Page 160 of Unruly

Cross peered down the store again, and noticed a couple of bikes were moving to the side to let others fill up. They came closer to the side door than he was comfortable with. They were going to have to come in to pay soon.

“I don’t have time,” Cross said into the phone.

“Just … tell me where you are,” Zeke replied.

“You wouldn’t be able to find it even if I did. It’s a passing county on the way to a larger town in Buttfuck Nowhere, New Brunswick.”

“Well, I just landed in Fredericton, New Brunswick on a charter jet. I’ve got a pilot here who is willing to overlook an extra passenger on the way back to New York.”

“What made you fly into there?”

“I didn’t want to go in closer to the border. It’s hot as hell right now. Besides, from all the maps Catherine got of yours and the Google shit we dragged up, I figured you were going to move as far as you could away from the border. Was I right?”

“Sure, but not that far.”

“Can’t land an American plane anywhere else but an international airport.”

“Isn’t Fredericton’s airport small?”

“Very. It’s going to work for us, though. The only deal is I need to be back here before four in the morning to make it work. Otherwise, we’re going to have to go through a bunch of fucking checks and that’s a problem.”

Cross squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about maps, miles, and where he knew places were. His brain was fucking fried.

So tired.

“It’s two hours,” Cross said.

“What?”

“A two hour drive from where you are to me, or thereabouts.”

“Seriously?”

“There’s a town like thirty minutes from here called Plaster Rock. Remember a couple years back when they did that big report on World Pond Hockey?”

“Sure,” Zeke muttered, “and how stupid it looked.”

“That’s where they have the games.”

“You want me to go there?”

“It’s not a very big town. One road goes right through the whole thing.”

“Jesus,” Zeke grumbled under his breath.

One of the guys got off his bike outside, and Cross cussed.

“I gotta go—edge of town. I’ll be waiting. Bring me fucking clothes and a blanket!”

“Cross—”

He hung up the phone, and darted back outside just as a young man and a group of his friends came in through the side door.

Cross was beginning to fucking hate ditches, trees, and fields. He hoped once this was all said and done that he never had to look at one more ditch, tree, or field again. It wasn’t like he was asking for very goddamn much, considering.

Cold seeped into his bones.

For the most part, the snow seemed gone.