him to help us.”
“What?” Zoe clutches her sketchbook to her chest. “He’s kind of cute, but I have a girlfriend.”
“He doesn’t need to know that.” I nudge her with my elbow. “And you’ll never see him again after this anyway.”
She nods slowly, then pats down her short blue hair. “Wombat?”
“Yeah?” He practically leaps over to her. I move aside to give them some space and watch as she shows him her sketchbook.
“What’s going on?” Adam asks me. His cap is pulled low over his face, but I can see his frown.
“Just wait.” C’mon Zoe, I think. You can do this.
Wombat’s head is bent low near hers, and she places a hand on his arm. The guy’s face turns the shade of a lobster. He probably hasn’t been touched much by a girl. Or ever. She whispers something in his ear, and he laughs. Zoe is better at this than I expected.
After a minute, he straightens up and clears his throat. He turns to the rest of us with a little lovesick smile on his face. “Okay, I’ll set up the account for you. Just leave the cash here. I’ll find someone who can do something with it.”