The engine sputters to life, whining in protest. yeah, yeah. coyote thinks. i'll get to you one day. he shifts his feet to find the gas pedal, and frowns when his knees thump against the bottom of the dash. the moonlight outside taunts him, body stuck between man and monster. shifting would make this easier. then again, the last thing new mexico needs is more conspiracies. coyote leans his head back against the leather seat and shifts the chair back, yanking the transmission out of park unceremoniously.
they roll down the city streets, quiet this far into the night. too quiet, coyote decides, and flicks on the radio. some far off AM station crackles through the speakers, distorted guitars sounding more like static. he fights the urge to slap his commander's hand off the knob when he turns it down. any annoyance is interrupted by incredulity at the slurred question that falls from graves' mouth. coyote glances his way in utter bafflement.
"jesus man, you fucking hired me. i figured you'd at least glance at the file." he scoffs, and shakes his head, pressing his foot down onto the brake more harshly than he really should, shifting gears. even in the low light he can see the man next to him looks green. "if you're gonna throw up, open the window."
the tinny, upbeat voice of some product's spokesman begins to sound from the speakers, and coyote twists the dial to a new station, the sound of static filling the cab.
they wind through city streets, coyote trying his best to fit into the skin of a normal driver - a monumental task for someone who spent the best of their formative driving years in cambridge, massachusetts. he idles at a red light, watching the white man change to a flashing red hand, and contemplates asking for an address. one glance at the pallid complexion and furrowed brows of the man in the passenger seat changes his mind. the turn signal thunks on, and 15 minutes later he pulls into a parking lot.
coyote slams his door shut and waits. when no sound comes from the passenger side, he grumbles, pulling the door open, and lifting graves out of the seat.
"c'mon, up and at 'em." he says, locking the car behind him. his keys jingle quietly as he fumbles about, trying to unlock the door with one hand. it door swings open eventually, and slams shut with a swift kick. coyote doesn't bother to take off his shoes, dragging the dead weight of his commander into the bedroom and letting him slump down onto the bed.
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