Predators "I don't care what they say, Henry, crime does pay. This was the perfect night of crime. We got away with murder tonight."
"Christ, don't say that Mike. We didn't kill nobody."
"Maybe not," said Mike, pulling a revolver from his belt, waving it about, and pointing it out the passenger side window of the car, "but I could'a killed that old bastard when he came at me with the chair." Mike glanced at Henry who was concentrating on his driving. "What the hell did he think he was going to do with the chair, anyway?"
"He was just trying to help his old lady, Mike. You didn't have to hurt her. He was going to give us the money."
"Yeah, but the old guy was taking his time about it, like he was challenging me. I don't like people challenging me." Mike laughed. "He won't be challenging anyone for a while; the old bastard will be a long time healing."
Henry didn't want to challenge Mike either; he just wanted to get away from him. First, he had to get back to the familiar surroundings of the city, but Henry didn't know the way. Mike was navigating with the map on his lap, using a small flashlight.
The darkness was the first thing Henry had noticed that evening when they drove beyond the city limits. In Portland there was always light, even on the darkest nights, from street lights, headlights, and windows, but out in the Maine countryside, on a moonless night, Henry couldn't even see a horizon. The road, trees, and sky were all the same shade of black.