It hasn’t happened. He knows it. Sweat tickles his forehead. His teeth grind together.
He is vibrating. He is going to pass out.
Dumb idea. Rob is waiting for him in the rain. He has to go.
He opens his eyes. For a moment he sees nothing. The room isred and black.
Then everything clears.
Nguyen looks at the photo again.
He grins. It has worked.
Gwen is still smiling. But she looks different.
She has turned.
She is now facing him.
“He’s not coming.” Virgil Garth looks up the road. A blockaway, a street lamp is steaming against the cold April drizzle.
No one is going to meet him and Rob on a night like this. Noone in his right mind.
Least of all a guy who’s been invited for a “talk” with Rob Maxson. A talk about going out with the wrong girl.
A shakedown. That’s what they called this in crime novels.
This whole idea is crazy.
But Virgil isn’t about to say that. Not to Rob. No way.
“He’ll come.” Rob leans against the car. As he hunches hisshoulders, his face sinks into his black leather jacket collar. He lifts acigarette, his hand cupped over the top, and takes a drag. His fingernails are black with axle grease.
Peter LerangisDRIVEER’S DEAD