“Well, she slit his throat. His head nearly fell off. Psycho.”
Mypsycho, I think with pride, my heart beating hopefully. “And you saw this? She got away?”
“Yep. Right in front of me. Then the other guy ran after her. I guess he was a plainclothes cop.”
Yeah, right.
“Anyway he got her, and he drove off with her. One less criminal on the streets.”
FUCK!
I’m about to jump back in my car, my heart pounding wildly in my chest, when I hear a voice.
“Excuse me, but… are you Quill Nelson?”
I turn to face the guy who’s just spoken. He’s sitting on the hood of his car, looking very shaken. The kind of face my contracts have when they’re about to take a shit as their final act on Earth before I gun them down.
“Yeah,” I frown. “How the hell did you know?”
“I don’t.” He gulps, wiping the sweat on his brow. “It was ashot in the dark. But you look like you knew this girl, whoever she is. And, well… I heard her cry out for help.” His hands are shaking. “I’m sorry, I wish I hadn’t driven off. But the guy threatened me with a gun. As soon as he was gone, I called the cops, and now I’m back. She’s in danger.”
I close the distance between us, the blood thundering in my ears. “What did you see? What did she tell you?”
“She was running for her life. Then the guy fell on top of her and she yelled… she yelled…”
“What?” I hiss.
“She said… ‘They’re going to rape and kill me at Devil Tower. The plane leaves at seven. Quill Nelson is the only one who can save me.’”
Everything suddenly feels like it’s going in slow-motion as I stare for a full minute at him in horror.
Fuck. They’re going to hurt her. They’re going to hurt my cricket.
I’m bending over again, trying really hard not to puke, wishing I could shake off this postdrome that is driving me nuts. What do I do now? What the hell am I supposed to do now?
“The plane leaves at seven,” I groan, facing the man again. “What plane? Tell me, what plane?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
I stumble back to the car, and the next minute, I’m driving like a madman away from the country road, back on the highway.
Chapter 11
Quill
“Ask your fucking brother’s sister’s acquaintance to find me the nearest airport!” I roar. “With a direct airplane to Astley!”
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay.” I can actuallyhearJosh sweat as he clicks on some buttons. “Hold on, man. I’m turning on my iPad, so I can call you and text my acquaintance at the same time.”
“I don’t fucking care what you do,” I groan. “As long as you fucking do it.”
I’m aware that the sentence doesn’t make sense, but my head hurts too much and my body is too panicky for me to try to form rational sentences. Josh seems to get the general gist, though, as his breathing grows ragged.
“The plane leaves at seven,” I say. “That’s the only thing I’ve found out.”
“And that’s plenty,” says Josh. “Great job.”
Can the little shit hear me having a mental breakdown in real time or something? Why the hell is he talking to me like I’m seven and I just got a C on my first spelling test?
