“Stay here.” The Driver read “Rhodes” on the reflective gold nameplate over the trooper’s man-boobs pocket. The irony was not lost on him. Rhodes cop-walked his way over to the passenger side, smug hands hanging on his utility belt and a handgun that would be fumbled and dropped in a panic. If his license plate hadn’t been called in, The Driver reckoned he could’ve just walked up behind and crush the soft skull of this oxygen thief between his hands like a water balloon, snap this snitch witch’s neck and be on his merry way. Instead, he had to let this charade play out and figure out which pegs to pull. The two talked, shoulders were shrugged. Rhodes became frustrated. He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly out of the car. Soon enough, all three were standing in a huddle before the moth
