"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."
Holloway reached out with a trembling, liver-spotted hand. He didn't take the bag. He just touched the leather with the tip of his finger, as if expecting it to be hot to the touch. [S2E6] Hold What You Got
"To the bank. To the state. To whoever's buying up the bottom half of this county this week. Does it matter?" "The boy didn't come back," Holloway said, his
Holloway finally looked down at the pouch. He knew what was in it. It was the payout from the three-ton haul they’d run across the state line two nights ago—the one where the tires were screaming and the engine block was glowing cherry red in the dark. It was supposed to be the money that cleared the books. "You're short," Holloway stated. "Left his truck