Free Assassin's Express by Jerry Ahern

full-sized car to within two inches of the trailer tongue and slightly off center from it. She got out, sneering at him, then worked something that he decided was a jack of some sort. The front of the trailer miraculously seemed to be rising. She took something that he instantly identified as a big cotter pin out of the socket on the trailer tongue, worked some kind of lever and got back into the car, inching it forward, then back, then getting out again, checking the spacing between the hitch and the receptacle on the trailer tongue. “You know, Hank, you could help me.”
    â€œHey—listen, you’re doin’ just great. I’m impressed.” He wasn’t lying, he decided.
    Another turn at the wheel got the ball under the socket, then with ridiculous ease, she lowered the trailer tongue down over the ball on the car hitch—and the two mated perfectly!
    Frost thought, They must teach you a great many mysteries in spy school!
    Satisfied that he’d never be able to hitch a trailer in a thousand years, he applauded Jessica’s efforts, telling her that he thought that the next few times they hitched and unhitched, she should do it—she could use the practice, he thought. Before she could answer him, he started back up to the house to wash his hands—and heal his pride, he realized....
    Frost had never seen the inside of a trailer before, either. He had been amazed. There was a shower, a stove, an oven, beds, tables, a kitchen sink, even—he decided it was vastly better than his apartment. There were even windows.
    He pondered this as he stood for the last time on the front porch of Deacon’s aunt and uncle’s house. Trailering would be a new experience for him. Bess had once told him—
    He burned his fingers on the stub of the cigarette in his hand and snapped it down into the dirt driveway. He started down the steps, shooting a final wave to Deacon’s aunt and uncle, heading toward the car. Jessica was already standing beside it.
    â€œAre you ready—finally?”
    â€œWhat do you mean—‘finally’?”
    â€œI mean finally—if we take this long every time we—”
    â€œYou’re a nag—you know that?” Frost told the girl.
    â€œAre you going to drive?”
    Frost stopped in midstride, feeling his face brightening. “Now that you mention it, I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea—”
    She cut him off. “... For me to get the practice—just in case?”
    â€œRight.” Frost smiled. Before she could say anything, he walked around the front of the car and let himself in on the passenger side. As soon as she touched her foot to the gas pedal, he knew he’d made a mistake.
    â€œHarrowing.” Frost stared out the window, watching the mountains disappear in the distance behind them in the reflection of the big west-coast mirror on the right fender.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œHarrowing,” Frost answered calmly, looking at Jessica Pace, then looking away—he realized she was looking at him instead of the road.
    â€œWhat do you mean harrowing? I mean, what a chicken shit you are!”
    â€œYou should have been sitting where I was sitting,” Frost said, keeping his voice calm, trying to light a cigarette despite his shaking hands.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean—lady, did you see how close you were to those drops back there? And that trailer swinging and swaying after the car—God!”
    â€œIf you don’t like the way I drive—” She stopped talking as she cut the wheel left pulling the moving car off the shoulder, the trailer swaying behind the car again. “—Then you can—” Frost turned and looked at her, saw her looking at him, then saw that they were crossing over into the oncoming lanes.
    â€œLook out!”
    She cut the wheel right, the trailer swaying again; Frost started to get a sick feeling in his