Rendezvous
Jennifer Worrell
Larry would kill him if he showed up late again.
After their last take, they’d agreed to act as strangers. No phone calls. No meetings. Larry’d call with a place to meet and square up.
If hell was spending a week in silence after watching your partner drive off with a suitcase full of money and a loaded Magnum, heaven was a choppy call on a burner cell. But the minute the fog gathered and the sky changed from teal to a sickly grayish-green, their connection was severed along with most of Larry’s last words.
Hinsdale was a mess of twisting streets and ancient clapboard houses, relics from the days when its railroad station was a major hub, the lines representing direct routes to freedom. Hess’d driven around this neighborhood for what felt like hours, but ke
