I ran back to the rear door of the Bronco, opened it, reached in and grabbed a red-and-white flip-top cooler. This is my emergency kit. It contained a roll of duct tape, a spare pair of pants, an envelope with two hundred dollars, two bags of dried fruit, two packages of beef jerky, three bottles of water, a roll of those thick shop towels you see mechanics use, a small metal pipe—just right for cracking a skull with—and a fake beard. Look, you never know.
Funny. All he needs now is his life sustaining supplies: cornmeal and gun powder and hamhocks and guitar strings.
