Juliana looked at that and then back at her livid boyfriend. She ducked her head and chose to face the elements. She ran though the downpour and climbed into the truck cab. The diesel rumbled to life. The truck departed with a grind of the gears and a splash through a newly formed puddle. Juliana gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles went white. She was so good to Cente and in payment he told her to drive forty thousand pounds of steel through a hurricane. Rain lashed the windscreen like intermittent cracks of a whip. Her eyes felt heavy and her arms were like lead. She’d been high most of the day and the resultant energy crash was on its way. She wasn’t going to make it to Macon in one day at this rate. She was going to need a little help, the same help that had gotten her through so much in the past. She pulled over and slipped a baggie from her pocket. The white powder inside was damn near pure. The Colombians might cut it with filler once it got into the states, but they weren’t going to ship it in that way.
