Coming down to the wire on this one…
Marcus and Josh find themselves embroiled in a web of hate and violence. They are forced to make a stand to protect the innocent, no matter what the cost.
Marcus whispered. He wasn’t sure why he did, but it seemed appropriate, although his idea of stakeouts was limited to what he’d seen on TV. The actors always complained it was boring. It wasn’t, not if your stomach was tied into knots and the whiskey you chugged in a fit of pique decided to revisit you in the form of acid reflux.
Josh hissed through the speaker, “Don’t know if we missed him, or if I’m farting in a stiff breeze.”
“Don’t mention stiff, Foxglove.”
Josh snorted, the sound rocketing through the cab and sending Marcus into a giggling jag. He’d barely gotten himself under control when Josh yelped, “Sunny bitch. I think I see the van. Damn fool’s coming down that mountain dark. Jesus Christ.”
Marcus warned, “Best not to start our engines until he’s made the turn and gets ahead of us.”
“Copy that. I’ll take point. Stay back. I don’t want you running up my ass if I have to stop fast.”
“You’re making it hard to concentrate, cowboy.” They’d been teasing each other, slinging innuendo like hash at a country diner. It had helped diffuse the tension.
Josh murmured, “Here he comes.” Marcus tensed, waiting. “What the hell?”
“What? What’s going on?”
“He just flashed his left turn signal.”
Marcus frowned, perplexed. “That’s kind of dumb. Why’d he do that?”
“Signal? Who for crying out loud? We’re the only idjits out here.”
“Maybe we aren’t.”