It rang and rang until the machine kicked on. “This is Mike Simms’ residence. Leave a message after the beep.” “Mike! Mike! It’s me, Wilson McKay! Wake up and answer your goddamned phone.” He kept yelling, demanding his call be answered, but still nothing. He was just about to hang up when he heard someone pick up the receiver. Mike Simms was a professional gambler with a penchant for pretty machines, but it was his skill as a chopper pilot that Wilson needed. “Fuck, Wilson…do you know what time it is?” “I need your help,” Wilson said. Two years ago, Wilson had helped bring down the man who’d broken into Mike’s home and stolen some valuable art. They’d become friends during the process and had kept in touch on a haphazard basis. Still, Mike wasn’t the kind of man who forgot the favors he owed. “What’s up?” Mike asked, and Wilson could practically hear him rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I need to get to Chihuahua, Mexico, ASAP.
