The air in the alley turned ice-cold. Casey gripped the satchel tighter. "If anything happens to me, the drive auto-uploads to the feds in sixty minutes. You kill me, you kill your employers."
"Traffic’s a bitch when you’re avoiding the main roads," Casey shot back, trying to keep his knees from knocking. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered leather satchel. "I have the drive. Everything’s on it. The ledgers, the offshore accounts, the names of the board members who signed off on the 'cleanup.'" Run Away, Scene 2 - Casey Flip, Johnathan Strak...
The fluorescent lights of the deserted bowling alley hummed with a low-frequency dread. Casey Flip leaned against a chipped ball return, his fingers tracing the jagged edge of a neon-pink 12-pounder. He wasn’t there for a game; he was waiting for the one man who could either get him out of the state or put him in the ground. The air in the alley turned ice-cold
Strak stopped five feet away. The distance felt like a canyon. "And the buyer? You told them I was coming?" You kill me, you kill your employers
"Run away, Casey," Strak whispered, almost tenderly. "Give me a reason to make this interesting. I’ll give you a ten-second head start."
He tapped a small black device on his belt. Casey’s heart plummeted. He looked toward the exit, but the heavy steel doors were bolted from the outside.