Authors: Basil Sands
Monday,
June
20th
11:23
p.m.
“
Damn,
”
said
the
tow
truck
driver,
“
you
must'a
pissed
someone
off
mighty
bad
to
do
all
four
tires
like
this.
”
Marcus
shot
the
man
a
sideways
look
letting
him
know
in
no
uncertain
terms
that
he
didn't
want
to
talk
about
it.
At his request, t
he
tow
truck
crew
had
brought
a
full
set
of
the
correct
tires
with
them.
Lonnie and the others
watched
as
the
crew
quickly
jacked
up
the
front
of
the
F250
and
started
the
process
of
pulling
the
wheels
and
mounting
the
tires
with
a
machine
on
the
back
of
the
tow
truck.
As
they
pulled
the
first
tire
off
its
rim a
powder-blue
Ford
Freestar
Minivan
pulled up to the group.
Bold
black
letters
emblazoned
across
the
sides
spelling
the
taxi
company's
name,
AlasKab.
“
I
’
ll
stay
with
the
truck,
”
Marcus
said.
“
You
sure
you're
okay
out
here?
”
Mike
asked.
'Yeah,
don't
worry,
”
Marcus
replied.
“
Those
guys
won't
be
back.
”
“
We'll
get
hold
of
Tonia
and
wait
for
you
at
the
hotel,
”
Lonnie stepped up to him and he gave her quick kiss on the cheek, gently putting his hand on her belly.
“You be careful. If you feel the slightest thing in your belly go to the doctor.”
“Marcus, it’s okay,” she said covering his hand with hers. “Baby handled the whole thing very well. I think he’s inherited our genetic stress meter.”
“
I
’
ll
be
there
soon,
”
he
replied.
“
My
cell
phone
is
on.
If
you've
got
to
go
anywhere,
just
call
and
I
’
ll
find
you.
”
“
Got
it,
”
Mike said. He turned and followed his wife toward the mini-van. Hilde hadn’t spoken a word since the attack, her hands had only stopped trembling just before the taxi arrived.
The
ladies
climbed
into
the
taxi’s
back
seat
and
Lonnie
told
the
driver
to
take
them
to
the
Captain
Cook
Hotel.
Mike
sat
in
the
front
passenger
seat.
The
minivan
started
to
move
immediately
after
he
shut
the
door.
As
he
buckled
the
seatbelt,
he
cast
a
glance
at
the
driver
and
froze as
if
he
were
looking
at
a
ghost.
“
What
are
you
doing
here?
”
“
Driving
you
to
your
hotel.
” T
he
thickly
bearded
Middle-Eastern
man
flashed
a
broad
smile, his too-straight, too-white teeth flashing in
the
horizontal
sunlight
that
pierced
the
space
of
the
cab,
hitting
his
face
like
a
laser
beam.
“
Hi,
Pastor
Mike.
”
Hilde
looked
up
in
alarm
at
hearing
her
husband
’
s
old
title.
She,
too,
froze
in
silence
as
she
noticed
the
face
of
the
man
in
the
front
seat
for
the
first
time.
“
Kharzai?
”
Mike
said.
“
Yup.
It's
me.
”
He
reached
up
and
snapped
the
button
on
the
meter.
“
What
are
you
doing
here?
”
Mike
repeated
himself.
“
I'm
a
cabbie.
”
“
I
can
see
that,
”
Mike
replied,
“
but
here
in
Anchorage?
”