Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
So this was it. Tonight, he’d be a part of a crew that helped to transport something illegal. And if he was lucky, things would go ‘as expected’, and he wouldn’t get to see any action. Drake assured him that most jobs like this one posed very little challenge. That was the glass-half-full view on the topic while Tank was clearly of the glass-half-empty persuasion, since he was too focused on the tiniest possibility of someone attacking their little convoy to think about numbers.
“Best don’t talk to him, unless it’s something simple, like greeting him. Don’t disclose any information regarding our location or anything that could help anyone find us,” Tank said as he slowed down and parked the van on the side of the road, a couple of steps behind the small truck.
“Showtime,” Pyro said from the back.
Clover was set on doing things right. No bravado. No stupid comments. He was far too stressed for that anyway, but he didn’t want to fuel Tank’s nerves by admitting that.
Their employer, or more likely, their employer’s driver, stood by the sturdy black vehicle smoking a cigarette, his face hidden behind smoke and shadows. Clover stayed behind, even pulling on a hood for good measure, but he was intent on inhaling every word, every smell, and gesture.
Drake opened the rear door of their van, and soon enough, everyone spilled outside, gravitating toward the driver in a dense crowd.
“Flats? All four of them?” Tank asked.
The man stepped away from his truck and faced them with hands pushed down his pockets, the cigarette dangling from his mouth like an I-don’t-give-a-fuck banner. Clover couldn’t see much of his face yet, with the weak light only reaching his goatee and lips while a hood kept the rest of his face shadowed.
“Just the one. But I have a friend in Leicester who’s coming to get me,” the man said.
The unusual nature of this conversation told Clover that it was likely a code both sides used to confirm their identities, because Tank shook the driver’s hand once those two sentences have been exchanged.
“You’re on time. Good,” the guy said before pushing down the hood that had obscured his features.
He didn’t look like a hardened criminal. With his short hair, forgettable face and body, he was the embodiment of an average Joe, and while Clover knew from experience how little such things meant when assessing danger, it made the driver more inconspicuous and easier to confuse with hundreds other guys with similar features.
“Always,” Drake said, stopping at Clover’s left flank, so close the side of his foot touched Clover’s.
It was the last thing Clover should’ve been paying attention to, but it did make him warm all over that Drake remained alert and ready to help if needed.
“I’m Pete,” the man introduced himself. A fake name surely, but it still gave the interaction the pretence of normalcy. “I can’t tell you the final destination, but we’ll be heading off to Boise first. I was told you’ve got a motorcycle with you?” He scanned them all, but Clover’s heart skipped a beat when Pete’s gaze lingered on him a bit too long.
“We do. It’s in the back of the van,” Tank said before introducing them all with numbers, which had been assigned to each member of their crew according to the time of joining. So much for normalcy, but Pete didn’t comment and reached into his pocket, producing a chunky, old-fashioned phone of the type Clover most often saw in memes about their apparent indestructibility.
“Maybe it’s better if you put it to use. Would give us flexibility in case of any trouble.”
“How likely is trouble?” Tank asked in a steady voice that made Clover cringe regardless. He could only hope that once he’d accompanied them several times, the worries Tank harbored would become history.
Pete shrugged. “Unlikely. Out of all the runs I’ve done, there only have been issues three times, two of those with law enforcement, so we should be good. Why? Do any of you have a headaches or something?” he asked with grin, but his gaze gravitated to Clover. “You got a girl with you?”
Clover wasn’t prepared for anyone touching him without asking first, but when Pete pushed at Clover’s hood, he slapped his hand away, shocked at the audacity of the guy. “I’m not a woman, dumbass!”
Pete raised his hands, but his grin stiffened ever-so-slightly when the hood fell back, revealing Clover’s face. “My bad. It’s the long hair,” he said, even though Drake’s wasn’t short either. He took a deep breath, and his gaze darted across their whole group in a flash.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Tank said in a level tone. He appeared calm, but there was an underlying quality to his voice that had Clover’s back crawling with bugs. Something in the atmosphere shifted, and even Drake leaned that bit closer, as if he wanted to become a wall between Clover and Pete.