Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

Mike reached for the small black radio resting on the dashboard. He pressed the side button, his voice a low rumble in the quiet cab.

“Greyhound, this is Lead. Anything on the back alley?”

The radio crackled, the sound sharp in the cold air of the cab.

“All quiet,” Shark said through the static. “The side gate is padlocked from the inside,continue reading …