the smuggler’s bible

Lowen

The air is sweet up here in the hills. Probably the flowers will start to bloom in a day or two.

Lowen rolls the second corpse into the ravine and heads back to the car. Malkin is in the front seat, grimacing as he knots a strip of cloth over the bullet wound in his leg.

“Anything interesting in their pockets?”

“Just a few matchsticks.” Lowen shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter, I guess.”

“Why in the world did I decide to come along as babysitter on this goddamned trip? I think you’re cursed.”

“Better than dead.”

“Hell,” Malkin says, “only just.”