the smuggler’s bible


Collier puts his phone on the dashboard and turns his head to look out the window.

“Take it. Put it somewhere I won’t find it,” he says. “Do not let me see it again tonight. I’m serious—cut my hands off if you have to.”

“Sure,” Ruiz says. “But you could always just delete her number.”

“Improvement is about small steps over a long period of time.”

“It’s been three years.”

Collier reaches for the ignition. “And I thought I made myself clear,” he says, pulling into traffic. “I would rather wake up with no hands than acknowledge that fact.”