“Specks, you okay?” I asked the old railroader in the back seat. He was squinting at me. “Yeah, I think. But why’d you let that little bitch bash my head into the door?” So that was what the thump had been when I thought Specks had gone into shock. “Sorry,” I told him and fired up our whirlybird. “I thought she was on our side.” “That little shit’s been trouble ever since she showed up four months ago.” “Four months?” “Yeah. Just after Christmas.” “Then she never worked with Doc?” “Not to my knowledge. She’s mostly been training in the yards. Your daddy and me haven’t done a job apart since he come up here two years ago.” With that info, the foggy picture I’d had of what was happening cleared up considerably. “Are you good for a trip to Slaughterhouse Yards?”
