36

Outside Portland, Oregon
USA

Try it again,” Jon Smith said, leaning a little farther under the hood of the rusting AMC Gremlin.

Randi twisted the key and the engine turned over, but it wouldn’t catch.

The wind picked up, tearing colorful leaves from the trees lining the empty rural road and depositing them in the dead motor. Smith brushed them off the air cleaner cover and began unscrewing the wing nut that held it in place.

“What’s wrong with it?” Randi said, leaning out the open window.

“It’s a forty-year-old piece of shit is what’s wrong with it. Couldn’t you steal a better car?”

Randi had gotten in the habit of taking cars from airport long-term parking when she needed something untraceable. She always got them back before the owners returned to find their vehicle detailed and full of premium gas.

“Fujiyama said that if I showed up in anything modern, he’d walk.”

Smith let out a frustrated breath and dug around in the carburetor with a stick. Eric Fujiyama had agreed to talk to them, but under conditions that even a paranoid schizophrenic would consider excessive. They couldn’t just talk on the phone or get together at a Portland restaurant with a decent microbrew selection. No, they had to drive an ancient car with shovels in the back to the middle of nowhere. And what about those shovels? Smith seemed to be the only person who was concerned that the host of their clandestine meeting in the woods requested that they bring tools suitable for digging graves.

“Kick it again.”

This time the starter sounded a little sick but the engine caught. After replacing the air filter, Smith slammed the hood and ran around to the passenger seat.

“Whatever you do, don’t stall it.”

Randi scowled and pulled out with her eyes on a map taped to the dash. According to the highlighted route, their turn was just ahead. She eased right onto a rutted dirt road, the geriatric suspension protesting loudly enough to overcome the Steely Dan flowing from hidden speakers. Smith tried again to silence the stereo but the volume knob was broken and the eight track resisted every attempt at ejection.

“Slow down, Randi.”

“What are you talking about? We could walk faster than this.”

“And that’s what we’re going to be doing if you break what’s left of this thing’s axles.”

“What’s up your ass today?”