26
I materialized in the backseat of a Cadillac El Dorado. White leather seats that smelled like the eighties.
Uncle Leroy was snoring next to me, his head arched up at the ceiling.
A middle-aged man in a du-rag was in the front seat, behind the wheel. He smiled at me, revealing a gold tooth that flashed in the moonlight. He smelled strongly of cologne.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “Why don’t I fall asleep and you can run through my dreams for a minute?”
“I’m not your baby,” I said, leaning against the window. I was sick. Really sick.
“Then wake your old-ass uncle up, will you?” he asked. “The cavalry’s gettin’ restless.”
I punched Uncle Leroy on the shoulder.
Again.
He startled, looking around. When he saw me, his eyes focused and he rubbed them.
“About damn time,” he said.
“Thanks,”
