In typical New Orleans fashion, the traffic snarl quickly out distanced the main crash site. Their progress stalled at least a block away. Alex shoved open the car door.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way.” He looked around. “Get more people here, Higgins.”
He had to jog for over a block, then turn a corner—there it was. Ben’s car. It looked like it was parked against the curb. Not a bad job except for the truck embedded in the back half. He rubbed his aching head, which jogging had not helped.
A Lucky Dog cart hovered near the outer edge of the melee. He shook his head. He’d seen them beat the cops to an accident scene more than once, but it still surprised him.
Speaking of which, the crowd looked unruly, angry—except for those buying dogs—and the center of angry was a big guy yelling and
