Pepper got off his bike, pulled a can of lighter fluid out of his leather jacket, and doused the electronic gear that contained all my files, those unpublished stories and novels. He scratched a wooden match across the sole of his boot and then tossed it on the debris.

The plastic melted into a toxic hot mess, just like my life.

When the flames died down, Pepper kicked away the remains and mounted his bike. I got in my truck and followed his fast but circuitous route to a lonely part of the county whose obstreperous residents had quashed attempts at gentrification.

Pepper paused at a building with metal garage doors. When they rolled up, we drove into the Dantesque scene of men with welding helmets, torches, saws, mallets, and spray paint equipment.

The noise drowned out the sound of our engines, and Pepper pulled over and waved for me to do the same. A man with a shaved head and a blue jumpsuit went to him and they talked for a minute.

I got out of my truck, the sports bag slung over my shoulder. Pepper came over and shouted in my ear, “Your ride’ll be ready in a bit. Let’s chow down.”

“I’ve got something, um, incriminating there,” I said, looking at the bed of the truck.

“You mean the dead dude in back?” Pepper shrugged and walked away.

I only got a few glances as Pepper led me through the garage into a walled-off kitchenette with a table and a battered leather sofa. He closed the door and shut out much of the noise.

“You knew?” I asked.

“If you killed someone, baby girl, I imagine he had it coming.”

“I didn’t kill him,” I said, referring to Wil. “Someone left his body at my place to set me up.”

“Hate when that happens,” Pepper said as he opened a refrigerator decorated with a collage of female genitalia. “You want some eggs?”

The fried eggs doused in ketchup and slices of thick pink Canadian bacon, accompanied by cherry soda, was the best meal of my life.

Pepper smoked a joint as he watched me scrape the last bit of food off my plate. He suddenly chuckled. “I remember the first time you walked in the bar with Ian and his sister and Oswald’s cousin Sam. I thought me and the boys would scare you shitless. Ironic, huh?”

“I was scared,” I said. “Well, nervous.”

“You were different then.”

“I know.” I wasn’t a girl who drank blood and killed.

Pepper’s friend came in and said, “Your ride’s ready.”

We went to the shop and Pepper’s friend led me to a huge white truck. “Steal American,” he said. “All the paperwork is in the glove compartment. Enough power to outrun someone and more than enough to roll over them. We’ll piece out your pickup and get rid of anything identifying.”