• 190



    When you take a look at the cargo involved you give more than a little whistle. “Nine Bugatti Veyrons! Great God! Now that’s what I call a shipment of goods!”

    “Yep, that’s what she’s carryin’. You can just hop in and the GPS will take you right where you’re headin’.”

    “And where am I heading with these platinum bricks?”

    “Oh, somewhere outside Thermopolis, Wyoming,” he tells you like it was an unimportant detail. “A wealthy billionaire who owns a lot of land in Wyoming is buying them.”

    You almost turn him down a second time considering what you’re hauling, but you take its exorbitant value as another sign and start the engine – maybe you’ll get a handsome tip at the end.

    You drive along US 212 for a good while, followed by I-90 into Wyoming which turns into US 16. Your drive has been smooth like the impeccably buffed hulls of your cargo, expectedly hindered only by day-dreaming oglers who wish to become your entourage.


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