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“HOW MUCH OF THAT BLOOD is yours?”
“Does it matter?” Ray asked.
Gomez inspected Edgar’s car, unfazed by the dirt and smell of watered down urine coming off the driver’s seat.
“Not really, but I can’t resell the seats. Going to take something off the price,” Gomez said, popping a piece of gum into his mouth.
“Just need some get out of town money,” Ray said. He didn’t mean to sound impatient, but the blood around his eye was drying into a crust and he couldn’t see out of it. Gomez never asked him what happened.
“From the look of you, you need disappearing money. Don’t think I can provide that.”
He tossed Ray a cleanup rag to stop the blood flow.
“Be sure to take that with you when you go. We’ve got enough s**t to worry about without you getting your dirty DNA everywhere.”
Ray did
