the smuggler’s bible


“Hey, are you dying?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Basant is in the back of the van with one arm held tight against his stomach to stop the bleeding and the other looped through a luggage strap. Claret hits a pothole and the jolt blurs his vision. “But maybe could we stop at a hospital?”

“What? Absolutely not.” Claret whips an angry glare over her shoulder. “They’ll have you on ice for at least a week.”

“Yes, probably.”

“Total deal breaker. I need you for the job Saturday.”

“Aha. Then may I ask,” Basant says, “why did you shoot me?”