“I’m sorry,” said Clinton—and seemed genuinely saddened, genuinely sympathetic. “But it’s 9 am, dude. And that’s a sight past dawn.”
I watched the skies, watched the road, waiting for the chop-chop of a helicopter, waiting for signs of a truck.
But there was nothing; not so much as a whisper, not even a flock of birds. Just the blue dome of sky and a smattering of clouds; the hot, yellow sun, a distant column of smoke. There weren’t even any insects.
“It’s not too late,” said Clinton. “And there’s plenty of rounds yet. Hell, we could even put it off until tomorrow, if you want.” He looked at the car, which gleamed in the sun. “I’m kind of liking this sunshine, if you want to know the truth.”
I shielded my eyes and scanned the horizon— shook my head. “No. No, thanks. I—I’m just going to
