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Danny’s leg throbbed every time he shifted gears. Of course he’d have to steal a manual transmission. Goddamn that old man and his f*****g fake cane. (Fake in the sense that there’s no way he needed one; it sure as hell felt real.) That’s okay—he’d switched out the plates in the far reaches of a Super Walmart parking lot, but he’d need to switch out cars soon, too.
He hadn’t intended to start over yet, but fortunately he’d taken precautions. It was funny, though. He never thought this would be what took him down; he’d always assumed it would be his dealing day job, or that his other sideline (the one that made the voices quiet) would come back to bite him in the ass.
They’d come after him. Not just the law, but Rutledge—both Rutledges, for that matter. Maybe their desire to kill him
