“Plenty. But I’ve given this a lot of thought. I’m retiring.”
“Anything wrong?”
“Too much structure in my life.”
“What am I going to do without you?”
Bells jingled again. They looked toward the front door. A man and a woman.
“Roy,” said Serge. “I’d like you to meet Howard and Story … Howard and Story, Roy the Pawn King. Last of the old gang.” Story shook his hand.
“Serge speaks very highly of you.”
“Me and his grandfather did great things back in the day. Rest in peace.” He turned to shake Howard’s hand. “Jesus, what happened to you, kid?”
“Cut himself shaving,” said Serge, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Roy. “You just got here.”
“The three of you have a lot to talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
Serge continued walking. “Your new couriers. The best and the brightest.”
“But what about you?”
“Got plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
Bells jingled. Cars whipped by.
Serge turned around in the open doorway. “Florida, a full tank of gas and no appointments.”
The door closed. He climbed into the Fury.
A passing race fan noticed the magnetic sign on the Plymouth’s door. “Wooo! Kurt Busch!”
Serge flashed a peace sign out the window. “Wooo! I had two!” And he took off down Biscayne Boulevard.