The bag is in the backseat where he remembers seeing it earlier, shoved behind the passenger seat at an angle that’s awkward to get to from his side. Vince squeaks out a strained noise as his fingers graze the edge of the bag, grappling for purchase on the rough canvas.
He finally nudges the rucksack toward him enough to grab more effectively, but he must have underestimated its weight; it slips from his hand, spilling its contents over the floor of the car.
“f*****g hell,” Vince mutters, standing to walk to the other side of the car. Reza is probably fully asleep now, puffing quiet little breaths over Vince’s pillow as he dozes.
Vince opens the back door on the passenger’s side and starts shoveling Reza’s things into the rucksack, back past where the leather drawstring had come loose.
