“I dial up the electric blanket. Still my nips are hard as diamonds.”

“Christ,” Banger said. “Change the subject, do you mind?”

“I notch the heat up to nine. That’s weld, ” said A. J. “I’m still freezing my ass off. When I wake up again, I’m sweating like I ran a couple of miles-”

“What’s happening there?” Banger asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking. Is my heart acting up on me?”

“What’s happening there, ” Banger said, pointing through the windshield at the red lights up ahead.

“That car, you mean?”

“It’s slowing down.”

“Asshole should have filled up in Kanarraville.”

“Pull around him,” Banger said.

But A. J. was decelerating, saying, “Guy runs out of gas on this road, he could get eaten by a bear.”

But the car in front of them wasn’t running out of gas. It was crawling, giving a Chevy in the left lane, headlights off, a chance to catch up and pull alongside the van.

“What the fuck is this now?” A. J. said, staring at the Chevy six inches from his door. “What’s this asshole doing?”

“Brake. Brake!” Banger yelled. “Pull around him.”

A. J. Romano leaned on the horn, but it had no effect. Their van was hemmed in, being shunted toward the Pintura exit, and he had to either slam into the car beside him or barrel down the ramp.

A. J. jerked the wheel to the right, sending the van down the exit ramp, while Banger was digging under his seat for his piece. Next thing, metal was grinding against his door and the van was off the exit, forced onto some kind of spur road.

Banger was yelling, “You mother,” as A. J. stood on the brakes. The van skidded in dirt and plowed through a wire fence into the middle of fucking nowhere, dust shutting out the view and filling the cab.