Vodka & Milk
They: Want You Dead
Copyright © 2017 by Solomon
All Rights Reserved, including the rights to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Vodka & Milk, LLC
Rights Department, 144 North 7th Street, #255 Brooklyn N.Y. 11249
First Edition:
Book and Jacket Design: PiXiLL Designs
Cataloging in Publication data is on file with the library of Congress
ISBN 9780997146288 (eBook)
To P – for the soundtrack of our lives.
Contents
The siren woke her up.
“Shit!” said Howie, his eyes on the rear view mirror. “Shit, no. Not today. Not now.”
They hadn’t been on the road long. She glanced at the clock on the dash—11:14 a.m. They only left the airport ten minutes ago and were now on the highway into Richmond, Virginia.
Howie was pulling the SUV towards the shoulder, still cursing. She could see his hands shaking.
Melissa Jones twisted around in her seat as the siren blared again. There were two officers in the car behind them, their faces impossible to make out in the haze of the flashing red and blue lights.
“Were you speeding?” Melissa asked.
“Shit no, I ain’t crazy.” Howie brought the car to a halt by the metal barrier at the side of the road. Vehicles shot by them on the road, causing the SUV to rock as they passed by. He already had the glove compartment open, his hand searching for his documents.
“Just stay calm, okay?” he told her, checking through a small bundle of papers to make sure he had everything he needed. Howie’s words made her feel more nervous. It was just a traffic stop, why was he so jumpy? “Keep your hands where the cops can see them, okay? No sudden moves. Don’t argue, don’t talk back, don’t say anything unless they ask you, you got me?”
She nodded. His nervousness was having an effect on her. She tried to calm her breathing. The cops had stopped her before, or at least they’d pulled her dad over when she was in the car. It seemed to happen a lot, and Dad always sighed and said, “Here we go again.” But he’d never appeared to be scared for his life. Howie was sweating, shifting in his seat. He looked like he wanted to bolt.
The cops were taking their time, probably running Howie’s plates through their computer. Howie checked through his papers for the third time.
“Shit,” he said. Awkwardly, he reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. It took a moment for him to find his driver’s license, which he added to the stack of documents. He handed the wallet to her. She moved to put the wallet in her lap but he shook his head. “Keep your hands visible.”
“Okay,” she said. “It’s going to be okay, Howie. Try to relax.”
“Sure, I’ll relax,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Crap, we should record this.”
“Record it? Really?”
Howie had his phone out and was opening a live streaming app. He spoke into the camera.
“Okay, this is Howie Do coming to you from I-95 in
