Tires hummed beneath them and their headlights ate up the white-striped typewriter ribbon before them.
The girl opened her eyes, hesitated as they focused on the weave pattern of denim in his shirt, and said, "Where are they?"
"Back there some place," Danniels told her. "They followed in their cars, a couple on motorcycles. But they must have been scared of traffic cops on the main highway. They dropped out."
She sat up and ran her fingers through her cropped mouse-colored hair. Her quick glance at him was questioning; but she answered her own question and reluctantly absorbed the truth of it. She knew he knew.
The girl huddled in the tatters of her bright tunic.
"Just what do you expect to get out of helping me?" she asked.
Danniels kept his eyes on the road. "A free trip to Chicago."
"You'll get us both arrested!" she shrilled. "Nobody can get past those roadblocks."
He nodded to himself, not caring if she saw the gesture in the uncertain light from the auto gauges.
"All right," she admitted. "I know what Chicago is. That's no crime."