“We cannot just let him pull back onto the highway,” I said.
David leaned against the concrete wall of the garage, his bad knee giving a small twitch under his jeans. He took a slow breath, looking down at his own heavy leather riding boots.
“Then we need to know what we are dealing with before we make a mess,” David said. “Go see if the girl at the register knows them.”
I walked back toward the double glass doors of the plaza store, the heat of the afternoon pressing down on the back of my neck. Inside, the cool air of the air conditioning hit me like a wet towel.
The store smelled of floor wax and stale popcorn. I walked past the wire racks of sunglasses to the main register where a young girl with a name tag that read Mindy was counting five-dollar bills.
“The fellow in the blue shirt who just came through,” I said, leaning my arm on the wooden counter. “The one with the little girl. Does he stop in here often?”
