4
Spike’s shirt peeled away from the vinyl seat as he zoomed in on the graffiti covering the crumbling gas station. Georgia’s humidity didn’t have s**t on the cloud forests of Cusuco. Twenty miles away, and its wet blanket still hovered. A mosquito buzzed by his ear as he snapped the photo. He slapped his neck and grabbed the bottle of malaria pills from the glove box.
Art extended a fresh can of bug spray across the console. “How was your trip home?”
“The best and worst night of my life.” A mist of deet filled the car.
“Standard.” Art took his foot off the brake, and they idled down the street. “How’d your girl take it?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is that why you’ve been such a d**k lately?”
Spike glared. The car stopped, and he peered through the lens, capturing another
