Garcia wondered why people with JESUS stickers on their bumper always drove twenty miles per hour under the speed limit. If God was my co-pilot, he thought, I’d be doing a hundred and twenty.
From the pancake house I drive directly to the county morgue. The contrast is not especially striking.
Nobody said he was Alvin Einstein.
You from the IRS? The man’s voice was deep and wet, like mud slipping down a drain.