“Pull over Butch. This is the spot,” Ray said ignoring his passenger.
Brakes squealed over the low engine hum and gravel crunch as the long black sedan pulled to a stop.
Ray pushed open his door and stepped out. “Let’s go,” he said looking over his shoulder. “You wanted to talk? Well, now’s your chance.”
Sly opened his own door and slunk over to the table beneath the great oak. He didn’t know how many were buried here, just that it was a lot.
“It wasn’t my fault, Boss.”
“I know,” Ray said. “It’s Nobody’s fault. It always is.”
#FridayFictioneers is a weekly blog link up hosted by Rochelle over at RochelleWisoff.com. You should check out her sight and perhaps try your hand at writing a 100 word story.