“So, where to?” Hirc asked as he reclined the passenger seat of the Cadillac. He got comfortable and folded his hands behind his head. His unbuttoned denim shirt flapped in the wind. “You got a plan?”

“Medicine Hat is the next stop,” Bo replied. “We fuel up and keep going west.”

“Mind if I pick up some jerky for the road?” Hirc asked.

Bo avoided eye contact. He patted the door with his free arm which hung limply outside the vehicle. His other hand gripped the leather-covered steering wheel.

“You know,” Hirc added, “that’s cowhide you’re gripping there—anything like the real thing?”

Bo gave Hirc a sideways glance. Like always, Hirc just patiently waited for Bo’s reaction. There he was, head slightly lowered, beady eyes creeping over the circular lenses of his glasses, a crooked smile cracked across his face.

Hirc sprayed spit everywhere as he entered a laughing frenzy.

The minotaur unbuttoned the sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt and shook his head, “Jackass,” he said, then smiled.