An Unsteady Deal

Amos tried to ignore the handgun at his temple. Don’t freeze.

“I said drive!” raged the stranger next to him.

A squad car worried his rearview, sirens blaring. Run us off the road! Must be Emmett. Still sandbagging, even as sheriff.

“Turn here!”

Amos drifted right. Memories from the track T-boned his senses. Just demolition, but Parkinson’s had stolen that from him, too.

The carjacker snatched a panic handle. “You a real racin’ muthaf---- huh?”

Amos listened to his hands. Through his hands. Through wheel, and shifter.

And he heard the engine.

He winked in the mirror.

“I am.”