Chapter 20Aaron had always figured that Brody, happy-go-lucky stoner that he was, made his way through life in a cloud of smoke and oblivion. So it was a hell of a surprise when Brody met him in the growing darkness at the entrance to the junkyard and pressed a handgun into his hands. A Glock.
“Figured you’d be turning up at some point,” he drawled. “You know how to use that?”
“Yeah.” The weight of a firearm in his hands was familiar, almost comforting. “Of course.”
“Because I think you might need it in there,” Brody said. “He said to give him thirty minutes, and I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been that long yet. You want me to call the cops?”
A pair of headlights bounced down the uneven road between the junkyard and the warehouse as the sheriff’s cruiser crawled past.
“The cops in this to
