THIRTY-THREE
“Listen, Frankie,” Cabel was saying, “we’re in a f*****g barrel of s**t right now, and we’ve got no way out. It’s out of our control.”
“You want out, just say so. I won’t stop you.”
“It’s not that, Frankie. Not that at all, but killing the girl, that’s upped the ante, mate. We’ve hemmed ourselves in.”
“You talk some bullshit, you do,” said Rachet, picking his teeth with a split matchstick. They’d called into a service station and bought chicken salad rolls and cans of cola. Now, outside under a dripping umbrella with passers-by scurrying around giving them questioning looks, reflection had brought with it despair at their predicament. But not for Rachet. He seemed pleased and stared at the matchstick as if he’d found a lost gemstone. “From where I’m sitting, I think we had
