In the vehicle, he cranked up the heat. The temperature had dropped thirty degrees since they’d left Vegas. Maybe he and Sam should head south after they took care of business here. Forget the frigid Northeast. Everything about this trip had sucked.

He drove back to the house. The dogs were barking so he went out back and tossed them some more food. Sam had wanted to shoot them all, but Mick talked him out of it. The dogs hadn’t done anything wrong. Inside, Sam was sitting on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, remote in his hand, eyes fixed on the TV.

“No one’s come looking for our host?” Mick asked.

“Nope. Phone hasn’t even rung.”

“We can’t stay here long. Someone will come looking for her eventually.” Mick jerked his thumb toward the back wall. “And the owners of those mutts will start showing up.”

“Closest neighbor is a half mile away, but you’re right. We should leave before we wear out our welcome.” Sam looked up. He took one look at his brother’s face, pointed the remote at the TV, and turned it off. “Let’s go out.”

“Where?” Mick went to the table and scooped a spoonful of coke. His supply was getting low. He hated this town. He hated the whole fucking state of New York.

“I don’t know. Must be a bar around here somewhere.” Sam stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “We need some noise. The quiet is creeping me out.”

Mick drove to the highway and cruised a couple of miles. They passed one restaurant. “Is that it? A fucking Applebee’s? This sucks.”

“Keep going. I’m not in the mood for screaming unless it’s female.”

Mick was feeling itchy, too. He’d been pumped to take care of the blond tonight. A couple of drinks would smooth him out. His stomach growled for a meal that didn’t come in a white paper sack.

“I see something.” Sam pointed.

Mick steered the Charger off the next exit. They spiraled the ramp and emerged at an intersection. Andy G’s Sports Bar occupied the near corner. A hundred yards up the road, a Hampton Inn glowed. A strip mall sat dark on the other. It was only ten, and the grocery store was closed. Small towns fucking sucked. Vegas started to roll at midnight.

“Doesn’t really look like our kind of place, does it?” Sam commented.

Mick didn’t feel like driving for another hour. He backed the Charger into a spot in the rear of the lot. Not that there were many other cars, but he didn’t want some asshole to ding his door. “It’ll do.”

They got out of the car. The wind blew straight down the back of Mick’s neck. He flipped up his hood. Fucking A, he hated the Northeast.