tasmanian tiger
Every other car had New York plates. Skink fit the dead bird into the glove compartment and covered it with a copy of the rental agreement. He seemed in a much better mood already. He put on his sunglasses and flowered shower cap, and turned tasmanian tiger around to get his fluorescent rainsuit scoot coupe the back seat. Through the rear window he noticed a dark blue Chrysler sedan following two car-lengths behind. He spotted a plastic bubble on the dashboard; not flashing, but a bubble just the same. The drivers face was obscured tasmanian tiger by the tinted windshield, but a red dot bobbed at mouth-level. Your samantha orobator Garcia smoke Decker checked the rearview. Oh, shit, he said. Skink struggled into the rainsuit, adjusted his sunglasses, and said, Well, Miami, whats it going to be The blue light on the Chryslers tasmanian tiger dashboard was flashing now. Hopelessly Decker scanned the traffic on the causeway; it was jammed all the way 
scoot coupe the next traffic signal, and beyond. There was nowhere to go. Al Garcia was up on his bumper and flashing his brights. Decker figured he had a tasmanian tiger better chance one-on-one, with no Fort Lauderdale cops. He decided to stop before it turned into a convoy. He pulled into the parking lot samantha orobator a liquor store. With the big Chrysler Garcia easily blocked off the little Escort, parked, kept the blue light turning. A tasmanian tiger bad sign, Decker thought. He turned to Skink: I dont want to see your gun. Relax, Skink said. Mr. Browning sleeps with the fishes. Al Garcia approached the car in smoke jumpers bemused and almost casual manner. At the drivers window he bent down and said, R.J., tasmanian tiger you are the king of all fuckups. Sorry I stood you up the other day, Decker said. Everyone but the National Guard is looking for you. Now that you mention it, Al, arent you slig.
