Weller and Penny in the back seat behind thick glass scratched opaque. Holes drilled through it for ventilation. They could hear the men talking up front and bolts of radio traffic like electricity made audible. One man wondering what caused that sonofabitch to change his mind anyhow. To come all the way from Connecticut and just about get through the toughest checkpoint there is and change his mind at the last minute. Give up this runner and his load of tobacco and have the nerve to ask for the reward. The chutzpah. The other one saying maybe they’d had a fight. There’s no honor among thieves is there. More bolts of radio noise coming and going. The first one saying it’ll serve that sonofabitch right anyhow. That’s the last time he’ll ferry a runner. Those radio noises again, hurting Penny’s ears. The car bounded down the devastated street. Deep potholes in Washington Heights and Harlem and the suspension shot a long time ago. An armored Crown Vic, two tons of reinforced steel and bulletproof glass and hard-muscled men lurching toward Central National Park.
