“Surefire,” he says and underhands the horseshoe in a practiced arc toward the rusty pole. “Surefire, huh?” Danny says. “Sure fucking fire.” Danny doesn’t believe in surefire, though his lack of belief is less a matter of principal than it is experience. He wants very badly to believe in surefire. Surefire would be so much simpler than the chaos the world usually offers. Still, he’s willing to listen. Moving in with his mother last month has made him willing to listen to a good number of things. “Last time you told me something was surefire, I ended up in the state pen for twenty months.” “I was stupid then. That was insane. This is smart. A clean job.” Smart and Truck are not two words that ever belong in the same sentence, but Danny finds himself curious, despite his better judgment. “What are we talking about?” “Savannah Ridge, baby.”
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