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Brian answered his cell phone as Bill navigated his Chevelle through the cramped afternoon traffic on the freeway.
“Hey” he said nonchalantly.
“Brian,” replied John with authority. “We might know where the girl is.”
The massive assassin quickly leaned back. “Fuckin’ A! Where?” he exclaimed.
“Where are you now?”
“We’re on the freeway.”
“Take Highway I-93,” John instructed. “Get onto Drire Road, and the place you’re looking for will be about 5 miles down that road, on the right.”
“What’s the place?” Brian asked curiously, having to suddenly talk louder.
Many nearby drivers were honking their horns. The collective façade of patience wore thin in the strangling clutches of the afternoon traffic jam.
John yelled to be heard over the din. “It’s a warehouse. It should be pretty easy to find.”
“All right,” Brian confirmed with grim confidence. “See you there.”
“Yeah. Don’t forget this though,” John added with emphasis.
“This could be a trap, so make sure you bring all your guns,” he advised.
“Will do,” Brian agreed, nodding. Hearing the call disconnect, he put his phone back into his pocket.
Bill glanced at him inquisitively, so he answered his unspoken question. “We’re going to Drire Road, off Highway I-93.”
“What’s out there?” his partner asked, snapping his vision back to the street.
“About 5 miles down that road, there’s a warehouse where they think the girl’s being kept.”
“All right. Let’s get the fuck out of this traffic then.”
The vehicles on the freeway were finally starting to move at an almost normal pace. Bill darted around the other cars to make it to the warehouse as quickly as possible.