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Downtown Memphis had all the charm and fading glory of an aging and forgotten Southern belle. For years America's cleanest city, her wide avenues were now laced with decades of ground-in grime. Her cotton exchanges and department stores had become wig salons and pawnshops. Her promiselike the belle's virginityhad been raped and abandoned by white flight, turning her sidewalks and alleyways into cardboard abodes for the helplesshomeless people who suffered under the combined weight of apathy, mental illness and hopelessness. Not the kind of place one would normally expect to find a cheery, red Miata. |
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Kyna left the car at the curb with the motor running and the alarm set and practically ran into the bus station. She hated the place, full as it was of winos and creeps. But Bryan insisted it was the best place to store the shipment. As she scurried across to the lockers, she whispered his words like a litany to keep from thinking about what could happen to her. |
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"Don't keep it at home, it's the first place the cops would look. Don't keep it at the airport. The DEA has more cameras at the airport than there are in Hollywood. Don't use banks. Don't use post offices . . ." |
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And on and on. Like Mr. Oxford Graduate had ever been any closer to a real cop than watching Lovejoy on the BBC. |
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Sidestepping a puddle of chunky yellow vomit, Kyna walked to the last row of lockers, where she paused, staring |
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