Lincoln Highway Novels & Stories

Keep calling her," Lynn says, his eyes focusing on the road, hands whirling the wheel, increasing the spee After two hit-nerving hours, they enters in Los Angelos city. At the way, they ignored the red traffic signals, the irritating horns of other cars and the angry red eyes of traffic policemen. Lynn continuously accelerated the car and Mahone kept tuning a song by tapping on the dashboard. He parks the car a mile away from their destination building, beside a tree and some wild bushe "Is your buddy Ray here yet?" Mahone gets out from the seat after glancing around the empty area except parked car

The baby thing wasn’t exactly great but she had faith they would make it work. Linlin went to slide into her side of the car, turning around with a second glance because a flash of light caught her eye and searched along the narrow road behind them to see what it was. Lot’s of cars parked neatly in line and she assumed it was sunlight on a window or something, noting the furthest vehicle which was black had just shut their door. She waved it off, got in, and got them out of their parking spot in record time. Navigating along the narrow street as she set her sat nav to their new route.

My head still throbbed, and Lincoln didn't need to be told what to do. "I'm linking everyone now." *** We sped out of the city; Pine Valley was two hours away from us by car, and once we were far enough away, we could pull over and shift, cutting the time in half. Lincoln raced down the highway pulling off into a public parking lot. We hadn't spoken a word as we drove here. Both of us, too, worked up over what we were about to do to try and ease the tension we were both feeling. Flint was getting antsy too, and I couldn't blame him.

I shift mid-turn and bolt as fast as I can towards the sound. Just a little over a quarter mile out, I see a burgundy red, Lincon Continental, with its long stretched, wide front end, the chrome bumpers glistening in the moonlight, it’s square, box-like exterior a testament to times long past. Right beside the vehicle the round blubbery figure of none other than David Mason heaves in a fit of coughs and beside that, I can make out the tall stance of Jack Morrison.

“Lincoln. You just gave it all up that fast. You’re trying to protect whoever’s standing behind you. Aren’t you?” His Adam’s apple moved, and his face went white. Lincoln had been my personal driver for seven years. He was an associate, outside the inner circle, not a made man. No Italian blood. No Moretti Family ink on his skin. He’d never gone through the ceremony. Six years ago, I’d caught him taking my Bentley on side runs for an underground card room in Bay Ridge. I’d cut him a six-figure severance, made him sign an NDA (a standard commercial NDA, not a Family one), and put him out.

After a few… distractions — and plenty of worrying from Lincoln — we finally arrive at the assisted living facility where I first met Olivia. Lincoln doesn’t park right away. Instead, he slowly circles the entire lot, his eyes scanning every parked car, every dark corner, every shadow near the building. “Is that really necessary?” I ask quietly, watching him study a beat-up sedan like it personally offended him. “I don’t see any harm in it,” he replies, voice calm but alert. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone lurked around like the boogeyman.”

Another, “Money Ain't Loyal.” After ten minutes of slow driving, the Lincoln turned off the main avenue into a side street. Seeing the Lincoln turn, the dark man also veered his car into the street. He was now sure the man in the Lincoln was headed for home. This was now an empty road, and he couldn’t afford to be spotted. He saw a gap in the traffic, as the Lincoln signaled left; and he stepped on the gas. He overtook the Lincoln, then slowed down. From his driver’s mirror, he saw the Lincoln turn into the underground garage of a nine-story condominium building.

"Lincoln is just playing the hard guy game." Oh! So Lincoln is his name, huh? "He isn't..." The Lincoln guy cut Hardie short. "I'm not playing hard to get, I'm always like this. I just don't like girls who talks a lot, you know that." "Pfft..." Hardie hissed. The rest of the ride was in total, no, its awkward silence. Lincoln stopped before the restaurant and I hopped down. "Thanks for the ride." I smiled. "Be a good girl at work." With that, Lincoln drove off.

Lincoln I’m almost asleep, but something’s bothering me. I get up and walk to the living room. I peer out the front window and stare sleepily at the empty space where Shelby’s car should be. Son of a bitch. She’s out doing her do-good bullshit. I’m instantly awake and angry. Also hell of worried. I’m driving to Central Avenue within ten minutes. It’s eleven thirty when I hit the section of town known for fulfilling every man’s desire if he’s willing to pay. These aren’t the high-dollar escorts by any means. Most of the ladies here have drug habits and other assorted problems.

someone shouted in the crowd, and everyone looked over. Suddenly, the uproar turned into pin-drop silence. An extended Lincoln drove by slowly. The car was surrounded by hundreds of men in black marching along, making the scene majestically stunning. Who could it be? Even the heirs of the wealthy were stunned as they stared at Lincoln. This extended Lincoln was a customized edition, and probably less than five existed in the world.