Wisper stiffened slightly as he felt the adrenalin rush. He'd never admit it– especially to someone like Duck or Tracker, but he lately, the only time he really felt alive was when he was fighting. Everything seemed more alive. The night grew sharper– the air took on a cutting edge. This was where he belonged.
‘Keeb, indeed,' he thought. ‘We'll see about that.'
He climbed back into the car, checked his pistol one more time and then cranked the engine. He watched in his rearview mirror as three men exited the terminal office where they'd been waiting. He could tell by the way the two flanked the middle man that he was supposedly the one they were protecting.
He smiled. Two obvious feds on either side– and a Thunderbird shaman in the middle– a very active Thunderbird shaman.
He began to wonder if they really needed his help at all.... ‘Ah well,' he sighed to himself. ‘No point in taking chances.'
He cranked the engine one more time, then got out of the car, swearing.
"Damn good for nothing piece of junk," he muttered. "This is the last time I buy Czech.!"
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