A Wrong Turn at Barstow
It began, as these things often do, with a cup of coffee. Not a good cup of coffee—the coffee at the Iron Skillet truck stop outside Barstow had been sitting on the burner since the Nixon administration, or so the regulars claimed—but hot, black, and caffeinated enough to keep a long-haul trucker awake for the final push into Arizona. Danny Quintero had driven this route forty-seven times. He...
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