Nothing was going to plan. The shoulder Ray had dislocated years ago was out of its socket and screaming with pain. His pinky finger bent the wrong way. He had swallowed a lot of blood from his broken teeth, and was having a lot of trouble breathing through his shattered nose. Rusty snot had crusted over his nostrils and he had to snort the clots up to get anything through them. D’Arby’s lackeys had gone at him while the crime boss sat sipping a West Coast IPA. He was certain that they were going to tear both of his ACLs and slice through his Achilles to cripple him. Dump him in front of Malkin in a wheelbarrow.
The long drive up to the mountains gave him a long time to contemplate his fate. Every time he shifted from the pain, the thick painter’s plastic covering the backseat crinkled, r
