I started to plot my getaway.
The Seville wasn’t speeding and still had a mile to go before hitting the interstate. Maybe I could leap from the car and run off? He sure as hell wasn’t gonna give chase.
Suddenly Fat Frankie’s cell began to buzz. “Shut up for a second. It’s my brother.”
The jig was up. Only a matter of time now before he understood what had happened down in Tampa.
I reached for the passenger side door. Could a man survive leaping from a car going 35 miles an hour? Guess it was time to find out…
The Weekday One Hundred 