A Bit of Silence in the Dusty Afternoon

He squinted and spat out the car window, catching a glimpse of the crows feet around his left eye as he shifted through the gaze of the rearview.
"Fuck," he thought to himself, "how do I look this old?" knowing full well the answer lay in the purpose for this meeting.
Why was he so calm? It made no sense.
Neither did the meeting place.
If Rader had just wanted to catch up, it would've been burgers and cokes at Midtown Lanes with his Pops, but he figured if he was to be trusted, he had agree to whatever the kid said. Hoping he was a good liar he shifted the Walther from it's recommended place under his right leg to a position suitable to being grabbed by his natural shooting hand that was currently holding his cigarette.
Still not feeling nervous, he took a sip from the flask in the center console and checked the temperature on the the softly idling Caddy's A/C. 73 degrees. Maybe that was helping...
He began to notice a brightening of the colors around him in the late afternoon sun as the first telltale traces of dust began to rise down the dirt road at the turnoff from the highway.
Wrong car?
Rader didn't drive a red Alfa.
As the sedan drew closer, time slowed and he heard the sound of the wheels in the dirt.
For some stupid reason he heard Lucinda Williams in his head-"Car wheels, on a gravel road..." and he realized that he had completely zoned out the radio which now seemed to be blaring. He turned off the stereo and all he heard were the ticking of the Devilles' valves and the pounding of blood in his ears, like trying to sleep through a childhood ear ache.
The Alfa Romero drew closer and he could see the young man's face and a badly dented white driver's side door on the otherwise undamaged red sedan.
As the other car pulled up next to him, without thinking he switched the smoke to his left hand, taking a final drag and feigned reaching for the seatbelt buckle.
Rader drew even with the Cadillac's driver side door and smiled his usuall friendly smile. As he acknowledged the kid with a smile and a quick chin-check he flicked the cigarette out the window. Rader's eyes instictively darted towards the butt as it went out the window.
He had no clue why this happed, but in one smooth motion he picked up the Walther and pounded 4 rounds right into the kid's face. A fine spray of blood went everywhere.
He opened his door and stepped out to get a clear, downward shot into the dead man's midsection, emptied the remainder of the clip there, popped it out and replaced it with a fresh one.
The whole thing lasted 6, maybe 7 seconds.
He had no idea how long it took him to make his next move.
Knowing there was no way the kid was alive, he walked upto the Alfa's window and looked in. Crossways on Rader's lap was an AK, barrel sawed off to fit flush with the door.
The kid's finger was still resting on the trigger gaurd.
Along with a makita cordless drill, the original door for the car was resting in the rear footwell where passengers would normally sit.
Normally.
The door was in pristine condition.
He shot the lock off the trunk and inspected the contents.
Shovel, bag of lime, hatchet, and machete.
Fuck. Some people were gonna be pissed.
The entire contents of his stomach effortlessly emptied themselves into the dust at his feet.
After wiping his mouth with his hankercheif he lit another smoke before his hands started to shake.
As he pondered the bag full of money and ammo in his trunk, he weighed the value of torching the red sedan vs. pulling out his phone and dialing 911.
All he could hear was the dry-paper crackle of the cigarette and the sound from the faint breeze.

ticktickticktick,tickticktick, went the hulking black Cadillac.
A crow.
A truck on the main road.
"Fuck." he said softly.