Chapter 19 - Pennyweather's Perch“God… damned… f*****g… son… ofabitch!” Tremayne's cursing punctuated every pot-hole and every washboard in the gravel road that the car's tires plunged into on the unpaved mountain road.
We had reached Colorado Springs an hour ago and hit every single light on the way in—I'd lost count after twenty. Tremayne's fingers had drummed against the steering wheel at every red light we'd stopped at. His alternating sighing and swearing had me rolling my eyes, or darting a nasty stare out my window.
The frustration inside the Mustang grew thick, then, but now it was a matter of negotiating tight, hairpin turns, or muscling the car around sink holes in the gravel road that would swallow a much lesser import. For the first time in my short life, I was happy I wasn't
