Refer to last Sunday's post for the start of this short, A Suitcase Story that Ry and I are riffing off of one another to write.
She
slides through her phone contacts as the RPMs rise, tapping Special Agent
Blank's number and steeling herself for the next steps.
The
Imprezia stalls at a red light. "Damn it," Kim thinks, "why
don't I know how to drive a stick?"
Flustered,
she checks the rear-view and stares directly at the government plates of a
black Suburban. "How the hell..." she mumbles, pulling the
phone to her ear and turning to squint through the smoked glass at the driver's
familiar silhouette.
Agent
Blank and his annoying smirk are in the Suburban behind her. Kim has been
dodging him – and the rest of the agency – after the Miami fiasco last month.
Her report showed that the drug-runners hadn’t been responsible for the ocean
fire, but Blank didn’t want to believe her.
She
watched him laugh deeply and heard him as well, her body tensing at the sound.
"You rang, my dear?" his syrupy voice crept from the phone's speaker.
His eyes maintained their lock on her as he commanded, "Get in the truck."
"I'm
driving," Kim snipped. "So pull over then." Her body obeyed
before her mind had a chance to react.
The
drive was quiet. Blank focused on the road, hypnotically weaving between semis
and minivans on eastbound I-64. The mile sign read 15 to Evansville before he
spoke. "It's time you knew Billy's whole story," he said, nodding to
the glove compartment. "Open it."
Kim
cut a glance at Blank. Reaching for the knob, she knew that whatever was inside
would change the way she looked at Blank, Billy, and the world. "Blank,
listen," she started as Blank slammed on the brakes, causing her head to
pound against the dash.
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