The main road out of Boulder City tracks northeast, crossing the state border at the Hoover Dam before curving southward and on through the flat desert plains to Phoenix. There is nothing out here other than where the Colorado River cuts its way through the mountainous plateau of the Grand Canyon. Sunday night is fast becoming Monday and by rights I should be at the club hustling the stragglers or sound asleep in my bed. Instead, here I sit with Dwight, getting whisked away into the desert and I’m not happy about it.
“Where are we heading?” I ask.
“You’ll see, baby.”
See what? Rock? The edge of a cliff?
The further we travel, the greater the distance from civilization, the more uneasy I grow. I’m way outside my comfort zone now. I want the familiarity of bricks and mortar and tarmac.
