by B K Nault
“You were just standing up for your beliefs.” The pout on her lips betrayed her true feelings about his behavior. “We’re not going to the mall, are we?”
“I was a jerk, and you were right. I should be there.”
Her eyes grew round. “You mean to the”—she checked around, then whispered—“raid? What made you change your mind?” Pepper gasped while he punched the call button over and over. “That won’t help.”
A tone indicated the car had arrived. “I can’t explain exactly why I have to go…”
“You know we’ll probably miss the whole she-bang by now.” The door slid open, and they stepped inside. She was right; it was probably too late. The door closed in slow motion.
“I know, but so far my entire life has been avoiding what I should be accepting. It’s time for a change that’ll make a different future, whatever it brings.” He peered down at her. “You in?”
“Oh, I’m in.”
They stopped for to-go cups of coffee from Morrie’s kiosk, and Pepper gave him the keys to her apartment, with some quick instructions on how to feed Glenda her dinner.
Harold dialed Stan’s phone as soon as they were out of the parking structure and he could get service, but it went directly to voice mail. With the radio set on a rock and roll station, Pepper’s little car popped in and out of the LA traffic like a pinball through a maze as she zipped back and forth, narrowly missing a lane-splitting motorcyclist. When the road opened up, they raced north. The car’s engine whined, every rattle and creak punctuating their haste.
Harold’s phone buzzed as they hit the section known as the Grapevine. “We’re on standby,” Stan told Harold. “One of the judges was on the golf course, and we haven’t yet got the signed warrant. I can’t promise when it will happen.”
“We might make it after all,” Harold told Pepper and she focused on the road ahead with added zeal. In several hours, they pulled into the mountain market’s empty parking lot in record time. They got out and ran into the deli to take turns in the cramped restroom.
“Now what do we do?” Pepper wondered when they met outside again. The car’s engine popped as it cooled off from its mad dash north. “I hope we didn’t miss everything.”
They watched a minivan pull out.
“Do you have one of those smart phone apps that carry police band?” Harry said. “Maybe we can hear what’s going on.”
“That’s a good idea.” She held up her phone, squinting at the screen. “No bars.”
He didn’t have any service either.
“I’m going in to ask if they’ve seen any unusual police activity today.” Harold went back inside.
Harold quizzed the teenager behind the cash register, and got no more of an answer than, “Ain’t seen nothing today, dude.”
“It doesn’t seem like anything’s happened.” Harold got back in the car with Pepper, who was watching the road for unusual activity.
“If several agencies are making a raid at once, they can hardly all get past here without us hearing or seeing them. Either they changed their minds, or it’s already gone down.”
“Want me to go back inside for some sandwiches while we wait?”
“We know that road, Harry. Let’s drive as far as that fork. We hide the car, and we’re right next to the action.” Pepper eyed him. “Want to?”
“Absolutely not. We’re not even supposed to know this is happening.” He’d already put Pepper in harm’s way, and he wasn’t going to do that again. “We wait here.”
“Fine. Spoilsport.” Pepper slumped down in the seat. “Wake me up if the eagle lands or the Army arrives.” She folded her thin arms and closed her eyes. “And another thing. If you’re going to keep kidnapping me for impromptu trips all over creation, it’s high time you took turns. I know you have a valid permit. You must be getting ready to drive again.”
A man stepped out of his car to gas it up, then cleaned his windshield with deliberate strokes.
“How did you know I have my permit?”
“I had to go through your wallet in the hospital to find your insurance card.” Pepper threw an arm over her eyes against the light. “Georgia’s an attractive woman, Harry. I’m not surprised you want her back.”
Harold sought for an explanation for that comment. “You saw her picture in my wallet.”
“How did the interview go, by the way? Wasn’t it this morning?”
“I ran out. But not before finding out I probably lost Rhashan his job.”
“Oh, Harry, what did you do?”
He explained about the memo suggesting a new method of mail delivery. “I didn’t think about how it would affect him.”
“You didn’t think about him because you wanted to prove your brilliance.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not the same person you were a few weeks ago, Harry.” She’d dropped her arm, and now her hand covered his.
“I’m not?”
“No. I can’t put my finger on what’s changed you. You’re…I don’t know. Softer? But in a way, you seem more…more Harry.”
“I have been studying.”
“Studying what? How to be you?” she snickered.
He pulled out the management book from the messenger bag. “This. It’s helped me be a better person.”
She read the title, inset in flaky gold lettering over an outlined drawing of a man in a suit carrying a briefcase. “I guess if that’s what it takes.” She turned the first few pages. “Harold, this was printed in 1952. You going to start wearing skinny ties and puffing on Marlboros?”
“I think it’s helped me.” He set his chin, suddenly defensive.
“What helps you is when you listen to what other people are saying.” She sat up straight, and cast a glance at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to diminish your very Mad Men-like journey. But whatever’s causing you to open up, I like what I see.”
“Thanks.” The kind words might have meant more to him, but under the circumstances, Harold couldn’t decide if she was flirting with him or making a point about how far he’d come from the person Georgia left. His fingers itched to check the index for the chapter on reading between the lines of co-worker’s comments, but he left the book on the console, afraid she’d tease him about smearing Brylcreem in his hair and drinking two-olive martinis at lunch.
After another half hour of waiting, and stale bologna sandwiches from the deli, Harold was about to decide he’d made the worst decision of his life. By leaving the interview as he did, and hanging Rhashan out to dry, he’d not only ruined his chance at promotion, but endangered his friend’s job as well. Rhashan would probably never speak to him again. At least he still had Morrie. And Pepper.
She was snoozing, and he didn’t want to disturb her. He had to stretch his legs, so he opened the door with as little noise as possible. As he twisted his taut back, trying for a pop of relief, an armored Humvee passed by, followed by two black Escalades, and then two local police units. “There they are!” he shouted, his heart beating with machine gun rapidity. He yanked open the door, making Pepper jump. “Did you see?”
“Get in!” She started the car, and as they pulled up to the lip of the road, another older model sedan pulled off and idled next to them. The driver’s window rolled down.
“So you did decide to come!” Stan’s animated speech and wild eyes showed his glee at being back to work. “Leave your car here, and ride with me. Hurry!”
****
Harold spent the drive up to the cabin alternately swallowing against his fear and trying to make out the conversation crackling on the police radio. The chatter was mostly in codes, but he could understand enough to know that several units were driving in, with chopper backups on standby.
“Are you sure this is safe?” He white-knuckled the door handle, riding shotgun while Stan drove, alert eyes on the horizon. “We can just wait at the deli—”
“Grab hold of life, Harry! Ya-hoo!” Pepper leaned forward from the back seat. She mi
ght as well have been an extra shooting a western for all the concern she showed. But they were driving toward danger, not escaping the pursuing banditos, and Harold wondered if he’d live to regret this day the rest of his life.
“The plan is fine tuned. We sent in a few undercover agents to assess, and they’re riding ahead of us.” Stan matched Pepper’s excitement, his voice an octave higher than normal. He searched the sky through the windshield. “Weather’s holding, and we still have enough light. We won’t approach the encampment, don’t worry, Harold. We’ll stay back until I get the all clear. You’re both civilians. Technically, we’re all civilians.”
“We thought we’d missed everything.” Pepper rubbed Harold’s shoulder.
He forced his fists to unclench and leaned heavily against the seat. Her touch was comforting, but he rolled down a window and gulped in cool mountain air.
“Had to wait all day for the judge. It’s good they planned this thing for dawn. Bureaucracy always…” Stan’s diatribe was interrupted by more radio gibberish. “I’m glad you’re here, though, you know the area.” Stan went on when the radio grew quiet again. “Tell me how far up we should go.” He pulled off onto the same dirt road they’d traveled to Gus’s weeks ago, but the spring rains had encouraged vigorous growth, and the car had to bump over knee-high grasses and weeds.
Harold’s stomach churned. “There’s a giant rock outcropping that looks like a snail.” He pointed in the general direction of the landmark. “That’s about a half mile up.”
“So Gus will be arrested for sure?” Pepper had unfastened her belt, and was leaning forward, arms across the front seat.
“You should buckle your seat belt.” Harold glanced back at her.
“The warrants for Gus are long and luxurious, especially since he shot at you.” Stan swung wide to avoid a cavernous dip. “Whoever this guy is, it will take a team of attorneys to clear him of everything from aiding coyotes to squatting to abetting terrorists. We’ll know more when we get him in custody and printed. A neighbor was out riding his quad yesterday and smelled fire. Called in to report, but the unit said it was out by the time they got there. Crazy things going on back there; it’s time to flush out the sewage.”
“Good heavens.” Pepper glanced over at Harold. “I hope he’s all right. We need him alive.”
“Who actually owns the place?” Harold wondered, grabbing for a handhold as the car bucked.
“Close as I can tell, it was built by the forestry service and used by various logging companies until about a decade ago when someone died. The land has been bogged down in a title dispute between the forestry service and a private trust of some kind that’s been around since before California was a state.”
“That may be why it was so tough to get the warrants,” Pepper observed.
“Yep,” Stan agreed.
The outcropping they were navigating toward suddenly loomed in front of them. “There it is!” Harold blurted.
They pulled around it, and Stan backed up, faced downhill, and parked next to a stand of mountain juniper. “We’re close enough. We’ll wait here for the all-clear.” He shifted into park and shut off the engine.
Before long they heard more radio chatter, and Harold strained to understand the lingo. Stan interpreted a few of the commands for them, and then it became too much to keep up with. Stan got out, shut his door and leaned back in. “I’m just going to get a little closer.” He smacked the inside of the door and leveled a warning look at them. “You two stay here. That’s an order.” He went around to the rear where Harold could see him through the gap between the trunk lid and the car. Stan slipped on a Kevlar vest and a helmet.
The radio continued to sputter, the conversation becoming more vigorous. Soon everyone was talking over each other and the lingo was lost on Harold’s untrained ears. Stan had disappeared, and then they heard rumbling from beyond the treeline.
Harold was trying to stay cool and calm, listening to someone who was reporting a blow-by-blow of the movements toward the compound. He twisted to check on Pepper.
“I have to pee. Which direction do you think is safe?” She opened the door.
“You can’t get out!” Harold threw a hand to catch her shoulder. “You could be caught in a crossfire or mistaken for someone trying to get away!”
“We’re a half mile away, and I doubt if I match the profile. I’ll be quick.” The door slammed, and she was gone.
Harold lost sight of Pepper and scanned the shrubs for a glimpse of her clothing, anything to know she was safe. He opened his door and got out, searching the clearing, anxious for her safety.
He heard Stan before he saw him appear through a gap in the trees, running back to the car. “Get inside! Get back in the car! Where’s Pepper?”
Harold pointed in the direction she’d gone.
“Get in the driver’s seat!” Stan ordered, gun drawn, running over to the bushes where Harold had pointed. “Pepper?”
Harold froze. “I can’t—”
“Now! Get it started! Suspects are fleeing and they’re in pursuit!”
Stan disappeared, and Harold ran around, yanked open the door and jumped in just as, behind him, the LeBaron appeared. A helicopter, skimming the treetops, shadowed the fleeing car. The blades whomped the air, beating through Harold’s body to match his racing heartbeat.
The starter whined as Harold turned it too hard, and he let go, anxious for Stan and Pepper to reappear. The engine died. The LeBaron’s nose porpoised directly for him.
Harold twisted the key in the ignition, more careful this time, and the engine turned over and kept running. He threw the car into reverse and stomped on the accelerator, backing up just as the escape car shot past, barely missing the fender. He braked too hard and jolted himself into the wheel, landed on the horn and blared into the maelstrom.
Stan appeared, pulling Pepper along. Her eyes were round as she stepped high to keep pace with Stan, who opened the rear door, shoved her inside and swooped in next to Harold. “Go!” he shouted.
Harold panicked and pushed hard on the accelerator, backing them into a tree, and they stopped with a jolt.
“That way!” Stan ordered, pointing where the LeBaron had disappeared.
Harold fumbled until he found “D” and spun the wheel to follow the chase.
The car had more pickup than he expected. He gripped the steering wheel as the tires spun and fought for purchase on the uneven ground.
He swallowed back an urge to giggle against the absurdity. An armed lunatic followed by a car driven by a guy with no driving experience under orders of a brain-injured former cop high on adrenaline. “A life rope to the Titanic,” his grandma would say about the desperate situation. Harold wanted to check on Pepper, but the rearview mirror’s angle had gone wonky in the collision with the tree, and all he could see was her bangled arm clutching her seatbelt strap.
“Did you see who was behind the wheel?” Stan leaned out the window, and back in, barely avoiding decapitation by tree trunk. He’d pulled out a pistol, sending Harold’s adrenaline to new highs. The car ahead appeared beyond a meadow, about a city block away.
“No. It went by too fast.”
The LeBaron pulled further away as the road straightened.
“Step on it!” Stan hollered, and Harold floored it, bouncing them into and out of a pothole.
“Where is everyone else?” Pepper shouted from the back seat.
A shot rang out from the getaway car. Stan leaned out the window, branches scraping his side of the car, and he ducked in and out, gun aimed in the direction of the LeBaron. “Hold it steady, Harold!”
“I’m trying!”
A police unit roared from behind them and Harold knew he should move aside, but the tires had found deep grooves, the grassy sides holding them, a rocketing ball in a pinball machine, so Harold punched the accelerator to build speed, swerving at the last minute when a dip opened in front of them. Back on track, Harold had to remind himself to breathe. In and
out. Up, down. He’d lost all feeling in his fingers.
From a side trail, the Humvee appeared, taking the track ahead of them, mowing over mountain shrubbery as if it was a neglected lawn. They were sandwiched in. If he lost his nerve or the car stalled, they’d be lunchmeat in a metal sandwich.
Rat-a-tat from gunfire filled the air for several minutes, Harold’s nerves keeping time. He’d been gripping so tightly over the pocked and unpredictable tracks, his hands were stuck like glue to the wheel.
Someone shouted over the radio, “Suspects are approaching the road, block the exit!”
Just as they rounded a bend, the LeBaron’s brake lights flashed on.
“Slow down, Harold, he’s approaching the roadblock,” Stan ordered. “He might turn around!”
The field had opened up, and the Humvee jumped free of the ruts and overtook the LeBaron. A sequence of orders sounded over the radio, both to the driver, and then to the officers waiting, to prepare for a foot chase if the suspects tried to run.
Harold braked, and they jolted to a stop, the patrol unit swung out, barely missing their bumper and popping over a mound just past them, but was stopped by a huge growth of mountain laurel. While they backed up to go around, the LeBaron turned toward them.
Stan pointed out the window with his pistol. “Here he comes!”
The LeBaron headed straight for them. Harold searched for what to do. If he turned left, he would crash into the waiting patrol car. If that didn’t move, the LeBaron would strike them. He couldn’t risk letting Pepper get hurt. He yelled to her, “Slide all the way to the right and hang on!”
“He’s not stopping!” Stan shouted. “Brace for impact!”
Harold could see no other way, so without another moment’s hesitation, he revved the engine, stepped on the gas, and turned as hard right as he could. At the moment he stepped on the brake, a loud bang sounded as metal hit metal. The LeBaron’s front end made contact with the fender of Stan’s car. Both windshields shattered with an explosion, shattering glass over them in a torrential downpour.
