C.J. squinted, peering through the grimy windshield at the woman crossing the parking lot. She was crisp. Professional. Her heels click-clacked on the cement as she crossed under one of the parking garage’s florescent lights.

He raised the two-way radio to his lips and pressed the button the side. “I see her. Can you confirm?”

Muriel’s voice came back, crackling with static. “Confirmed. She’s the agent.”

“Go?”

“Go.”

C.J.started the road yacht and gunned the engine. He glanced next to him at the two packages wrapped in brown paper. That much material packed that densely could kill. He had to get this just right.

“What are you waiting for?” Muriel voice sounded irritated. “Go, dammit.”

C.J. ignored her. She was becoming reckless. He knew the plan. he was ready. He eased the car out of the space and eased it toward the woman slowly picking up speed. 5…10…25 mph. There would be no way for her to escape this.

He shifted, the engine revving between gears. The tires squealed as he turned the corner, bearing down on his target. His left hand dropped and pressed the switch on his armrest. The driver’s window eased down.

She turned. She saw him. She screamed started to run toward a red Audi parked three spaces away.

C.J. cursed. He flipped on the brights and muttered, ”Not this time,” under his breath. In a move honed by many a night like this, he grabbed the packages by their twine ties, dragged them across the steering wheel, and lobbed them out, over the roof of his car as he sped past the terrified woman.

In his rearview mirror he saw the two packages fly through the air and land flat on the hood of the agent’s car. One of them split open, hundreds of typewritten pages exploding from the brown paper, scattering in the wake of C.J.’s enterprise-class vehicle.

“Who’s was it?” Muriel’s hissed in the speaker.

C.J. grumbled. “Mine. Goddamn it. Mine.” He floored the accelerator and fairly flew up the exit ramp of the garage. He spun the car around and met his partner on the corner. She opened the door, slid in next to him, and slammed the door shut.

“Some days,” she said, removing the ski mask and green night vision goggles, “I think there must be a better way to get a book published.”

C.J. grunted, shifted into drive, and sped off into the night.

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