Back in the Porsche, driving away from the tiny box canyon, all by ourselves on a dirt track, me riding shotgun: what’s better than this? Also, I had the feeling we were getting somewhere. We had the two rifles that had fallen from above; we had a piece of the old biplane wing with some numbers on it; we had the gold bar. All that had to be good, right?
“Hey, Chet, give me a little space, big guy.” I did, for as long as I could. Then I noticed I’d kind of slid back over to the middle, nice and close toBernie. I was in such a good mood! Bernie laughed and gave me a pat. He was in a good mood too. “How about we pay a visit on Freddie Dancer?” he said.
Sounded good. We don’t like getting shot at, me and Bernie.
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