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jolted him back to all those years ago when
the stadium would roar to their feet on third and long, like an angry coliseum
demanding a gladiator’s death. When even your teammates could look at you like
you were the only one who’d fucked up. But Coach had told him a thousand times,
“That’s when you let go of how things were supposed to work out. Then you got
to make it up as you go. That’s all. Figure out your Plan B.”
    So between the cot and the sink, Dearmore let go forever of
the idea of coming out of this unharmed. He had to do something. Fast.
    They got him in position, Meatface executing a bear hold on
his torso, Jorge ready to put all his weight on his arm and hand.
    With a scary precision, Twigs flicked the razor and moved
in. “Hold out his thumb, boys.”
    “Wait a minute,” Buck said. “Hold on just a second.”
    Twigs paused. “I’m listening.”
    “I still have it all, and then some,” Buck said. “I can take
you to it.”
    “Hear that, fellas? Now he can take us to the money.
Now that we’ve gone digital.” She laughed at her own joke. “You aren’t
suggesting it’s at your place, I hope. Because we’ve already tossed that and
didn’t find shit.”
    “No, not there, but it’s someplace safe,” Buck assured her.
    “You’re still going to lose the finger, you know,” Twigs
said. “I can’t help that. It’s a done deal from on high.”
    “I know,” Buck said quickly. “I’ll take you there right now.
All I ask is that you let me pick which finger.”
    Twigs’ smile was genuine. “Well, what do you know, boys? The
asshole thinks he’s a negotiator.”

Chapter 22
    In the front seat of the abandoned Mustang, Buck Dearmore’s
cell played Boomer Sooner to empty air. The car had been hidden
so far off the shoulder of the road it might have escaped notice at night, but
in the fading evening, its QRTBACK license tagglinted
back at the orange slice of sunset. Bloody tufts of horse hair hung from the
crevices of the crunched front fender .
    A half mile ahead, Tony and Erika walked, a stiff and
terrible silence between them. Erika’s eyes were pink and swollen.
    “Will you stop fucking bawling,” Tony finally said.
    “We should have stopped and at least looked at her. Maybe we
could have–-”
    “—gotten our asses arrested?” he finished for her.
    After a moment, she said, “Well, we can’t walk all the way
back to the city. It’s practically dark.”
    “We can’t hitch a ride and be remembered either.”
    “What if a patrolman spots us and asks what we’re doing out
here in the middle of the night?”
    Tony grabbed her arm. “Listen to me. I’m strapped. Okay?”
    Erika stared at him in disbelief. She could not scare up an
ounce of sympathy. “Why do you need a gun?” Then, before he could answer, “Well,
that’s your problem, Tony. If someone stops, I’m hitching.”
    Tony watched with slitted eyes as she walked ahead of him.
She could be such a stubborn bitch. Still, watching her walk away, her butt
swishing from side to side always turned him on.

Chapter 23
    An upscale Safari motorhome, the $300,000 variety with wet
bar and plasma screen, glided through the night. To add to the splendor, a car
trailer in back towed a late model gold Porsche.
    Inside, a couple in their 50's, wearing expensive new age
clothes, passed a joint back and forth in the front seat. Dell Walker, graying
hair to his collar, was tall enough to be imposing, but had more the demeanor
of a good-natured giant. His wife Vivian wasn’t really pretty but was so well
put together, from the ash blonde hair pulled up in a clip to perfectly made-up
hazel eyes, that men found her immediately attractive.
    She had the understated confidence of someone so steeped in
old money she had never had to prove anything in her life. In spite of exuding
wealth, however, there remained a friendly openness about them.
    The Safari’s headlights flashed on a couple walking off the
side of the road ahead of