Das Urteil (Vor dem Gesetz) – Wes Mïles Vïrus

A blast of road-dust hit agent Yorke’s windshield as an 18-wheeler drifted past. His partner, agent Blaylock, insisted on driving her own compact “semi-electric” car behind him. He didn’t particularly mind this, as far as avoiding awkward silences when just driving along the endless highways from Washington to Los Angeles went, and he could curse at the other cars all he liked, but it sure made bouncing info and ideas back and forth damn difficult—He always feared he’d cause her to swerve over the line and wreck when he rung her out of the blue on her cell—Still, she’d insisted: “Any ideas, let me know—No use in either of us working with any functional blind spots, if you know what I mean.” Aside from the menaingless “functional”, indeed he did. He punched her on his cell’s speed-dial as he glanced at her white Toyota hybrid in the rearview mirror. No swerve when the first ring sounded. Good driver. “Blaylock”, she said, sounding bored and stressed with a line of backed up bigrigs riding her bumper. “I just thought of something,” Yorke said, still trying to figure out how to put it into words. “Cool—Nothing on the radio but Boston and Journey, ad nauseam.” Yorke didn’t know eactly what the Latin meant, but it made sense just as well: “nauseating”. “Yeah—All 70’s bands with one name sucked except for Rush.” Who ruled, of course—She didn’t need to be told (again). She chuckled, “Ah, come on, you’ve got to love Styx.” He laughed, having almost forgotten them. They’d once …
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