50
"…so the whole fucking Cadillac is on fire, and I'm kicking and kicking, trying to get the window to break!" Dove says.
"Right, right, because—" You're trying to follow this story, and it isn't easy.
"Because I'm still handcuffed to the guy who was pretending to be a werewolf, right. And I finally kick through the window, rip half the dead fake werewolf's arm off to get free—I'm out of my fucking mind now, with all the fire—and I finally crawl out of the car."
"And get clear before it—do they blow up?"
"Escalades? I dunno, probably not," Dove says. "But anyway, I'm finally clear, so I run across the parking lot, laughing because I'm just thrilled not to have met final death chained up to that guy. And I barely have time to look up before Lettow comes screaming around the corner in a Ford Bronco with the lights off and runs me over. I was in the wrong Cadillac the whole time."
"No!"
"Two black Cadillac Escalades in the parking lot of the Marriott," Dove says. "How was I supposed to know which one—anyway, that's why I don't get to drive anymore. That's why Lettow wants assholes like you driving."