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<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
Donaldson broke the tension by asking the standard<br />
questions. Where’d you go to school? What do you do for a<br />
living? Where you headed? When’d you start hitchhiking?<br />
invariably, the conversation turned to him.<br />
“So what’s your name?” brett asked.<br />
“Donaldson.” no point in lying. brett wouldn’t be alive<br />
long enough to tell anyone.<br />
“What do you do, Donaldson?”<br />
“i’m a courier.”<br />
Donaldson sipped from the big Gulp container in the<br />
cup holder, taking a hit of caffeinated sugar water. he offered<br />
the cup to brett, who shook his head. Probably worried about<br />
germs. Donaldson smiled. That should have been the least of<br />
his worries.<br />
“So you mean you deliver packages?”<br />
“i deliver anything. Sometimes overnight delivery isn’t<br />
fast enough, and people are willing to pay a premium to get it<br />
same day.”<br />
“What sort of things?”<br />
“Things people need right away. legal documents. car<br />
parts for repairs. a diabetic forgets his insulin, guy loses<br />
his glasses and can’t drive home without them, kid needs<br />
his cello for a recital. or a kidney needs to get to a transplant<br />
location on time. That’s the run i’m on right now.”<br />
Donaldson jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing<br />
to the backseat floorboard. brett glanced back, saw a cooler<br />
8
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