“And they almost took our lives, too,” said Lyndon. He didn’t care that he sounded so pissed. “Right now we’re f*****g lucky to be alive. Help me get this tire changed before the cops show up.”
Lyndon expected Curtis to complain, but he circled around to Lyndon’s side and offered a hand. Together they changed the flat surprisingly quickly, and Lyndon got behind the wheel again, not wanting to stick around to deal with the cops. Curtis shifted a bunch of papers—someone had gone through the glove compartment—and got in the passenger side.
“Sorry about your coffee,” said Lyndon as he pulled out and followed the road to the highway. “And your shirt.”
Curtis leaned back against the seat.
“I think we have bigger problems. f**k, Lyndon, they took all of it.”
“You still want to go to Atlanta?
