They were in the Olds 442 again. Top down, driving on the I-435 bypass in morning traffic. Heading north out of the city and toward the airport. It was 7:30 in the morning and already the ambient temperature was pushing toward the 90-degree mark. The weatherman said it was going to be well past the century mark before five this afternoon. But for now, the big convertible’s top down, cruising along around eighty, it was a beautiful day. One of those days where you were happy to be alive.
“Where are we going?” the red-headed gorilla for a partner, sitting in the right bucket seat, yelled pleasantly over the roar of the wind.
Turner started to answer, but a little blue whirl of a Mini Cooper slid up beside them on the outside traffic lane and tooted their little kiddy horn half a dozen time
