The old train station wasn’t too far of a drive from the church, but I wanted to make sure I could lose the Bronco when the time came.

My concentration broke when Tommy wouldn’t shut up. He drummed a herky-jerky rhythm on the steering wheel and said, “I know this ain’t for nothing too serious, but I figure if I do good Peanut’ll take me on more jobs. Working that gate all hours of the night was ’bout to drive me crazy. I can’t never sleep normal ’cause of it—”

“Hey, Tommy,” I interrupted him, and he took his eyes off the road, “you wanna drive like you got some damn sense and not keep speeding up on Peanut’s rear end? You’re gone put your bumper through the back end of his truck if you keep driving like this.”

Tommy did what I told him to, but he gave me some lip to go along with it. “You know you ain’t gotta be so goddamn demanding. We’re ’bout on the same level me and you, and I don’t think I gotta take too many orders from you.”

“Slow down some more.”

“Slow down some more?”

“I wanna make sure we’re following at a safe distance.”

“Hell, we get anymore safe than this, and we’ll lose ’em.”

“Yep.”

“What?”

I drew the pistol on Tommy. He did a double-take before it registered to him. He fumbled with his words, and then he said, “Ah shit.”

I stuck the gun barrel in his ribs. “Just slow down little by little and then pull over to the side of the road.”

We skidded along the shoulder of the road, and I cocked the hammer. “Pull over.”

Tommy pulled the car onto the side of the road and, in one quick motion, shifted it into park and reached down into the side pocket of his door. I swiped the back of his head with the barrel, and he collapsed forward, knocked his head into the door, and dropped whatever he was reaching for. “Fuck.” He grabbed the back of his head with both hands.

I smacked him a second time for even thinking it was a good idea attempting to draw a gun on me. It smashed his fingers, and he hollered in pain.

I reached past him, opened his door, and shoved him out. He couldn’t go nowhere because he was twisted up in his seatbelt and couldn’t muster the smarts to unbuckle it. Fear is a funny thing. I put the gun barrel back in his side and did it for him.

“Is that Wiley’s gun?”

I shoved the barrel hard into Tommy’s ribs. “Who the fuck’re you talking to?”

He answered with silence.

I jerked the door shut behind him` and slid behind the steering wheel.

Tommy stood on the side of the road, a piss stain running down the front of his jeans.

9.