Bayou Whispers
Fernández grunted.
Roo’s F-350 rumbled past a row of closed, brightly painted doors and made its way toward the back of the property. Roo got out of the cab, unlocked a large brass padlock, and rolled up the garage door. He pulled the truck in, stopped the engine, and closed the door from the inside.
“Hey!” Fernández called out in the pitch blackness.
“Hang on, midget!” returned Roo. He swore as his shin banged off something heavy, then his fingers found the light switches.
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