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It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it!
"The boat is all gassed up and ready to go. We can be in Cuba by happy hour," Victor insisted with a toothy smile.
Michael shook his head. "They'll be expecting us. Personally I'd rather not go anywhere you've been seen before — remember how they were sitting on your safe house?" he countered. "If Carla was able to track me to the warehouse we stashed you in, I think it's a safe bet she knows about your floating escape plan."
Victor met his intense stare briefly. The hint of tightness around Michael's mouth must have convinced him, because he simply shrugged and replied amiably, "Well, what would you suggest?"
Two hours later they'd ditched a pair of stolen cars and crisscrossed through a maze of backyards to meet up at a car rental place in Fort Lauderdale. It was far enough from the airport to avoid Carla's notice for a while, and close enough to I-95 to make getting out of town unseen a real possibility. One of Barry's "special" credit cards got them a musty-smelling, nondescript sedan and a sackful of road snacks, and in ten minutes Michael was easing the overworked Nissan onto the interstate.
The sun was setting over the highway as they left the city, poking holes through the huge gray cloud to the west as everything fell into shadow. The engine hummed, and Michael felt some of his tension subside.
He felt eyes on him and turned to see Victor staring at him with an unsettling grin on his face.
"What," Michael said flatly, one eye on the road.
"Nothing, nothing," Victor waved him off. "Just, you and me, evading the bad guys. The open road before us. And look, we even got the —" Victor gestured to their sunglasses.
It took Michael a moment to make the pop-culture connection. "Don't," Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Victor was undeterred. "It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got —"
"It's 1400 miles to Chicago, Victor, and you're not smoking in this car, it's a rental!" Michael cut him off. "Just — eat some chips or something," he finished distractedly, returning his attention to the road as a wayward semi began to drift into his lane.
Victor, high on success and adrenaline, wasn't about to be calmed. "Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael. You and me sport, we've got something going here. Maybe we can bust some gears in this machine yet!" he finished gleefully, swiveling his head to look out the window and flopping one arm over Michael's flinching shoulders.
Michael glanced over to find Victor had removed his glasses and was now staring vacantly into the middle distance. He sighed again and followed the road with single-minded care, Victor's arm a heavy and inescapable weight on his shoulders.