Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Come on, Ronny, we both know why. A hundred K each? That’s why.”

Teeth clenched, Stillwell was shaking his head, his lips barely moving. “It’s not enough.” He was freaking out, sweating, his eyes narrowed on the highway ahead of the truck, his mind spinning.

“Murder,” Ronny said, as if talking to himself. He fumbled around the console, found his cigarettes and lighter and, one-handing it, lit up, sucking in a deep drag.

Hopefully the nicotine would calm him down.

“I just don’t understand it, man,” he said around the cigarette. Darkness had completely fallen and he turned on his high beams.

Boxer didn’t ask what. He knew.

“Why is it you’re following your dick, no, why’re we following your dick to bumble-fuck Montana? She’s crazy. You know it, right? Didn’t you tell me she was in some psych ward in Oregon?”

“That’s over.”

“She’s fuckin’ nuts, buddy.”

He wanted to argue, but Stillwell did have a point. Not that Boxer would admit it—the truth was that Stillwell wasn’t far from the truth. She had him. By the balls.

Stillwell passed a sedan puttering down the highway, a silver-haired woman huddled over the wheel.

“What is it about her that you can’t say no? Huh? Even to fuckin’ murder? I should never have gone along with that.” He inhaled deeply, the tip of his Winston glowing red in the interior.

“It’ll be okay.”

“It won’t! Not ever,” he said desperately, in a rush of exhaled smoke. He cracked the window a bit. Cold air rushed in. “You didn’t have to look at her, man. See her starin’ at you when you pulled the fucking trigger.” He was shaking now. The cigarette between his lips vibrating, smoke curling out the slit of the open window.

“Think about the money.”

“I can’t.”

Stillwell was cracking up. Losing it. Something would have to be done about that.

Ronny’s gaze cut back and forth across the windshield as snow began to fall, heavy flakes reflecting in the truck’s headlights. “No woman and no amount of money is worth this.”

“Oh, shut up!” Boxer was done with all this moaning and complaining. “It’s over. You knew what you were getting into before you pulled the damned trigger. We just have to keep moving. We’ve got a plan.”

“She’s got a plan and it’s probably for shit.”

“Have some faith, asshole.”

Stillwell snorted, sucked on the cig, then rolled his window farther down and flicked the butt outside, tiny r

ed embers visible into the night. “Faith.”

“We just have to keep moving.”

“And ‘following orders’ from that nut job.”

Boxer sent him a hard look. “We don’t have much of a choice now. If you wanted out, you should have said something before you iced Brindel Latham.”

“Don’t say her name! I don’t want to think about it!” He was yelling now, the speedometer stretching toward ninety.

“Slow the fuck down! The last thing we need is to be pulled over by the cops!”

Instantly Stillwell let up on the gas and closed the window. “Speed limit’s higher here than in California.”

“Keep it under eighty for Christ’s sake! It’s dark as shit. You can’t see any cop hiding and waiting.”