Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Rearview
Through the wet window, Sam watched the scene play out like a silent, slow-motion nightmare.
Richard marched up to the driver's side of the black Cadillac, slapping his open palm against the rain-slicked roof of the car. He began yelling, his mouth opening and closing rapidly, pointing his finger at the yellow lines on the road.
The rear tinted window of the Cadillac slid down two inches with a smooth, electric hiss.
Richard stopped shouting. He bent down slightly, looking into the dark interior of the rear seat.
Sam saw Richard’s posture instantly change. The arrogant, rigid posture of the petty manager melted away in a fraction of a second. His shoulders collapsed. His jaw dropped open. A look of absolute, terrifying recognition washed over Richard’s face—a horror so profound that he took two involuntary steps backward, slipping on the wet curb and nearly falling to his knees.
From inside the dark rear cabin of the car, a pale, manicured hand emerged from the open window.
The hand was holding a single black envelope. It didn't drop the envelope; it simply held it out into the rain, waiting.
Richard stood frozen in the downpour, his white shirt soaking through, clinging to his chest. Trembling violently, he reached out with his right hand, took the black envelope, and held it against his chest as if it were a bomb.
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The window slid back up. The Cadillac’s heavy V8 engine roared to life, and the massive car glided away into the gray fog, disappearing around the corner of 4th Street.
Richard remained standing on the curb for a full minute, drenched, motionless, staring at the black envelope in his hands.
