Page 9 of Along for the Ride

“You know, pre-prison Gentry was way more fun. We used to play ‘how many weapons can we use before they die,’ remember?”

Gentry’s lips tighten.

“You remember,” I continue. “You were the running champion. What was it? Bullet, blade, claw hammer, screwdriver, and not one buttwonails to the eyes before he finally died.” I sigh. “Good times.”

Gentry turns to walk away. “It was three nails. Two in the eyes, one in the ear.”

“We have such fond childhood memories,” I say with a shake of my head and a longing look toward the window.

“Let’s go,” Gentry yells from the mudroom area. Foyer? Whatever the snobs call it.

“I’m coming.”

We climb into the van and peel off our gloves. It’s the first thing we do after a hit because those fucking things are constricting. Safety first, though.

“How much did we get?” I ask as Gentry steers the van down the winding driveway.

He shakes his head and sighs. “Not enough.”

“We gotta get out from under George’s thumb. We do all the hard work, and he gets all the pay. Yeah, he throws us some scraps, but we should be living like kings instead of goddamn peasants.”

“That’s the plan,” he says, and I wish he’d say more. I’m getting sick of his short sentences.

I decide to press him. “What plan? Care to share with your partner?”

“No. Not really.”

Before I can ask anything else, Gentry’s phone rings. I lean closer, trying to hear the conversation once he answers, but he only pushes me away.

“All that way? There’s no one else—” Gentry is silenced by a rising tone on the other end. “How much...Alright. Alright. Fine.” He ends the call and cracks his neck after rolling his shoulders.

I lean back and throw my feet onto the dash. “What’s up?”

“We have to go to fucking Hollywood for a hit.”

“Like...drive?”

“Can’t get our guns on a plane, now, can we? So yeah, driving. George said we’d need to take a road trip, but I didn’t realize he meant we’d have to trek across the country.”

“Oh man, that’s like thirty-six hours on the road. With me.” I laugh. “Good fucking luck, brother.”

“I will beat my list of murder items in one body if you don’t behave yourself.”

“When do I ever misbehave?”

“Every day that ends in Y.” He pulls onto the main road and aims the van for the highway. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Who’s the hit?” I ask.

“Some actor that got into shit they shouldn’t have. Someone who can buy a new Lambo but not pay their debts. But he’s also someone witha lotof security.”

“Harder job means better pay, right?”

Gentry shrugs and looks out the window. “He says we’ll make more on this job than we ever have. If he’s telling the truth, maybe we can branch out on our own again. Cut the middleman.”

I never liked having a handler, so this plan sounds like a great idea to me. As long as I can survive this road trip, things are looking up.

The engine light comes on, blaring bright orange on the dashboard. A sickening sweet smell fills the front of the van, and a rush of steam rises from the hood. Gentry slams his hands on the wheel. We barely made a dent in our drive. We’re still tucked inside wooded hills, miles from the main highway. He’s going to be so fucking mad. And insufferable. Great.

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