the smuggler’s bible


Loose ornaments rattle around Toboggan’s candy-cane-striped sprinter van as he heaves her around a corner at speed against oncoming traffic. The box on his dashboard flashes orange and says, “blip.”

“That’s proximity,” Toboggan yells into the back. “No time for a real stop—gotta be a Tokyo Drift and Ditch.”

One of his delivery minions throws open the side door and tosses an armful of boxes toward the curb. He flubs the follow-through and tumbles screaming after them. The brake lights don’t even flicker.

“Delivered at last, brother,” Toboggan murmurs. “We’ll meet again someday at the end of the route.”