DAWSON
It was the toughest, most torturous, painful, and most disconcerting thirty-minute wait of my life before Rick Taylor finally decided to get his ass out of the café.
Wait — I glanced at my watch— make that thirty-one minutes. About damn time! What the f**k was he doing in there? Taking a s**t?
He got into the car, slamming the door behind him.
"Your coffee?" The cup was stretched to my face.
I looked at the cup and then at him. "I'll f**k you up if you don't get that s**t out of my face."
He smiled, retrieved his hand, and began sipping it. Yeah, either he drinks it or he throws it away. I don't care. I wasn't craving coffee.
A lot of questions lined up in my head. But I had to ask them more naturally. To avoid getting him suspicious.
"I saw Smith go inside the café. Did
