We wheeled Joseph as far away as we could and ducked behind a gas station. “Now what do we do?” asked Ted. “The local pack will be after us. Probably already are. And if you can smell them on a driver’s license, then they can probably smell you a mile away. Not to mention, they might also know the San Francisco pack, and clued them in as to what you’re up to.”
I nodded, gulped, frowned, and nodded again. Then I flipped open my phone. Time to put the old mojo back into action, I figured. Ten minutes later, a cab pulled up. Needless to say, we were driving out of town a second after that, the driver’s mind glued to my own. “To Vegas, my good man,” I told him. “And step on it.”
It would be a far drive, but I had my credit card, not to mention my hold on the driver, who I’d be sure to amply
