"Dan, I found out who killed her," I said.
"Who—your sister?"
"Yeah. Chris was framed. He kept denying it, but this guy Vic? He was pissed I killed one of his suppliers on that assignment. Now I've got a price on my head."
Dan's voice hardened. "And how the hell you know all this, boy?"
"Chris left a cassette in his truck."
"...Alright. I'll look into it."
"Good."
I pressed the lever, hung the payphone, and slid back into the truck. I turned the wheel toward Corona, headlights spilling down the dark road.
Sinclair Gas Station — Riverside, California
I rolled up to the pump, shoved the nozzle into the tank, and headed inside. The place smelled like motor oil and old coffee. I grabbed two bags of Ruffles Flavor Rush, yanked a water from the cooler, and joined the line.
The man in front of me turned, rubbing the back of his neck.20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfIVqfbdOKt
"Hey, uh... got any spare change?"
"No," I said flat.
"Damn, no need to be so hostile."
I stared until he looked away.
At the counter, the cashier rang me up. "Three ninety-five."
I peeled out a twenty. "Put the rest on pump four. Ford F-150."
Back outside, I tossed the snacks into the cab, squeezed the handle until the pump clicked, and slid the nozzle back in its holster.
When I turned the key, the truck coughed and sputtered. Hood lever popped. I stepped out, yanked a sensor wire loose, and tried again. The engine roared to life. Static bled from the radio before a country song cut through.
That's when I saw him — a man, out of breath, jogging toward my door.
"Sir!" he called, panting.
"What?"
"Could you give me a ride? Anywhere's fine."
I sighed. "Get in the bed."
He froze with his hand on the passenger handle. "...Right. Sorry."
He climbed in back, slapped the metal twice. I pulled away toward Corona.
Phone buzzed. Dan.
"George, Vic's got a hit out on you," he said.
I checked the rear-view. The hitchhiker was digging in his pocket, pulling something silver. Looked like a pistol.
"Shit—" I swerved. The truck slammed into a light pole. Everything went black.
When I came to, my head was ringing. The stranger was slumped in the bed, a 1911 lying next to him.
I staggered out, snatched the pistol, racked it halfway — a round chambered. I thumbed the mag release, caught the loose bullet as it popped free, slid it in my pocket along with the mag.
Glovebox. Walkman.
Cars started pulling over, rubber hissing on asphalt. One of them crept to a stop, and headlights pinned me. I bolted, sprinting into a neighborhood, cutting down alleys, breath tearing at my throat until I finally lost them.
Leaning against a cracked fence, I lit a cigarette, smoke curling into the night sky. My phone buzzed: twenty messages. Fifteen from Dan. Five from Harvey. Eight unknown.
I dialed Dan.
"Where the hell are you?" he barked.
"Somewhere in Riverside."
"Why the fuck are you in Riverside?"
"Change the subject."
"The fuck does that mean?"
"Means change it."
He sighed. "...Fine. Since you're already there, I've got a shop. I'll send the address. Impala waiting for you."
"Alright."
I hung up, smoked in silence, staring at the houses with their broken gates and peeling paint. When the last drag burned my throat, I crushed it out, pocketed the lighter, and started walking — looking for somewhere I could finally shut my eyes.
20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkalmpdD3oM
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