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“Even fifteen feet belowground, encased in steel and concrete block walls, he could hear the reverberation. Big engine, maybe a 454—a muscle car.
The car screamed away, the engine going from sweet to angry.
A few minutes later Luther came down to see him.
“Corey take off?” Max asked.
“You heard the car? Down here? That’s Corey’s pride and joy. A nineteen seventy-one Chevelle SS. Frankly, I’m worried he’s raising his profile too much, but you can’t reason with Corey. You probably already know that.”
Max said, “You and your uncle are smart guys. Why are you fooling around with a redneck like him?”
“He’s got his uses,” Luther said primly.
“You know what’s missing here?” Max said. “A Porta-Potty.”
Luther sat down on one of the folding chairs. “Hopefully, you won’t be here that long. I am sure as hell not going to risk taking you upstairs to the toilet. Can’t you just hold it?”
“Not for a day. I told you, it’s going to take a while. Jerry’s got to talk Talia out of her snit.
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