The air in the alley turned ice-cold. Casey gripped the satchel tighter. "If anything happens to me, the drive auto-uploads to the feds in sixty minutes. You kill me, you kill your employers."
Strak stopped five feet away. The distance felt like a canyon. "And the buyer? You told them I was coming?" Run Away, Scene 2 - Casey Flip, Johnathan Strak...
Casey swallowed hard. "I told them I was bringing a friend. But let’s be clear, Strak—I want the passport and the keys to the safe house in Vancouver. No more games." The air in the alley turned ice-cold
The fluorescent lights of the deserted bowling alley hummed with a low-frequency dread. Casey Flip leaned against a chipped ball return, his fingers tracing the jagged edge of a neon-pink 12-pounder. He wasn’t there for a game; he was waiting for the one man who could either get him out of the state or put him in the ground. You kill me, you kill your employers
"Traffic’s a bitch when you’re avoiding the main roads," Casey shot back, trying to keep his knees from knocking. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered leather satchel. "I have the drive. Everything’s on it. The ledgers, the offshore accounts, the names of the board members who signed off on the 'cleanup.'"
"Run away, Casey," Strak whispered, almost tenderly. "Give me a reason to make this interesting. I’ll give you a ten-second head start."