Vincent leant his head back on the headrest and let out a deep sigh. Glancing to the side he took in the state of Jake once again. Jake was back in his normal form, at least, but his once smart clothes were now in tatters and covered in blood. he was sitting on some plastic sheets he’d pulled out of the boot, insisting that he wasn’t getting blood on the seat covers.
Stan was wedged in the back once more, head rammed against the ceiling even when he was half laying on the back seat. His clothes were a little more tatty than normal, with a number of bullet holes, but he was never better than scruffy at the best of times so it would be forgiven.
Vincent didn’t even want to consider the state of his own clothes. Admittedly the only damage was the single bullet hole in the trousers, but
