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"Pass me some pliers," Walt said, waist-deep under the hood of his broken ass truck. "The slip-joint ones."
Ray shoved a beer in the hand Walt reached back instead.
"What?" Ray asked when Walt gave him the stink-eye. "Beer’s getting warmer faster than this truck is gettin’ fixed. Priorities."
Three sides of as far as the eye could see were corn, the other side was a reed-filled depression that probably would have been called a pond in any other month than August.
Walt slumped against the bumper and took a long swallow from his bottle. Hard to say what was sweating more, the cold beer or Hasser.
It was also hard to say what one looked more appealing doing it.
"Least it could do is rain to get this humidity down," Walt grumbled. He wiped at his face with his rumpled shirt. Ray barely registered when Walt said, "And the least you could do is look under this hood with me."
"Hey, I fix radios, not—"
"You’re the one who says he sucked a dick for some radiator hose."
"Yeah, and you see any officers around here with a tow truck?" Ray dropped to his knees, threw his head back, and poured some beer into his open mouth. It dribbled out down toward his ears. "I’m ready and waiting."
The sun felt good. Fuck Walt’s complaining about the hot, wet weather. At least there was no fucking shamal shaving their skin off. At least they could get a good old Twinkie at the Pamida (once they got Walt’s POS running again). At least—
"Walt!" Ray sputtered against the ice-cold water from the now empty beer cooler. "You fucker!"
Walt laughed and ran in a circle around the truck, not really trying too hard to stay out of Ray’s reach.