A knock on the driver’s side window startled Einar from his catnap. Outside the beat-up ’66 Buick LeSabre, a skinny white boy in his early twenties held his hands up, his expression nervously apologetic.
Entertaining. I don’t often like reading villains as protagonists. They’re either irredeemably unpleasant or recast as anti-heroes. Here though, the story is short enough that they don’t overstay their welcome, everyone is competent, gives insight into the villains without redeeming them while glossing over their more foul deeds, and the short format meaning we don’t see the consequences.