[s2e6] Hold What You Got -

"We used to be able to dictate the terms," the old man muttered.

The neon sign above the radiator shop buzzed with a low, steady frequency that vibrated right through Miller’s boots. The sign read Holloway & Son , though the son had been buried in a dry-county cemetery since ninety-four, and Holloway himself couldn't grip a wrench no more without his knuckles locking up like old brakes. [S2E6] Hold What You Got

"The boy didn't come back," Holloway said, his voice sounding like gravel being turned with a spade. He didn't look at Miller. He looked at the window, where the rain was just starting to turn the red clay outside into a slick, impassable soup. "Left his truck. Left his tools. Left the bay door unlocked." "We used to be able to dictate the

"He didn't leave," Miller corrected him. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound pouch. He didn’t open it. He just set it on the ledger with a dull thud . "He just got traded." "The boy didn't come back," Holloway said, his

Miller didn’t care about the history. He only cared about the grease-stained ledger sitting on the desk between them.

"We used to have roads that didn't have cameras every two miles," Miller snapped. He stood up, the chair legs scraping hard against the concrete floor. He went to the door and looked out at the dark, falling rain. "The world got small, Holloway. There ain't no more running room. You hold onto the square inch you're standing on, or you get pushed into the ditch. That's the only deal left on the board."