“Where’s the car?” Gregson asked.
“Back there, I guess,” the suit said.
“Being a detective isn’t what it used to be. This time I’m really going to retire. Thai food and my warm bed will love me, and to hell with crime. Which one of you wants to drive?”
The suit raised his hand.
“We’re not in school,” Gregson said.
And by the time they made it back to the convertible, the sun was up.
“How do you start this thing?”
Gregson tossed him the keys.
“Pump the gas,” Tony suggested.
The car burst into flames.
“I guess we’ll never know who he was,” Gregson said
“And we’ll never make it back home.”
“You want to wait for the train?”
“We won’t have to.”
The engine sounded off…
“It goes through downtown Chessfield, two blocks from my apartment,” Gregson said. They ran for the boxcar and jumped.
“I shouldn’t drink alcohol,” Gregson confessed. “It slows me down, increases my estrogen. I’m injecting myself with testosterone when I get back. Then I’m going to sleep for two days. Do you have a place to crash?
“Well, you can join me.”
“On the couch.”