The ferry ride across took twenty minutes of Vale explaining, in exhausting detail, why the burger place in Ventura had ruined all other burgers for him permanently. I let him talk. It was easier than thinking, and after the day I'd had, easier was the closest thing to a vacation I was going to get.
We docked as the last of the sunset died behind the hills, and Vale drove the Charger down the ramp onto academy soil with the smug air of a man who owned everything the headlights touched.
He pulled up outside Building C. Killed the engine. The quiet after eight hundred horsepower felt like a held breath.
"Home sweet prison," Vale said.
