Sullivan cupped his hands to the glass and looked into the small space, then reached out and pressed the red button mounted beside a battered-looking speaker. The button elicited no response, and he wondered how long they would have to wait outside in the rain before someone noticed them standing here. He pressed the button again, beginning to lose his patience, and squinted through the rain at the front doors, willing one of them to open. “This sucks,” Stevens said, as he turned in a slow circle, taking in their surroundings. Sullivan muttered his agreement and punched the button again. “And what’s up with the sheriff not coming to the crime scene? I know he’s been up all night, but come on. You don’t just toss this kind of shit off to someone else.” Barry shook his head, equally agitated. “Let’s just get up there and take a look at the dead guy and get out of the weather. I’m getting fucking soaked through this plastic.” Sullivan was about to press the button a fourth time when both men heard a sound and looked up to see a covered Rhino speeding toward the gate; a lone occupant sat in the driver’s seat.
