Neither Egg or Frau would know how fortuitous the disaster that unfolded before them on mile marker 85 would be. At the moment, Frau was nervously wringing his pale hands and sucking his bottom lip. Egg stood beside him, his eyes searching the milling crowd of emergency workers and police, his mind working furiously to find an escape.

The accident had happened suddenly, as all accidents do; Egg had just polished off a nice, fat joint of the good stuff, something he’d been saving that his buddy Eli had said was the best hydro in town. And it was, indeed, damn good stuff. Frau was yakking and bitching as usual and the minivan in front of the Buick had slowed (probably for a **** possum) and Egg had only enough time to slam on the brakes just before they hit. The Buick plowed into the back of the minivan and knocked the sense out of Frau and the buzz out of Egg. Frau was bloody from his forehead, a small gash at his hair line and the right side of Egg’s face was red and starting to swell. His face had met the steering wheel with the impact. Egg thought if he hadn’t been able to hit the brakes as he had, they might have ended up in the back seat of the minivan, minus some limbs and possibly their lives.

“Frau, get the **** out. Frau? Get the **** out of the car. NOW!” Egg peeled himself out of the driver’s seat; it took Frau longer to get his door open, the front of the Buick now crumpled up the front and side. Egg jogged up to the minivan. Only one occupant, a middle aged Hispanic man, his blood splayed all over the front of the dash. Dead.

It was dark, and there were no oncoming cars in either direction at the moment. They were somewhere in the middle of two piss-ant towns, but the silence wouldn’t last very long, it was only a matter of time before sirens would wail down the highway. Someone was sure to come along soon.

“Frau, get the file out of the car. And get my bag. Go!” Frau stared blankly at Egg, still dazed from the impact.

“What are we doing?” Frau was becoming hysterical, and Egg had little patience for hysteria.

“Just do what I say. Get what we need from the Buick,” he bellowed.

Egg yanked the driver side door of the minivan open, and pulled the dead man out, his body falling to the ground in a heap, blood smearing the front of Egg’s button up Ralph Lauren shirt. “Frau? Frau? Get the **** over here and help me!”

“Grab the legs, and hurry the **** up!” Frau did as he was told, grabbing the legs of the dead man and together they half carried, half drug the body to the drivers side door of the Buick. Frau, although still dazed, was starting to get the idea. Egg could see headlights coming down the highway, maybe a mile down. The Buicks door wasn’t shut completely, and he yanked the door open the rest of the way with one arm, letting the dead man’s upper body spill to the pavement.

“That’s good, let’s go!” Egg slammed the Buicks door shut and raced for the minivan.

 The two climbed into the front  seats.  Frau had the pink folder, and had grabbed the small duffle bag that Egg had packed for what might await them in Detroit, with Egg’s magnum nestled in the bottom. Egg’s plan had been limited. His goal had been to put some distance between the two of them and the corpse in the trunk of the Buick. Cops were imminent. He’d figure out the rest later.

The on-coming headlights in the rear view mirror of the minivan did not slow. Egg had a moment to think, oh ****, then the approaching vehicle exploded into the back of the Buick causing the Buick to slam into the back of the minivan. The impact was much harder than the first one. Frau screamed and Egg sat in a muddy swirl of dizziness and headache until the cops and paramedics arrived.

Now, Egg stood rubbing his temples, surveying the scene. The cops had found the headless corpse in the back of the Buick, the trunk had popped open upon impact from the pile up. With the second accident, the minivan had shot forward a good ten feet, and as several more cars piled up on the end of the line of wreckage, the minivan was far enough ahead to escape the damage.  

 A medic had just patched up Frau’s forehead with a butterfly bandage and moved on to other, more injured victims. Egg and Frau stood to the side, watching the cops try to figure out why the middle aged, Hispanic man had a dead corpse in ‘his’ trunk. It was only a matter of minutes before they began collecting identifications and matching those up with vehicle registrations. Though Egg and Frau would not come up on the Buick, (it would come up stolen) the mini van would likely show registration under the name of the dead Mexican man that they’d hauled off on a gurney several minutes before.

Frau shuddered again, as another gurney rolled past, the headless corpse from the Buick on it’s rack. A small sedan rolled by, slowed and spoke something illegible to a nearby cop, then remarkably, clipped the end of the eighteen wheeler in front of him. The man driving the sedan looked directly at Egg, and Egg’s breath caught in his chest. He suddenly recognized the driver. Unruly, shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes…the sonofabitch was the kid from the Polaroid in the pink file. It was that Toby character, and he was pulling up slowly, only a few feet from Egg and Frau.Well, well, well. I think I’ve found us a ride to Detroit.

“Hey Frau, how much you wanna bet that this guy here is headed to a Tower in the middle of Detroit, say the 22^nd floor?”

Put your game face on, Egg. Time to make friends.