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the trunk—to make sure Troyer isn’t hiding in there—slam it closed, and take off.

CHAPTER 7
    Driving toward the Garden State Parkway, I spot a hitchhiker in the distance. As I close in, I realize its Troyer. Part of me says to keep driving, and part of me says to stop. Don’t ask me why, but yeah, I pick him up. He jumps in, flashing that stupid-ass grin of his.
    “Good day, mate,” he says, pleasant as the morning sun. “How’s it hanging?”
    “Are you shitting me?” I say, totally blown away. “How could you kill that girl and leave me like that?”
    “Pardon me, Tommy Boy: I didn’t kill anyone. What are you talking about? If memory serves me correctly, you fell asleep on the bed. When I returned from my walk, I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. I decided to revisit the bar and check out the bands. While I was there, I hooked up with a very sexy lassie and spent the night with her. When I went back to the motel this morning, you didn’t answer the door, so I started down the road, hoping to hitch a ride to the Cape.”
    “That’s a load of crap, dude. You’re setting me up.”
    “I’m afraid not, mate,” he says, so innocently it makes my skin crawl.
    Part of me says I should keep pressing him, and part of me says it’s a waste of time. Don’t ask me why, but yeah, I reach for the radio and crank up the tunes. But even with the music blasting, I can’t stop my mind from racing. How could Troyer do all of this? The dude is out of control.
    Troyer closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and goes to sleep. Amazing.
    I drive along the highway for an hour or so and try to focus on the music, but my mind keeps replaying the chain of events that brought me here. Over and over, Troyer slices the bartender’s throat. Again and again, I drag her through the brush. Then, my waking nightmare pans to a still-frame picture of the girl hanging in the tub. I feel like I’m never going to get away from this insanity. Panic sets in. I get the damn shakes again, and the sweat pours out. My vision blurs, so I pull over right in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. I mean, there’s nothing around but wide-open space and some trees way off in the distance. Cars are speeding by every few seconds, echoing that windy, whistling sound they make when you’re not moving. But they are.
    I don’t even look at Troyer as I throw open the car door and get out. I walk through the weeds, trying to clear my head. Then I pull out my junk and take a leak. Guys are damn lucky we’re made the way we are. You know, able to drop trou anywhere and let it fly. I finish my business, zip up, and start back. As I look up at the car, I see Troyer leaning against it and waving at me. My head starts pounding, and I get real dizzy. I fall to my knees and puke. That shit’s been happening way too much lately.
    Still queasy, I reach into my pocket and pop some of my pills before I stumble back to the Honda. Troyer is looking at me kind of funny, but he doesn’t say a word. My head isspinning so fast there’s no way I can drive, so I climb in the back seat, take a few deep breaths, and . . .

CHAPTER 8
    I wake up in the dark, totally disoriented. Get this: I’m still in the back seat, and some chick’s lips are wrapped around my cock, giving me the business. Troyer is sitting in the front passenger seat staring at me, flashing a half-assed, toothy smile. I look down at the top of the whore’s head pumping up and down, then look back at Troyer.
    “What the fuck is this?” I scream. “Where’d she come from?” I can’t remember anything after I climbed in this afternoon.
    “Come again, mate?” Troyer says with a grin. “I was wondering if you’d ever blow your load and return to reality.”
    I’m still half in the bag and clueless. “What’s going on, Troyer?” I ask. Meanwhile, the chick barely misses a beat, as she keeps pulling on my withering cock.
    “Finish up there, Tommy Boy. Then we can talk.”
    “I don’t