“Uncle Pat,” I say, “please hand me Sam’s knife.”
The old man slowly bends over, picks the knife up. The knife looks so big in his hand, I fear he might tip over from its weight. He hands it to me. Stuffing the still live phone into the chest pocket on my bush jacket, I cut my legs free of the duct tape, stand, feel the stiffness in my joints.
No time to waste.
I cut Edge free, then Rob.
“’Bout time you got us free, Baker,” Edge says quietly. “You’re supposed to be the king of slipping out of tight spots in record time. You must be losing your edge.”
The train tracks come to mind, the Amtrak bearing down on us.
“You’re alive to drink another day away, aren’t you?” I whisper.
He presses his lips together, c***s his head over his shoulder like he’s saying, No big deal.
No big deal“Wo
