the bottom tore out and bundles of cash poured out on the ground.
Coules stared at the money. “So close. All this time, it was right there.”
O’Hara pulled out her cuffs and snapped them on his wrists. “And this is as close as you’re getting to it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gus cranked down the window and let the wind blast him in his face. This was what life was all about: speed, freedom, and the open road.
Veronica Mason had finally come through with the reward she’d promised, and the first six thousand dollars had ransomed the Echo. The rest of it would let Shawn and Gus live safely and securely no matter how much profit the Psych agency was generating.
At least it would if Shawn managed to persuade the rest of the nation to drink Blak. Although Gus had begged him to put the money into T-bills, Shawn had insisted on investing the entire post-Echo sum in a new Bulgarian Blak bottling company. Odds were, they’d never see a penny of it again. But they were young, they were free, and for the first time in ages, they didn’t have the prospect of execution in their near future.
Gus tapped the brakes to let a BMW slip in ahead of him. There was an anguished scream from the seat next to him.
“What are you doing?” Shawn forced the words out through a throat choked with frustration.
“Thought we’d draft for a bit.”
“ Draft? You thought we’d draft?”
“What I said.”
“As in ease out of the headwind and take advantage of the Beemer’s slipstream?”
“That’s what it means.”
Shawn chose his words with extreme care, as if fearing that the wrong ones were lurking in his mouth and threatening to leap out and pummel Gus over the head.
“We’ve been in this drive-through line for twenty-three minutes,” he said. “We haven’t moved in twenty-two. The only headwind is coming from that kid blowing straw wrappers at us.”
Gus cranked down the window another notch and let the warm breeze fill the car. “You drive your way, and I’ll drive mine.”
Shawn reached for the door handle. “I’m going to go inside, place my order, receive my food, eat my delicious BurgerZone burger, place my refuse in the receptacle, and when I come back out, you’ll still be sitting in exactly this place.”
“Quite possibly true, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Remember this?” Gus reached into the glove box and pulled out the xeroxed flyer. Across the top it read: Attention All BurgerZone Employees. On the bottom it warned in stern letters: Do Not Serve. And in the middle, a police artist’s sketch of Tara. And another one of Shawn.
“If you even want to sniff the aroma of those delicious BurgerZone burgers, you’ll do it my way.”
Shawn crumpled up the flyer.
“You’re going to sit here forever because you’re so happy to be back behind the wheel of this car.”
“Yup.”
“And you’re going to make me sit here because you don’t like to be alone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking advantage of the fact that I’ve been banned from BurgerZone? That you’re taking advantage of my own personal weakness?”
“Don’t think of it as me taking advantage of you,” Gus said, patting Shawn on the knee. “Think of it as a win-win.”
