Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

A S SOON AS DEVINE LOOKED that way, he knew he’d let his guard down and was about to pay the price, as a second man on the other side of his truck opened the passenger door and pointed a pistol at him.

Devine checked his rearview again. The cop car was gone; indeed the whole town looked deserted in the chilly darkness.

The man climbed in while his window-tapping partner opened the driver’s side passenger door and got in the backseat.

The first man said, “Drive. I’ll give directions.”

“If you want to carjack me, I don’t have to go along for the ride,” said Devine. “I actually have another appointment.”

That got him a hard smack on the back of the head with the pistol held by the guy in the rear seat.

“Drive,” the man said again.

His head ringing from the blow, Devine drove while the fellow fed him directions. They were quickly swallowed by the blackness of an overcast evening, with not a glimmer of natural light, or apparent hope, in the vicinity.

Devine could smell the foul breath coming from the man in the back, who hovered over him. He could also smell the stink of both men’s sweat. That actually told him a lot—they were as nervous as they probably assumed he was.

Only Devine wasn’t. He was the calm before, during, and after the storm. For better or worse, this was when Devine was in his element, and at his best.

“Can I ask about the agenda for our trip?” Devine asked.

“Sure, you can ask ,” said the man next to him.

Devine had cast his gaze over the fellow and his gun, and used the rearview mirror to do the same with his garlic-breathed partner in the rear seat.

In his head, Devine ran various simulations to counter his current predicament and settled on one, based solely on the men having made a single critical mistake.

Well, two if I count them taking me on in the first place.

“Turn right up ahead,” said the man in the front seat as he glanced out the window.

Devine made the turn.

“Slow down,” said the same man as they headed down a dirt road with thick woods on either side.

Devine eased off the gas.

“Stop up ahead.”

Devine said, “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me. Are you friend or foe? Because it will matter to me, which means it will matter to you.”

“What are you, some kind’a comedian? Your ass is grass, maggot,” said the man in the backseat. Devine saw him raise the gun again, probably to either drill a hole in his head or give him a matching bruise; it really didn’t matter now.

“All I needed to know. And here’s the punch line.”

He slammed down the gas and the 4Runner rocketed ahead, catapulting wildly over the bumpy road; the resulting g’s from the sudden acceleration threw the two men flat against their seats.

When the speedometer blew past 100, Devine used both feet to slam down on the brakes. At the same time, while holding the wheel steady, he lurched sideways because he knew what was coming. The unharnessed man in the rear seat flew over Devine and smashed headfirst into the windshield. His partner in the front had beat him to that destination by a millisecond.

Mists of blood from the man who had once been behind Devine sprayed over him. Devine rubbed the other man’s corpuscles off his face and pushed him onto his buddy, who had fallen back into his seat with tiny shards of windshield sticking out of his head.

Both men were unconscious, perhaps dead. Devine didn’t really care which.

He undid his harness and slid out of the truck. Devine reached back inside to check for ID on the man closest to him when a shot blew by his head. It smacked into the bark of a nearby pine, blowing wood chips off into the foggy tendrils of air.

Devine drew his Glock and burned five rounds of return fire. He then reached inside the 4Runner and pulled the man closest to him out, dumping him on the ground. As another shot exploded into the SUV, Devine hopped back into the Toyota and shut the door. He leaned over the other man, opened the passenger side door, and used his legs to propel his bloodied partner out of the vehicle.

Devine harnessed up, punched the gas, and the Toyota leapt forward, its propulsion causing the passenger door to close. He had no idea if there was a way out up ahead but he had no choice for now. Another shot caved in the back window. He ducked down as the bullet smacked into the already wrecked windshield, laying down fresh spiderwebs in the glass.

As he looked up ahead, Devine exclaimed, “Fuckin’ great.”

The dirt road ended in a wall of fallen trees and large rocks. He slammed on the brakes, threw the Toyota into reverse, and backed up with the tires spewing dirt like a Ditch Witch. He next tapped the brake just so, ripped the wheel to his right, slid into a J-turn, laid down on the gas again, spun the wheel straight and true, the leather skimming under his fingers, and rocketed in the opposite direction.

When Devine saw the headlights up ahead coming straight at him, he lowered his window and rested his Glock on the top of the side mirror to steady his aim. They could be two futuristic knights about to have a lethal joust.

He emptied his mag at the oncoming vehicle, shredding windshield glass and front metal grille. As Devine crouched low, they fired back at him, rounds pinging off door frames, hood, and grille and blowing out chunks of already shattered glass. But nothing pinged off him, which was what counted.

He used a finger to pop the spent mag, and dexterously inserted a fresh one using his right hand. He took both hands off the wheel for a second to rack the slide. He put the gun on the mirror once more, but before he could fire, Devine heard dozens of rounds of rapid-fire shots. He started to duck, but then realized they weren’t coming at him or from the other vehicle, which had started to swerve violently. At the last possible second, Devine cut the wheel to the right and flew past what he could now see was a large Cadillac Escalade. The blown-out right rear wheel was laying down strips of burned-off rubber. The back glass was also missing and the tailgate looked like a target at a gun range.

As he looked up ahead, he saw a single taillight ahead of him.

A motorcycle speeding away from the scene? He pressed the gas to the cushioned floorboard, but the 4Runner apparently had no acceleration left to give on that end. One of the bullets must have struck something vital to the truck’s performance, causing its speed to max out at sixty. He zipped by where the two wrecked and bloodied men lay in the dirt and kept going. The taillight was farther ahead and then disappeared as it hit the main road. When Devine got there, the motorcycle was gone. But whoever it was had saved his life.

He turned the heat up to blast level and still it was freezing inside because of the blown-out windows fore and aft, which also created an icy wind tunnel that made it feel like he was on top of Everest. He didn’t touch the scalp and hair on his broken windshield and dashboard because his ride was now a crime scene in motion. After a mile he slowed to a moderate pace and made his way back to Ricketts to keep his dinner date with Mayor Mercedes.

Devine wondered if it would be any more exciting than what had just happened to him.