the smuggler’s bible


There is something in Barrens’ desk drawer, and it casts a long shadow.

“Straight up the wall—out the window. Off into the goddamned sunset,” he says over brunch.

“You’re telling me it lays toward a light source?”

“Well, I was being dramatic.”

Holger believes that, at least. They go back to Barrens’ office and take turns flicking playing cards across the terminator. Every single one comes up a suicide king.

“You got any ideas?”

“Man, I dunno. Some kind of equator, maybe. Or the other one—longitude.

“A meridian.”

Holger shrugs. “Guess it depends on who’s holding the map.”