The troubles with being a 21st-century highwayman are legion: police, traffic cams, traffic, hundreds of tons of steel and plastic hurtling at high velocity, protecting their occupants from things like rusty daggers and horse nets. Cort figures that means the competition will be slim.
He assembles a band of cutthroats from bars and truck stops, and they lie in wait in the trees lining route 86 to Hedgegrove.
They wait a long time.
Then a ’91 Dodge Shadow blows a tire and pulls onto a shoulder and they strike.
Their first haul is $9.54, some burned CDs, and a handful of tazer wounds.