PSS

Vinny lit up a Marlboro Red as he stepped on the gas. ”The potholes in this city could take out a goddamn school bus.” We were heading to meet Scarpa at The Joint. He was the only guy the bosses could trust with a job like this. I watched the Spanish moss speed by and held my breath past the cemeteries. “Ever since uncle Joe found Christ, he stopped fucking his wife Bonnie. Now she’s calling me all the time bitching. Like I’m supposed to fix it, or something?” Vinnie had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and every time the Lincoln hit a bump, the body in the trunk would let out a deep guttural groan. “And Bettie keeps all that jewelry from the heist laid out on their kitchen table like it’s a fucking flea market or something. Joe tells her to hide it, but she don’t never listen.”

All of the houses we passed were different shades of color, blue, purple, pink, yellow. The streets began to narrow. Tommy put his hand on my knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We’re almost there, kid.”