High Times — a Jake Burbank Mystery thriller

HIGH TIMES IN THE BLUFF

“You’re driving,” Stevens tossed me the keys to the wood paneled station wagon.

“I’m fourteen,” I tried not to squeak. Failed.

“I don’t give a shit how old you are.”

Now that he was closer, I could tell he’d been drinking. He walked with a limp anyway, courtesy of a workplace accident from a factory job he turned into a lifetime social security check.

The limp made it hard to tell when he’d had a little too much.

“The pigs are pulling roadblocks, some mothers against dumb drivers or shit like that,” he slid into the passenger seat.

I got behind the wheel.

“I think you mean drunk,” I said as I fumbled the key into the ignition.

White light and pain exploded in my right eye and cheek, followed a second later by a bloody gash on my scalp on the left side where it bounced off the window.

“You’re luck you didn’t break that shit,” Stevens slurred. He glared at me with narrow eyes.

I couldn’t tell in the semi-darkness of the interior of the station wagon, but I knew they were yellow.

His broad flat features gave away nothing, a placid look of disdain and boredom. He was a…