Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four.

Harry hadn’t noticed a teal Prius sitting thirty-feet away. The driver was staring at his phone. Harry saw two open laptops inside.

—

One of the two men, thin-shouldered with wingtips, began pacing while speaking into a headset. The left side of his face was scarred.

A tall man with sunken eyes lifted the roll-up door of the Penske truck, motioning the group inside. He wore a scruffy, red chin-beard.

Harry counted seven Mexicans (one under five feet), two filipinos (Tagalog), and two black guys as everyone piled in. Only a coiled length of rope lay coiled in the corner. No tools. No other equipment.

Mexican patter began to fill the stuffy box. The truck did a half-turn in the gravel lot, exiting on Marginal. Left.

—

8:37 pm.–The smell was horrendous. One of Harry’s group began to whistle. Clear, high, bird calls. A little unhinged. Now, the man was rocking back and forth, intense and agitated.

‘Stop the goddamn truck.’

Harry and another man grabbed his shoulders.

‘This is easy money, come on motherfucker‘

‘Get me out’ Stop the goddamn truck!’

A few Mexicans began whistling their disapproval. The man was standing in the middle of the truck, swinging his arms wildly.

‘Get me the fuck outta here!’

The truck slowly rolled to a stop…