Their Move

CHARLIE

Feeling a little paranoid, I hid in the toilet until the truck was gone, as if the driver could recognize me and drag me back into that box with machine guns. As soon as I assured myself that the coast was clear, I began to analyze my situation. I was at the gas station right outside Greenwich, Connecticut. My phone was dead—not like battery-dead but literally dead-gone-dead. It seemed like all its circuits had burned out, just like it had happened to my earpiece. Luckily, my wallet didn't suffer, and my credit cards were still in place.

I drew a deep breath and stared at the mirror. I looked like I had run a marathon on heels during a desert storm. It took me fifteen or more minutes before I resembled a human being. I washed the dirt off my face and combed my hair using my fingers. I still looked like shit, but I had more urgent matters than improving my looks.

I asked the clerk at the station if I could use his phone and called Kevin. He didn't answer. My stomach twisted s