The Rag Issue #1 : The Real Deal

THE REAL DEAL
by Curtis James McConnell
EDITORS
Dan Reilly, Seth Porter, Sean Bell and Loan Le
DESIGNER
Krissy Porter
www.krissythedesigner.com
COVER ART
Lindsay Thompson
COPYRIGHT © 2015 BY THE RAG
www.raglitmag.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As with anyone wishing to write well, Curtis James McConnell first
held a hundred jobs, including standup comic, croupier, secret shopper
and phone actor. He has also been to all fifty United States.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
http://www.lindsaythompsonimages.com
ABOUT THE RAG
The Rag is the home for literary guts and steel. We are an electronic
publication hell-bent on true grit and uncompromising action. We call
this “literary entertainment.” We publish new fiction monthly on our
website www.raglitmag.com. You can read online, or free downloads
are available in PDF, Kindle and ePub formats.
THE REAL DEAL
by Curtis James McConnell
The kid cut him off as he’d left the liquor store with a short dog
of T-bird and some salami-cheese twin-packs shellacked in a
shrinkwrap sarcophagus. “Say man, say.” There he was, with his
nonexistent little nose wide and flat, barely a nub like undescended
testicles, his face shiny black like a 1967 hearse Cadillac and his
teeth a single markless slab like the marble lintel on an unused
fireplace.
Jack veered around him without looking like he’d altered course
too much and didn’t even look down at the rib-height top of the
kid’s doo-rag.
Undeterred, the kid puppy-dogged Jack all the way to the
Crown Vic. “Man, don’t dog me out, I got a business question, you
know what I’m saying? You lookin’? Come on, man, you lookin’?
Ain’t no white man come down this hood ain’t lookin’. Say, bro, I’m
not tryna hear no silence here, hear me? I’m sayin’ I can help you
out, just tell me wha’s yo shit, aw come on, now, talk to me.”
With his back to the kid, Jack stood still at the passenger door.
Chauncey, behind the wheel, stared straight ahead at the gated
storefront of the abandoned gun shop, his elbow out the window as
if it were an antenna trying to drag in even the signal of a breeze in
this mattress-heavy heat.
Jack held up a “wait a sec” finger and the kid obeyed and
waited while Jack got in. Chauncey flipped the key a notch and
Jack whirred down his window. Both stared straight through the
windshield of the Crown Vic, but the kid knew his cue and began
his pitch.
“Like I was saying, just tell me what you need, my good man.
You too, chief. Pleasures of the flesh, I got the finest, awaiting
your every command and desire, male female, all races, creeds and
colors.” Neither man moved. “Or, pleasures of the mind, that too. I
can drop a rock on you make you see god and putcha on a firstname basis with Jesus Christ. Anything and everything, I’m your
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man, I’m your genie in the bottle, just tell me your three wishes and
I’ll name you a price we can all get right with.”
By now Jack had the money out. He held it in one hand below
the window level, but the kid got a good look at it. All hundreds,
folded around a black elastic scrunchie.
Jack slowly slid his thumb across the top bill and his fingers
across the bottom so that the cecils fanned out like a green peacock
with all the feathers named Franklin. With both men looking
straight ahead but hearing the kid actually lick his lips, Jack
methodically spread and furled the feathers.
Jack said in a low, clear voice, “Kind of party I’m looking to
have? We’re gonna need some serious inventory.”
“You a po-po?” the kid said finally.
“Serious powdered inventory.”
“I said you the po-lice, nigga. I’m dumb but I ain’t stupid.
Shee-it, how mofuckin’ dumb you thinks I is?”
Jack flicked open the glove compartment, casually pitched the
little wad onto a half-dime of clearly quality weed and a bigger wad
of cash the size of Chauncey’s fist, and kneed the lid closed before
turning a little to Chauncey and saying, “You know anybody might
be serious?”
The kid shrugged, slapped his palms, russet pink and
bubblegum soft, on the windowsill of the Crown Vic and said with
an even brighter grin, “I’m the man can handle it.”
Jack pressed his meaty forearm over the kid’s knuckles, looked
directly ahead and said, “You’re neither.”
“Neither what? Man, talk sense, I’m tryna make a living, I
thought youse was seri—”
“What we’re gonna do,” Jack said, looking directly at the kid,
“is give you a finder’s fee.” He lifted the fifth of wine with a twentydollar bill folded around the outside of the sack.
“Man, I don’t drink that. Shit’ll rot your eye-balls off. And
finder’s fee is right, I find more’n that AJ onna muthafuckin’ street,
you know what I’m saying?”
Jack turned to look back out the windshield. He lifted his right
arm off the kid’s hands and left-handed the twenty-wrapped wine
out the passenger window until the kid took it. They heard the
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locks pop.
Climbing into the back seat, the kid said, “Left out of the lot,
two blocks up, alley on the right behind the Fatburger.” They heard
him crack the screwtop seal and slug one back before Chauncey had
the Crown Vic purring into life.
“Bottom them greenass stairs,” were the kid’s next words. “Less
you want us all to go in,” he challenged.
Jack said, “Anyone we don’t like comes down, we do business
closer to the party room. Three minutes, we’re gone either way.”
“Man, cain’t nobody put together no party of this magnitude in
no three—”
“Now it’s two,” Jack told him, meeting the kid’s eyes in the side
mirror.
“Yes sir, you da man,” the kid chuckled dubiously.
After less than two minutes, Chauncey put the Crown Vic in
gear and nudged it down the alley.
“Hold up hold up hold up.” Halfway down the steps, the kid
sent the rickety railing swinging as he vaulted over it and dove
elbow first across the back seat. “Man, you niggas don’t give a man
no time,” the kid panted.
“Close the door,” Jack told the visor.
“Yes sir, Mr. white man boss man sir. How’s you knowd we was
up there waiting to see if you’d really leave? My man Taz-dev said
ain’t no way in hell you’d go, how’d you know?”
Jack whipped around with his arm behind his own seat and
confronted the kid with, “What I don’t know is where we’re going,
back there, up ahead, what?”
“Okay, sure, okay, be cool my man, we’re going there right
now. First I had to calm T-dev down, explain what two wiggers in a
cop car doin’ knowin’ where he stay at, and me bringin’ ‘em to ‘im.
I told him youse was cool, and youse money even cooler, and cooler
than cool is ice cold, baby.”
“Keep adding hot air to the heat, my ice gonna melt away big
time. Where are we going?”
Chauncey turned right out of the alley.
“Hold up, my man, Mr. don’t talk for shit. DeLancey Street
back other way.”
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“My boy here sees a hole in the traffic, he gets in it. Good way
to stay alive in this neighborhood.”
“Shit, ain’t no neighbors in this hood. DLSK all the way, baby,
thug life for life, you know what I’m saying?”
“Actually, I don’t,” Jack said. “You can DLSK me all you want,
but I find out it means something diss, I’ll smack the black right
off you.”
Glaring, the kid said, “Trick, don’t worry about DLSK.
You’re lucky, you ain’t never know what it means. Turn left. Now
left again. We’re taking me back to my post, then I’ll point you
in the direction you wanna go. And ya might wanna get some air
conditioning up in this bitch.”
Chauncey’s hands never left the steering wheel.
With lights and traffic and waiting to turn left back into the
liquor store parking lot, there were a few minutes of silence.
Finally, the kid said, “DeLancey Street Street Kings.” More
silence. With no gap in the traffic, the kid muttered, “Tha’s DLSK.
Since you asked.”
Jack chuckled to himself. He was about to tell the kid he was
missing an S when Chauncey saw a hole in the traffic and scooted
across it.
“Well get in it, then,” the kid said appreciatively.
They couldn’t find a parking spot in the small lot, so Chauncey
left the Crown Vic athwart the trunks of three cars and waited
while the kid climbed out.
He resumed his pose of palms on Jack’s windowsill and said,
“Back towards Fatburger. Big Sumu-Somoan-looking nigga gonna
waddle his fat ass up and get in at the light. He gon’ have all the
powdered inventory you want for your cracker ass. I told him
how much your little chump-change shirtpocket wad is, and your
punkass glove box shit, and he added up how much blow you
gonna know in just a little while.”
“We’re talking one guy,” Jack stated distinctly. “We’re lookin’ to
trade cash for stash, not lead for dead.”
“Man, T-dev don’ do no ambush, muthafucka. Nigga the size
of three men, maybe, but that ain’ da way he do biz-nazz, nigga.
No, he one guy, but he way too big to be gettin’ in any gunplay.
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Couldn’t find no cover fast enough. Hell, ever’body else, that fool
is cover.”
“Cause we can run a red light if we don’t like the looks
of things.”
The kid smiled indulgently and stepped back. “It was a distinct
and delightful pleasure doing business with you gentlemen.” He
nodded and flashed the biggest grin yet. He leaned back in again
and tried to smile. “And I hope I never see your ass again, no how
no where. And have a nice day.” He pushed off the Crown Vic,
leaving palm smears on top of the door. He slapped the roof twice
and backed away. He gave them a little Two-finger wave, chest high.
Then he kissed the two fingertips and left them with a peace sign.
At the first stoplight, Jack unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well,
Chance,” Jack said, “You want shotgun?”
Chauncey laughed. “Come on, Jack. It’s two blocks away.”
Jack said, “You’re right.” He looked back through the rear
window. “Kid’s not watching, I’ll take it.”
At the light, a huge, sweaty black man in an even huger and
sweatier dashiki rose like centuries of lava accretion from the bus
stop bench. His head went momentarily back in surprise when he
saw the situation, and then he got in the passenger seat.
“Buckle up, Taz-dev,” Jack told him from the back seat.
“They’re ticketing everyone with the new law, drivers
and passengers.”
“We’re just going someplace quiet,” T-dev gargled, his chins
flapping more in the breeze than from any motion of his mouth.
He proceeded to buckle the seatbelt. He had difficulty getting it out
far enough. Jack helped unreel some slack.
“But yes, last thing anybody needs is any probable cause,”
T-dev said.
The seatbelt sank into his swampy chest.
Jack’s right hand grabbed a fistful of seatbelt near T-dev’s
right ear, and his left hand shoved the blunted end of the shotgun
beneath the huge belly and burrowed it insistently into his crotch.
“Hey, what the—?”
“Now now, nigger, just don’t be too noisy now,” Jack snarled.
T-dev’s gravelly gargle climbed an octave with each “cool” as he
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shrieked, “Hey man, be cool, now, be cool be cool be cool.”
Jack wiggled his fist a little to get better traction on the seat
belt, yanking it taut against T-dev’s fat throat.
“Oh, I’m cool, T-dev. I’m very cool. Question is, can you be
cool? Because that’s what you need to be right now, is cool. Cool
and quiet.”
“Man, w’as yo shit? What the fuck you—?”
Jack quieted him with a shotgun nudge.
“I got a barrel for each ball, and I don’t care about your dick.
Now you gonna be quiet?”
“Fuck your skanky mamma, white boyyeeee—okay, okay, I’m
cool, I’m—just mellow the fuck out, right? We cool, right?”
“I know I am.” Jack’s smug grin was in every word. “But I’m
having a little difficulty believing you are.” T-dev scowled out the
window. “We’re going for a nice ride in the country.”
“You want the shit? You can have it. Yours. Just drop me off
next to a bus stop, and none of this ever happened.”
“Oh, that’s a given. The drugs, I mean. Not sure about the bus
stop yet.”
“Half a key, good shit, the best. My finest product, ain’t cut for
shit, man, just bus me up, I’m good.”
“Now why would you want a stinky, rattling old bus when you
can go for a nice country ride in this fine automobile, a brand new
Ford Crown Victoria, the flagship of the fleet?”
“The fuck you want, man?” T-dev demanded.
Jack repeated, “A barrel for each ball, and I don’t care about
your dick. Now what I do care about is my buddy here’s new
upholstery. So what he’s gonna do is find a nice, quiet, non-bumpy
road for us to drive down. The suspension on the Crown Victoria is
a little tight, so we don’t want any bumps to maybe accidentally—”
“I get it, man,” T-dev said, dropping the back of his creased,
floppy neck onto the head rest. He muttered to the soft grey
upholstered ceiling. “White ofay melodramatic mother fucker.”
Chauncey almost laughed.
T-dev flopped his head forward again and snapped, “Yeah you
laugh, Sasquatch. Ya big ol’ creepy-ass goon.”
Jack yanked the seatbelt again.
6
After a few minutes, T-dev huffed a sigh and said, “So that’s
the deal, then, we just gon’ be all silent and shit while Bigfoot here
finds a road ain’t bumpy enough for you?”
When no answer came, T-dev sighed again and said, “Man, my
momma was right. White folks is crazy.”
After Chauncey exited and they became the only thing besides
the heat refractions moving on a desolate two-laner, T-dev spoke
up again. “You ain’t scarin’ me, witcho gotta be all silent and
intimidatin’ and shit. Man with the gun ain’t gotta say shit, tha’s a
given, and man behind the wheel don’t need to say less’n shit, so
here I sits. I hope you intimidate my ass so much I piss and shit all
over your goddamn new uphols’ry, sheee-it.”
Chauncey cruised to a smooth, brakeless stop beneath a shade
tree three-quarters of a mile from any other life.
“Playtime’s over, Dev,” Jack said. “Hands on the dash. Lock ‘em
down. And don’t break it. Your hands alone gotta weigh more than
the tires on this car.”
“Don’t you mean the tires on the Ford Crown Victoria, the
flagship of the mother fucking fleet?”
Jack chuckled. “Like I say, T, you’re a funny guy. But
playtime’s over.”
“When you muthafuckin’ say I’m funny?”
“And you’re missing an S,” Jack informed him.
“Missin’ a...? Man, you folks ain’t just crazy, you ain’t make
no sense.”
“And yet your hands went right to that dash, didn’t they?
Where is it?”
T-dev twisted his neck. “It’s right here under my fucking hands,
like you done told me.”
Jack rolled his eyes, removed the shotgun from T-Dev’s shady
crotch and barrel-slapped the waterbed thigh. “The dope, asshole.”
“Oh, my bad.”
“What happened to you, Taz? You used to be funny.”
T-dev hung his head and shook it. “Now you funny too. I told
J-raz today got interesting when he showed up with you. Now it’s
past interesting and into just plain fucking weird, man.”
“Not as weird as some fat fucking pimp wannabe with no more
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johnson, T. That’s gonna be weird.”
“Yeah,” T-dev sighed, “but I’s so fat ain’t nobody even seen my
shit for three years, not even me. Won’t even notice it’s gone, man,
and neither will I. Now let’s go ahead and do this so you can take
me home. Drugs in that bag on the armrest, man. You coulda drove
off ‘fore I even got all the way in.” With silence and no movement
from Jack, T-dev taunted, “Don’t tell me you didn’t see me put it
down back at Fatburger. Cause all that’d do is let me know the level
of competence I’m dealing with.”
The shotgun painfully prodded T-dev’s spleen. “Outside,” Jack
commanded quietly.
“Aw no. My hands locked down on this motherfucker. Cain’t
even unbuckle my seatbelt in case a cop comes by with some
probable cause.”
“I don’t care that much about the upholstery.”
“I’ma do this real slow,” T-dev said. “My luck be the only fatass
nigga in histry get shot goin’ down a bumpy road sitting still.”
They got out of the car.
“Nobody said you were dumb,” Jack confirmed.
“No, but they will when they hear how I managed to get myself
all caught up in this kind of shit.”
“Keep talking, maybe your posse’s almost as greedy as you and
they’ll come rescue you.”
“And nobody’s gonna track you down and wreak
motherfucking payback on your ass, either. You’re totally safe, and
this was a brilliant move and I’m way too smart to make any threats
long as you got a barrel for each ball. Now who’s doin’ the talkin’
and only posse you got is your goony-boy there.”
“Take your pants off.”
“My pan—? For frisking? Man, you the man wit’ the gun, any
gun I have in that gym bag Sasquatch goin’ through. You better
watch it. He gon’ take your shit. Drive off leave us both high and
dry. You better watch your happy home.”
Jack visibly cocked both hammers and raised the giant, sawedoff circles that were almost as big as the saucers T-dev’s eyes had
now become.
“Again, real slow,” T-dev said.
8
Jack cradled the shotgun while T-dev proceeded to toe off his
shoes and then step out of his sweatpants.
“Dashiki too.”
“I ain’t gonna have to squeal like a pig in a minute here, am I?”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
“Cause I’d just as soon you pull them triggers,” T-dev
continued.
“Everything in that pile you started, then your hands on that
tree along with your eyes.”
“Honest, I’ll tell you right now, massa, my name Toby, ain’ no
Kunta Kinte.”
Jack said nothing.
Naked, T-dev waddled over to the tree, saying, “I know, I
know, and don’t break it, my hands alone gotta weigh more than
the tires on yo’ car.”
“Flagship of the fleet, T-dev.”
“That’s right. It sure is that. Okay, hands and eyes both on the
tree. And I’m gonna leave ‘em there til you tells me dif. But you
wanna pig squeal, you gonna have to kill me.”
Jack shoved T-dev’s cheek into the treebark with the shotgun
behind his ear.
“Why the fuck don’t you have a lighter in that gym bag?” Jack
screamed.
“Cause I don’t smoke, nigga! I’m motherfuckin’ asthmatic.”
Jack smacked the underside of the barrels against T-dev’s head.
Without removing his palms from the tree, T-dev said, “Look, I’ll
bring the blow, you got to supply your own crack-pipe.”
“Just throw’m in the trunk,” Chauncey said. They heard the
automatic latch release.
“Fuck this shit,” T-dev said, and began to trot off.
“T-dev, calm down,” Jack said contemptuously.
“Fuck you and your trunk,” T-dev called over his jiggling
shoulder.
“Dammit,” Jack sighed, and began the fast walk to overtake the
fleeing tugboat pimp.
He circled in front of T-dev, stiff-armed a palm into the soupy
chest and aimed down the shotgun at T-dev’s face.
9
“Go ahead on,” T-dev said defiantly, “Make your punkass joke
‘bout how I won’t even fit in no trunk.”
They stood there, looking at each other.
T-dev explained, “I’m hot. I’m sweaty. I’m motherfucking
naked, and I’m about to die. Leave me somethin’. I ain’t gettin’ in
no trunk.”
Jack chewed his anger while he went through the frustration of
picking his words.
“We were gonna set your clothes on fire and drive off and leave
you here. But you don’t smoke. So—Sasquatch—said put them in
the trunk. Them. Not you. Them.”
In the silence, they could hear a bead of sweat crackle in the
hairs as it slid through the cheeks of T-dev’s ass.
“Man, just fuckin’ shoot me.”
Jack spray-laughed and lowered the gun.
“I won’t shoot you.”
T-dev nodded. “Now that I think about it, I believe you. Know
why?”
“Because I have a gun?”
“Because you almost said his name, but you didn’t want me to
hear it. So I live through this, humiliating as this shit is.”
“Because I’m getting a cramp in my shoulder,” Jack chuckled.
T-dev glared at him. “I’m supposed to do what now? Bond
with you on that shit, all buddy-buddy, forget you wanna commit
suicide for some crazy whiteboy reason and pick me to do it with so
I slap a death warrant on your ass, but I forget all that and we fall
out laughing it off because you got a cramp? Man, I don’t know if
you’re crazy or stupid or both or what, but any which way you dice
these carrots, you don’t know shit. You’re not a cop. You’re not a
gangsta. You’re not even a gangsta wannabe. You ain’t never been to
my world and you won’t ever know what’s going on down there.”
Jack blinked and began to raise the shotgun again.
“Man fuck that gun. Fuck you, and fuck Sasquatch and
fuck your motherfuckin’ flag motherfuckin’ ship of the mother
fucking fleet.”
Jack looked at him, and then smiled slowly. His eyes narrowed
as T-dev’s widened. Through his snaky grin, Jack said, “His name
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is—”
“JEEZUZ god and mother of Christ don’t tell me,” T-dev
yelped and clamped his meaty paws over his tiny ears and doubled
over. “No!”
After a few seconds, Jack realized he was crying.
“No,” T-dev moaned. “No, man, no.” He rose up.
Jack winced when he saw the big drops fall from the femininelength lashes.
“I’m begging you,” T-dev said. “Man to man. Shoot me.
Motherfucking shoot me. Shoot me rape me, shove that fucking
shotgun up my fat greasy asscrack and fucking kill me, I’ll suck
your dick, I’ll drink your piss or eat my own shit, just make a move
and fucking tell me what you fucking want, man.” He broke into
abject, heaving sobs, “Just tell me. What do you want?”
Jack’s eyes snapped into narrow, unfeeling slits. T-dev stood up
as best he could to receive a death he could not retreat or
cower from anymore, because whatever was to happen next was the
real deal.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Jack took the gym bag from
Chauncey without even looking behind him. “You’re gonna make
your way as best you can, naked, back into town. No clothes, no
water, no nothing but a severely felonious amount of drugs. Way
more than that lookout shill, what’s his name, J-rock?”
“J-raz.”
“What the fuck ever. A minor. He gets popped he can’t do any
adult time, even caught dealing. Which makes you a
punkass coward.”
“I’m fat too. And a sleazy drug dealer and pimp gangsta
motherfucker. My dick’s small and my turds stink and I don’t care
because I shit on my fellow man and I’ll cook my smelly ass in
hell like a fucking Butterball turkey. Anymore fucking creative
motherfucking names you got to call me, or can I start walking?”
Jack sneered. “Such a long way you’ve come. Two minutes ago
you were gonna suck my dick. Well here’s what I want. You
still listening?”
T-dev glared, then lowered his head and heaved a sigh.
“I suggest you find the nearest cop and get whatever cop you’ve
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been snitching to.” He slashed a look at T-dev’s rising face. “That’s
right, I don’t know shit, but I know you can’t always buy your
protection, sometimes you gotta let the farmer catch a few fish if
you’re gonna be the alligator.”
“And you’re a poet. Well fuck me,” T-dev snarled.
“I suggest you find that cop because now you’re gonna need
his protection for real. You’re not king of DeLancey Street. The
Kings are just a punkass subsidiary. Real action gets handed down
from the lifers doing multiple concurrents in prison, and you just
disappeared with half a key of their dope.”
“I won’t have no trouble being believed.”
“Yeah, Jay-raz’ll back you up. Two white guys nobody’s ever
seen before come rollin’ up in a Crown Vic and haul your fat ass
out in the country just so they could look at your wiener and then
left you to trudge your fat ass back into town and didn’t take the
dope. How many friends you got when that gets out?”
“More’n you.”
“Fine. Play it that way. How many friends up top gonna
front you after this? How far up in the Kings you gonna rise? Or
maybe they’ll see you did such a fine job you should join them at
corporate?”
“I done half a nickel on d-block.”
“For dealing, sure.”
“Hell yes for dealing.”
“And you’da done the other half, except you found a farmer
to feed the fish to, and a snitch jacket never rubs off. How much
could you do once that crew even thinks you survived out here
that way?”
T-dev looked like he was going to spit, then changed his mind.
“Get to the point, it’s a long walk.”
Jack smiled. “It’s a long walk past a school. That’s a sex offense,
and no cop in the world will wanna go to bat for you on that.
Again, your friends on d-block hear that, you’ll be the celly on his
belly.” Holding the shotgun as backup, Jack reached his left hand
and jiggled one of T-dev’s breasts. “And with a set of man-boobs
this fine, they’ll trade you for a deck of Kools per session easy.”
“Jesus, man, why you so hard?”
12
“Because you’re a sleazy-ass dope dealer who tries to hide
behind children.”
“Me’n every other pimp out there.”
“Starting today, just every other pimp. You’re retired.”
“Or else what? You’ll kill me? We’ve already seen how that plays
out.”
Jack whipped into blasting stance.
“Go ahead,” T-dev said calmly. “You just spent ten minutes
pointing out all the reason it’d be doing me a favor. See there, you
just shit in your nest, because now I have nothing to lose, and
nothing but three kinds of living hell if you don’t kill me. So go
ahead, Mr. Shotgun. Only do something quick, because I sunburn
easily. Good thing my ‘wiener’ is in a permanent shade, huh?” He
jiggled his belly at Jack with both hands.
Jack looked at T-dev.
“That’s what I thought,” T-dev said.
Jack smiled and draped the top of the shotgun back across his
right shoulder. “Keep thinking. You’ll figure it out.”
“Already done that,” T-dev said. He turned to go.
“Hey, Taz-dev?” Chauncey called.
T-dev turned at the unfamiliar voice and automatically raised
his hands to catch the object thrown.
“You forgot your drugs.”
T-dev tucked the object daintily against his hip. He said,
“When I brought it, it was in a gym bag.”
Jack and Chauncey shook their heads and got in the car.
They were laughing as they turned around and drove past T-dev.
T-dev shook his head. “Took my mother fucking gym bag, you
believe that shit?”
In the Crown Vic, Jack mopped his face with his shirt tail
and said, “No, turn it all the way up.” He cranked all the air
conditioning knobs to their full level.
The Crown Vic took the entrance ramp back onto the highway
and effortlessly merged into the traffic streaming out of town at
seventy-five miles an hour. Chauncey gave a police-looking nod and
wave to the actual policeman doing seventy as they him passed on
the right.
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