Читать книгу A Delicate Matter - Don Easton - Страница 17

It was 4:15 a.m. when Neal Barlow turned off the main highway to complete the last delivery of marijuana to his brother’s semi. He yawned as he glanced in the side mirror of his pickup truck — nobody following. The gravel road was narrow and without street lights. If anyone was tailing him it would be obvious. Not that he was concerned. To ensure he was alone, he’d already driven through several quiet residential areas after leaving the stash house.

Minutes later, his senses came alive and he braked to a stop. A car was parked in the middle of the road with the driver’s door open and the interior light on. He rolled down his window and listened. The car’s engine was not running and he could see a toddler’s car seat in the back. Nobody appeared to be around. He tapped his horn, wondering if someone was slumped over in the car. It was then that he felt the muzzle of a pistol in his ear.