“—Crow’s rules “YOU OUGHTA GO FISHING,” Sam said. “Ax ain’t worried about you, no reason you oughta be worrying about him.” “I’m not worried about him, Sam,” Crow said. He leaned against the battered grill of a thirty-year-old Ford flatbed, one of the many unfinished restoration projects filling Sam’s backyard. “You wanna hold this here?” Sam held out a thick, black extension cord. Two one-inch-long twists of bare copper wire protruded from the end. Crow accepted the wire without thinking. “I wa...s just saying that if I was Axel I’d go with my first instinct and take a closer look at Hyatt Hilton. The guy’s up to something. Why do you think Ax told me to lay off? It’s not like I was costing him anything.” Sam lowered himself to his hands and knees, rolled onto his back, and pulled himself under the faded red truck. “Maybe it was the shotgun,” he said, his voice filtering up through the engine compartment and echoing from the open hood. “Ax don’t like guns.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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