The big man swore as he jumped free of the motorbike he was on when he lost control. Sparks and flying pieces of tires was flinging through the air and he just got out of the way in time to avoid being hit and most probably killed in the process.
Doing a tuck and roll before coming back onto his feet, he utter a string of swear words, watching as the bike followed the old blue Chevy down into the ravine. Shouldering the shot gun he walked over to the side, peering down into the darkness where the car should be and pulling a cellphone out of a back pocket as he moved. Pressing on a speed dial, he held the phone to his ear, speaking the moment the call connected.
“The b***h is dead.” He didn’t even try to hide the bitterness and venom when he spoke into the speaker next to his ear.
“How?”
