The America Power yard went quiet at eleven fifty-eight.

Not silent. A place like that was never silent. Transformers hummed behind chain-link fencing, sodium lamps buzzed over six acres of concrete, and somewhere beyond the maintenance sheds a forklift reversed with a slow electronic beep. A diesel generator hammered steadily behind a corrugated wall. Beyond the perimeter fence, Interstate 16 rolled through the Georgia darkness, unseen but always present, a low continuous growl of tires and engines moving east and west.

The men stopped talking because a black truck had come through the gate.

The Nemesis moved slowly beneath the lamps, midnight-black from bumper to cab, its flat nose reflecting strips of yellow light as it crossed the yard. Twin chrome stacks rose behind the cab. Five amber markers burned across the roofline. The polished fuel tanks caught the glare from the loading bays, and the tandem rear axles rolled beneath the chassis with the weight and confidence of something built to spend its life working.

There were no flames painted down the side. No eagle mural. No ridiculous slogan across the doors.

It didn’t need any of that.

Tee “Road Rage” Rucker brought the Nemesis around in one long arc and backed toward Bay Four. He leaned into the mirror, barely moving the wheel as the tractor straightened beneath the waiting trailer. The reverse lights painted two white squares across the concrete.

The truck stopped.

Rolled backward another six inches.

Stopped again.

The fifth wheel sat directly beneath the kingpin.

A man in an America Power jacket stood on the dock with a clipboard tucked under one arm. “You could’ve just backed it in, Rucker,” he called.

Tee leaned out of the open driver’s window. He wore a dark cap, aviator sunglasses despite the hour, and a faded blue T-shirt patterned with white stars. He was thick through the chest and shoulders, forearms built by steering wheels, chains and years of loading freight that somebody else swore required a forklift. His face looked like it had been carved by bad miles and long winters.

“I did,” Tee said.

The America Power man stared at him for a second before deciding there wasn’t an answer to that.

Tee pulled the parking brake. Air hissed beneath the Nemesis, and the Freightliner settled slightly on its suspension. He climbed down, hit the concrete hard in worn boots and walked around the tractor without hurry. He checked the tires, bent to look beneath the chassis and dragged one hand over the coupling plate.

The America Power man came down from the dock. “Savannah to Miami.”

Tee remained crouched beside one of the rear tires. “Yep.”

“Drop’s at six.”

“I know.”

“Six in the morning.”

Tee stood and looked at him. “I know what six means.”

“Just making sure.”

“Why?”

The man opened his mouth, reconsidered and looked at the trailer instead. “You always this friendly?”

“No,” Tee said. “Sometimes I’m tired.”

The trailer waiting at Bay Four was fifty-three feet of legitimate American industry. Gloss-black sides. Riveted panels. AMERICA POWER stretched across both flanks in bold red, white and blue, a huge star driving forward from the lettering. At the far end stood the company battery symbol vertically, six white stars across blue above red-and-white stripes. It looked exactly like what America Power wanted America to see: dependable, patriotic and dull enough that nobody would ever think too hard about what was inside.

America Power moved transformers, switchgear, turbines, industrial batteries, generators, cable reels and replacement electrical equipment across half the country. Their trucks serviced utilities, substations, construction companies and municipal contracts from Florida to Texas.

They also moved guns.

That part didn’t appear in the brochures.

Tee climbed onto the dock and looked through the open trailer doors. Several wooden crates sat closest to the opening, each carrying electrical part numbers and shipping codes. Beyond them stood six gray steel cabinets strapped to pallets, exactly the sort of thing any state trooper would expect to see if an America Power truck happened to be inspected.

Tee pointed toward the steel cabinets. “How much?”

The America Power man lowered his clipboard. “How much what?”

“Don’t.”

The man studied Tee for a moment. “Twenty-four hundred pounds.”

“Above manifest?”

“Yeah.”

Tee stepped into the trailer and looked along the floor. He could tell where the additional weight sat from the trailer’s stance before he’d even walked inside. Somebody had placed too much of it behind the tandems.

“You loaded it wrong,” Tee said.

“Our guys know how to load a trailer.”

“Then get your guys.”

“For what?”

“To load it again.”

The America Power man laughed. Tee didn’t.

“You serious?”

“Yep.”

“Rucker, that trailer’s already sealed.”

“Break it.”

“We don’t have time.”

Tee looked at his watch, then at the trailer. “You’ve got less time if I put it on its side.”

The man glanced toward the loading supervisor.

Tee stepped down from the trailer. “Too much weight aft. Move two cabinets forward, shift the crate stack toward the nose and strap the rear pallet again.”

“Our loaders—”

“Don’t drive it.”

The America Power man breathed out slowly. “What’s actually wrong with it?”

Tee took the clipboard from him, looked at the manifest and handed it back. “It’ll wag above sixty-five. Worse if I have to move fast.”

“Why would you have to move fast?”

Tee looked toward the America Power logo painted down the trailer.

The man followed his gaze.

Neither said anything.

“Get the forklift,” Tee said.

At twelve thirty-seven, the Nemesis left the yard.

The America Power trailer followed behind it, properly balanced.

Tee shifted through the gears as the industrial buildings disappeared behind him. The engine settled into its working rhythm, the black Freightliner rolling west before turning south toward the interstate. The trailer stayed directly behind the tractor, no sway, no fight, no complaint.

The CB crackled overhead.

“Breaker one-nine, anybody got a bear report southbound?”

Static hissed through the cab.

“Got one snoozing around mile one-eighty.”

“Appreciate you, driver.”

“Keep the shiny side up.”

Tee reached for the microphone. The coiled cord stretched from the dashboard as he keyed it. “Road Rage southbound. How’s Macon looking?”

The answer came almost immediately. “Road Rage? That you?”

“Last I checked.”

“Well, hell, man. Ain’t heard you in a month.”

“Been working.”

“Some of us call this working.”

“That’s your problem.”

A burst of laughter came through the channel. “Macon’s clean. Scales south of town are open. State boys thick around Forsyth. Something going on.”

Tee glanced at the clock. 12:44.

“Copy.”

“What you hauling?”

“Light bulbs.”

The driver laughed. “You hauling light bulbs, I’m Dolly Parton.”

Tee hung the microphone back on its hook. “Nice tits, Dolly.”

The CB erupted.

Tee allowed himself the faintest smile and pushed the Nemesis toward seventy.

The trailer rode perfectly.

Weight talked if you knew how to listen.

A bad driver heard the engine and watched the speedometer. A good driver heard the tires change pitch across different asphalt. He felt crosswind push against the trailer before the wheel moved. He felt the weight settle into the fifth wheel on a downhill grade. He knew whether the load had shifted because the truck started asking for steering input it hadn’t needed ten miles earlier.

Tee listened to all of it.

The Nemesis wasn’t just a machine he drove. It was information transmitted through steel, rubber and vibration.

The CB snapped back to life.

“Southbound, you got blue lights coming hard.”

Tee checked his mirror.

Nothing yet.

Another voice answered. “How many?”

“Three. State boys.”

A few seconds later, red and blue appeared far behind him and grew quickly.

Tee held his lane.

The first Georgia State Patrol cruiser screamed past. Then a second. Then a third.

Tee watched them disappear toward the horizon and reached for the coffee sitting in the cup holder. It was cold. He drank it anyway.

“Somebody’s having a bad night,” a driver said over the CB.

Tee glanced at the America Power trailer in his mirror. “Not yet.”

He kept driving.

At one twenty-two, the Nemesis pulled into the Blue Star Truck Plaza.

Tee didn’t need fuel. He needed information.

He rolled between rows of parked rigs and stopped beneath a dead floodlight at the far end of the lot. When he shut the engine down, the absence of diesel suddenly made the entire world feel hollow.

The truck stop was pure interstate America. Twenty pumps sat beneath a glowing canopy. A repair shop occupied one end of the property, its doors shut for the night. Red and yellow signs burned above the restaurant windows. A row of payphones stood against the wall beneath fluorescent lights that attracted clouds of moths.

Inside, Tee took a stool at the counter.

A waitress poured coffee in front of him before he asked.

“Food?” she said.

“Eggs.”

“How?”

“Cooked.”

She stared at him.

Tee stared back.

“That’s generally how we serve them.”

“Good.”

“Toast?”

“Yep.”

“White or wheat?”

Tee considered the question with considerably more care than he’d given the guns. “White.”

The waitress walked away shaking her head.

A trucker two stools down looked over. He was wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and had the kind of beard that had probably been growing since Nixon.

“You Road Rage?”

Tee drank his coffee. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Who’s asking.”

“Rubber Duck.”

Tee turned toward him.

The man grinned. “Kidding. Earl.”

“Then why’d you say Rubber Duck?”

“Sounded cooler.”

“It didn’t.”

Earl laughed. “You heading south?”

Tee returned to his coffee.

“State boys got something going,” Earl continued.

That got Tee’s attention.

“How far?”

“Started seeing them north of Macon. Heard they’re setting inspections farther down.”

“Inspections?”

“That’s what they’re calling them.”

“What are they looking for?”

Earl lowered his voice. “Truck.”

Tee looked at him.

“That’s gonna narrow it down.”

“Specific truck.”

“What truck?”

“Don’t know. Driver coming north said cops had a reefer opened up on the shoulder. Boxes everywhere. Word is somebody tipped them about stolen guns moving south tonight.”

The waitress returned with Tee’s eggs, bacon and toast.

Tee looked at the bacon. “Didn’t order that.”

“On the house.”

“Why?”

“You look miserable.”

She walked away.

Earl smiled into his coffee.

Tee picked up his fork. “Where’d you hear guns?”

“CB. Could be bullshit.”

“Usually is.”

The radio mounted behind the counter suddenly crackled. “Southbound, inspection station setting up around mile one-thirty-five. They’re pulling commercial.”

Tee stopped chewing.

Earl looked at him. “You in a hurry?”

Tee finished the mouthful. “Always.”

At one forty-one, the Nemesis was moving again.

Tee didn’t return to the interstate.

He took Highway 41 south.

Two lanes. Dark. Slower.

Better.

The America Power trailer rolled through sleeping Georgia towns where traffic lights changed for nobody. Closed gas stations sat behind empty forecourts. Houses stood back from the highway beneath huge trees. Every few miles came another motel, another church sign or a twenty-four-hour diner with three cars outside and one person sitting beneath the fluorescent light.

The interstate CB traffic faded with distance.

Tee knew how law enforcement would handle the problem. If they had a plate, they would find him. If they had a tractor description, they would narrow the search. If all they knew was that illegal firearms were somewhere inside a commercial trailer, they’d squeeze the main routes and start opening trucks.

America Power helped.

Nobody expected gun runners to advertise themselves with a thirty-foot patriotic logo.

Tee passed through one green light, then another. The third changed amber as he approached.

He could have made it.

He stopped.

Air sighed under the tractor.

Across the intersection sat a county sheriff’s cruiser.

Tee looked at it.

The deputy looked at him.

The light turned green.

Tee pulled away.

The cruiser turned behind him.

One mile passed.

Then two.

The deputy stayed there.

Tee picked up the CB. “Anybody got ears on forty-one south of Cordele?”

Static answered before a distant voice came back. “Go ahead.”

“County sitting behind an America Power rig.”

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe he likes your ass.”

Tee checked the mirror. “He can buy me dinner first.”

The blue lights came on.

Tee sighed. “Dinner it is.”

He eased the Nemesis onto the shoulder and pulled the brakes. The deputy stopped twenty feet behind the trailer.

Tee switched on the cab light, left his hands where they could be seen and waited.

The deputy walked up the driver’s side. Young. Maybe twenty-five. Hat too new. Flashlight in one hand, the other resting near his belt.

Tee lowered the window.

“Evening,” the deputy said. “License and logbook.”

Tee passed them down.

The deputy shone the flashlight over the paperwork. “America Power?”

“Trailer is.”

“Truck isn’t?”

“Mine.”

“What are you hauling?”

“Electrical equipment.”

“Where to?”

“Miami.”

“From?”

Tee glanced back along the road. “Other direction.”

The deputy looked up.

Tee remained expressionless.

“Where from, sir?”

“Savannah.”

“What kind of electrical equipment?”

“Switchgear. Distribution cabinets. Transformer parts.”

“Trailer sealed?”

“Yep.”

“Mind opening it?”

“Yes.”

The deputy paused. “You mind?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s sealed.”

“I can have you open it.”

“Then you don’t need to ask.”

The deputy’s jaw tightened. “You a lawyer?”

“Trucker.”

“Then why don’t you stick to driving?”

Tee nodded once. “Trying to.”

The deputy shone the flashlight through the cab, then looked toward the trailer again. “Step out.”

Tee’s eyes moved to the man’s hand resting against the door.

Then back to the deputy.

“All right.”

He climbed down.

When Tee’s boots hit the road, the deputy took half a step backward without meaning to.

Tee closed the cab door.

“Now what?”

“Rear of the trailer.”

They walked back together.

The deputy inspected the seal and wrote the number in his notebook. Tee leaned against the trailer, arms folded, watching an insect bounce repeatedly against one of the marker lights.

The deputy’s radio crackled.

“Unit twelve, possible vehicle matching description southbound Interstate seventy-five. Black tractor, white box trailer. Multiple units responding.”

The deputy listened.

Tee looked toward the Nemesis.

Black tractor.

The deputy looked too.

The radio continued. “Vehicle failing to yield.”

The deputy grabbed his shoulder microphone. “Copy. Unit twelve moving.”

He handed Tee’s papers back.

“Stay here.”

Tee raised an eyebrow.

The deputy hurried to the cruiser, slammed the door and took off with the lights flashing.

Tee watched him disappear.

The CB crackled through the open cab window.

“Road Rage?”

Tee climbed back inside and took the microphone. “Yeah.”

A familiar voice answered. “County gone?”

“Yep.”

“You owe me.”

Tee frowned. “Earl?”

“Rubber Duck.”

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing you’d approve of.”

“Try me.”

“Found a black Peterbilt pulling a white reefer. Told the boys on seventy-five somebody said he was the gun truck.”

Tee stared through the windshield.

“You started a police chase?”

“Technically, the Peterbilt started the police chase.”

“Why’d he run?”

“No idea.”

Tee considered that.

“Fair enough.”

“So we’re even?”

“No.”

“Worth a try.”

Tee started the Nemesis.

The diesel thundered back to life.

He pulled onto the road and keyed the mic again. “Appreciate it, Earl.”

There was a pause.

“Anytime, Road Rage.”

“Don’t call yourself Rubber Duck again.”

At three fifteen, the situation changed.

They had the trailer description.

Tee knew because every driver within radio range knew.

“America Power box. Southbound.”

“Repeat, they’re looking for an America Power trailer.”

“Heard state boys say red-white-blue markings.”

“Road Rage?”

Tee didn’t answer.

He was back on Interstate 75, south of Valdosta, with the Florida line less than twenty miles away.

There was nowhere left to hide the trailer.

The highway was too open and the state line would be watched. He could turn around. He could park. He could detach the trailer somewhere and wait.

None of those things put the guns in Miami by six.

Tee looked at the clock.

3:17.

He lifted the CB microphone. “Breaker one-nine. Road Rage southbound.”

The channel quietened slightly.

“Go ahead, Road Rage.”

“Who’s within twenty miles of the Florida line?”

Voices started answering.

“Big John.”

“Mercy.”

“Catfish.”

“Lonesome.”

“Earl.”

Tee frowned. “Earl, why are you still here?”

“Got bored.”

Tee looked ahead. “Anybody pulling white?”

Big John answered first. “Yep.”

“Mercy?”

“White Great Dane.”

“Catfish?”

“Silver.”

“Earl?”

“White reefer.”

Tee thought for three seconds.

“Big John, get ahead of me.”

“How far?”

“Half mile.”

“Copy.”

“Mercy, behind me. Same distance.”

“Got you.”

“Earl.”

“Yeah?”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“That’s discrimination.”

“Do it anyway.”

Tee shifted down.

The Nemesis surged forward.

Big John’s truck appeared ahead, then settled into position. Mercy’s headlights moved into Tee’s mirrors. Catfish slid behind her. Earl brought up the rear.

Five trucks.

Nobody asked what Tee was hauling.

That wasn’t how the road worked.

A driver could ask.

Didn’t mean another driver had to answer.

The CB crackled again. “Road Rage, you’ve got bears at the line.”

“How many?”

“Six I can see.”

“Inspection?”

“Looks like it.”

Tee checked his mirrors. “Big John, slow to fifty.”

“Copy.”

“Mercy, tighten up.”

“How tight?”

“Enough to make a cop nervous.”

She laughed. “Now you’re talking.”

The trucks compressed.

Tee moved closer to Big John’s trailer. Mercy moved closer to Tee. The others tightened behind until five separate rigs became one long moving wall of freight.

The Florida inspection lights appeared ahead.

Portable signs directed COMMERCIAL VEHICLES RIGHT.

State troopers stood beneath floodlights.

Tee could see them watching the approaching line.

Big John keyed his mic. “Road Rage, we stopping?”

“No.”

“Inspection says right.”

“I can read.”

“What are we doing?”

“Driving.”

Big John remained on the interstate.

Tee followed.

Mercy stayed behind him.

The first trooper stepped toward the lane and waved his flashlight.

Big John kept moving.

The trooper waved harder.

Big John hit the horn.

Tee hit his.

Mercy joined.

Then Catfish.

Then Earl.

Five air horns tore through the inspection point at once.

Troopers scattered toward vehicles. One shouted toward the highway. Another ran for a cruiser.

As Tee passed, a trooper stared directly at the America Power trailer.

His face changed.

Recognition.

There it was.

The man started running.

Tee picked up the CB.

“Haul ass.”

Big John laughed. “Say again?”

Tee shifted up. “Haul. Ass.”

Five diesels opened.

The trucks accelerated.

Fifty-five.

Sixty.

Sixty-five.

Blue lights burst alive behind them.

“Now we’re having fun!” Earl shouted.

“No,” Tee said. “We’re working.”

The state line vanished beneath the Nemesis.

Two cruisers pulled onto the interstate.

Then a third.

Tee watched their lights grow in the mirrors.

“Big John, exit three.”

“That’s not south.”

“I know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not where they’re going.”

Big John took the ramp.

Tee followed.

Mercy followed Tee.

Five rigs left the interstate in sequence.

The road narrowed beneath them, a two-lane route heading east through darkness.

The cruisers followed.

Tee knew this road.

He’d driven it twelve years earlier hauling refrigerated beef in a truck with brakes that worked mainly because he believed they should.

Some roads stayed with you.

“Bridge ahead,” Tee said over the CB.

Mercy came back immediately. “Weight?”

“Enough.”

“That supposed to be reassuring?”

“Yep.”

A cruiser started climbing the line from behind.

Earl’s voice came over the radio. “Bear coming up.”

“Don’t touch him,” Tee said.

“Wasn’t planning on marrying him.”

“Hold lane.”

The cruiser passed Earl.

Then Catfish.

It drew alongside Mercy.

Mercy gave the trooper a cheerful wave.

The cruiser accelerated again.

Now it was beside Tee’s trailer.

Tee watched it through the mirror.

The officer was reading AMERICA POWER.

He reached for his radio.

“Big John, left lane,” Tee said.

“Going.”

Big John moved across.

Tee followed, closing the distance between his bumper and Big John’s trailer.

The cruiser accelerated toward the gap.

Tee reduced it.

Not violently.

Not suddenly.

Precisely.

The cruiser ran out of road and braked.

Tee moved right again.

The highway curved.

The cruiser tried once more.

Tee let it come alongside.

The bridge appeared ahead.

Concrete barriers narrowed both sides.

The cruiser had two choices.

Brake.

Or become part of the bridge.

It braked.

Hard.

Earl started laughing over the CB. “Road Rage, you just shut the door on him!”

“No.”

“What do you call that?”

“Road got narrow.”

“Sure it did.”

The Nemesis crossed the bridge.

The structure trembled beneath the trucks.

At the far end, Tee saw the junction he remembered.

“Big John, right.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

The rigs turned.

The first cruiser overshot.

The second tried to follow.

A third disappeared straight ahead.

One remained.

Tee checked the clock.

4:02.

Miami was still too far away.

“Mercy, truck stop ten miles south,” Tee said. “Pull in.”

“What about you?”

“Keep going.”

There was silence.

“Tee.”

“Do it.”

“You’ve got the bear.”

“I know.”

“What are you carrying?”

Tee looked at the America Power trailer.

“Light bulbs.”

Mercy laughed. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yep.”

One by one, the trucks peeled away.

Big John first.

Catfish next.

Mercy turned off at the truck stop.

Earl remained.

“Earl,” Tee said.

“No.”

“Pull off.”

“Nope.”

“That’s not a request.”

“Good thing you ain’t my boss.”

Tee checked the mirror. The cruiser still sat behind him.

Earl’s white reefer followed the cruiser.

“Tee,” Earl said.

“What?”

“Whatever you’re hauling, get it where it’s going.”

Tee didn’t answer.

“I’ll handle Smokey.”

“How?”

“Poorly.”

“Earl.”

“Catch you down the road.”

The white reefer accelerated.

It passed the cruiser.

Then Tee.

Earl pulled ahead.

“What are you doing?” Tee said.

“Remember that part where you told me not to get in trouble?”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t take.”

Earl took the next exit at speed.

The cruiser hesitated.

America Power trailer.

White reefer.

Tee saw the officer make the decision.

The cruiser remained behind the Nemesis.

“Didn’t work,” Tee said.

“Give it a second.”

Tee waited.

Then Earl’s voice came across the CB loud and clear.

“Any law enforcement monitoring nineteen, this is the driver of the white reefer you’re looking for. Come get me, boys.”

Tee closed his eyes for half a second.

The cruiser immediately accelerated past him and took the exit.

Tee lifted the mic. “Earl.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Rubber Duck.”

“Still an idiot.”

“Get to Miami.”

The channel went quiet.

Tee looked at the empty road behind him.

4:11.

He pushed the throttle down.

The Nemesis answered.

The black Freightliner gathered speed, America Power following behind.

At five fifty-three, the Miami skyline appeared.

The eastern sky had begun turning pale.

Tee hadn’t stopped again.

The America Power trailer had remained behind the Nemesis for more than five hundred miles, through state patrol inspections, back roads, county deputies and a convoy assembled from nothing more than CB static and truckers deciding another driver needed help.

The drop sat inside an industrial district west of the city.

No sign.

No company name.

Just a warehouse with a rolling steel door and three men waiting outside.

Tee arrived at six eleven.

A man with slick hair stood beside the loading dock looking at his watch.

Tee backed the trailer toward him.

Slow.

Straight.

Perfect.

The man waved him left.

Tee ignored him.

He waved right.

Tee ignored that too.

The Nemesis stopped.

The trailer sat square against the loading bay.

Tee pulled the brakes, climbed down and walked toward the warehouse.

“You’re late,” the man said.

Tee checked his watch. “Yep.”

“Six o’clock means six o’clock.”

“Then unload faster.”

The warehouse man stared at him.

Behind them, workers broke the America Power seal and opened the trailer.

Electrical cabinets came out first.

Then the false panels were removed.

Wooden crates appeared behind them.

One was opened.

Rifles lay inside packed in grease paper.

Another contained pistols.

A third held ammunition.

Nobody celebrated.

Nobody explained where the weapons were going.

This was freight.

Illegal freight.

But freight all the same.

The man approached Tee carrying a thick envelope. “Any trouble?”

Tee looked at him.

Then at the Nemesis.

The Freightliner stood beneath the first dirty light of morning, bugs flattened across the nose, road grime streaking the black paint and polished bumper. The America Power trailer looked exactly like what it had been all night: a power-company truck that had crossed several states carrying enough guns to put half a neighborhood at war.

Tee took the envelope.

“Traffic.”

The man frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You knew what was in there?”

“Yep.”

“You want to know where it’s going?”

“Nope.”

“You always ask this few questions?”

Tee put the envelope in his back pocket. “Usually fewer.”

He started walking toward the Nemesis.

“Rucker,” the man called.

Tee stopped.

“We’ve got another load Thursday.”

“Where?”

“Texas.”

“What time?”

“Midnight.”

Tee nodded. “Have it loaded right.”

He climbed into the Nemesis.

The engine turned over and the Freightliner came alive.

Tee pulled away from the warehouse as the sun broke across Miami.

The CB hissed.

Static rolled through the speaker.

Then a familiar voice appeared beneath it, weak and distant but unmistakable.

“Breaker one-nine. Road Rage, you still out there?”

Tee looked at the microphone.

Picked it up.

“Always,” Tee said.

Earl laughed through the static. “How’d the light bulbs do?”

“Bright.”

“Cops get you?”

“Nope.”

“Load delivered?”

Tee checked his mirror. The America Power trailer remained backed against the warehouse, its doors open while men carried crates of guns inside.

“Yep.”

“Then I’d say we had ourselves a successful evening.”

Tee considered that. “Where are you?”

“County jail.”

Tee stared at the radio. “You serious?”

“Very.”

“How are you even on this channel?”

“Payphone and a favor. Base station patched me through. Won’t last long.”

“What’d they get you for?”

A pause followed.

“It’s a surprisingly long list.”

Tee rubbed his forehead. “You need bail?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

“How much?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Where?”

Earl gave him the county.

Tee looked through the windshield at the rising sun and the highway stretching away from Miami.

He had been awake all night.

He hadn’t eaten since Georgia.

The Nemesis needed fuel.

Tee needed sleep.

He needed to be absolutely anywhere other than another police station.

He returned the microphone to its hook.

Changed lanes.

And pointed the Nemesis north.

“Idiot,” Tee muttered.

The black Freightliner rolled toward the interstate.