Green Desert - Chapter 2.2.1 - Zhíno

My left wrist hurt like a motherfucker and my right shoulder wasn’t much better. The torn-tshirt bandage on my wrist was almost completely soaked through with blood. I needed medical attention. But the police knew that.

The piece-of-shit Vurıno minivan sputtered on the slight rise and I figured I’d have to get out and walk, but the engine stubbornly kept going. Why couldn’t I have found another car like that RZ-7 I’d almost got last night?

I saw the house, the long driveway, the blue pickup, all at the edge of the brush-and-boulder-covered orange desert. My car was gone. The pricks must’ve towed it. I turned the van up the driveway. Maybe these people knew where it was towed. Maybe the knew where Fírí and rifleboy went. I laughed. Rifleboy was still here. He wouldn’t have left his truck. Unless he got arrested. That would serve him right, the bastard.

I stopped the Vurıno, put the engine out of its misery, and stepped down to the gravel. The garage door stood open. A beige sedan blocked my view inside, but that sure looked like––it was. Un-fucking-believable. My car was still there!

I jogged up to it. The trunk was closed. Keys. Fírí had the keys. They couldn’t have gotten it in here without the keys, which meant the bitch was here. I licked my teeth. This might just be fun.

I ran back to the beater van and got my gun and the cop’s. It was showtime.