Joe Pike Pike watched Elvis Cole’s Corvette from a Shell station on the opposite side of the highway a quarter-mile from the Burger King. Jon Stone’s black Rover was on Cole’s side of the highway a quarter-mile beyond the Burger King. Whichever direction Cole left, either Pike or Stone would be on the correct side to keep him in sight. Stone’s voice came in Pike’s ear. “Movement.” They were on cell phones, each with a Bluetooth bud in his ear. They had satellite phones, but the regular cells were easier so long as they had a signal and military-grade GPS units. “No joy.” Meaning Pike didn’t see the vehicles. Stone had a better view, and was using binos. “Van’s backing out—” The dingy van crept into Pike’s sight line as Stone said it. Pike started the Jeep, and nosed toward the street. “Got’m. Cole on board?” “Affirm. Man, you gotta check the driver. This is one ugly fucker.” The van left the Burger King and turned onto the highway, heading away from Pike.
