The baggies were hidden in hollowed out Bibles, because a Bible salesman was obviously believable.
“Think they been sniffin’ their own stock. Know whatta mean?” he told the desert.
The night came quick in the middle of nowhere, and the sun had already descended to a sliver.
Carlos concentrated on the dividing line, illuminated by the headlight beams.
Eight hours on the road, he thought and rubbed his eyes. They don’t pay me enough for this shit. What the fuck is wrong with UPS?
He picked up his bottle of water from the cup holder behind the stick shift. Dregs. He tipped the last warm sip into his mouth and grimaced.
Replacing the bottle, he drummed on the steering wheel. The radio picked up nothing but static, so remained switched off. The only sound was the drone of tyres on road. Carlos yawned.
The sign instantly caught his eye, being the only variation in the last twenty or so miles. A row of three lights along the top kept the shadows at bay and made the large white sign glow.
Carlos slowed the car.
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