Chapter 5
Twenty-minutes later, creeping along black ice and slush, the taxi pulls into the deserted car lot across from Bret’s home on Pickard Street.
The taxi idles and the heat inside the cab keeps me planted. I stare out the windshield to a ghostly cold day and a below-freezing wind bending snow-covered trees into arthritic poses.
“We’re supposed to get twelve inches of snow by midnight,” I hear Bret mumbling beside me. Panic chokes his shaky voice.
I turn to him as he glances through a filmy window to his house across the street. His eyes settle on the torrent of chimney smoke billowing out from his house into the slate-grey sky.
“Winter,” I say disdainfully. “Seven long months of the nasty stuff.” A muscle in my lower back jerks me forward. I wince.
I hear Bret say, “Hey, man,
