“Keep your eyes open,” Faust said. “The woman is still inside.”
Faust went to the left side of the front window, Ken to the right. Faust pointed for Levy to watch the door. I stopped ten feet from the front window so I could cover the center. I could see a portion of the motel room’s back wall, but I didn’t see Ray.
I saw movement heading for the door. While I didn’t get a good look, the figure I saw was nowhere near Ray’s size.
“Door!” I yelled and pointed. “I think it’s the woman.”
Every barrel of every gun swung toward the door.
“Don’t shoot!” a woman yelled. The door pulled open.
The radio attached to Levy’s shoulder came alive. The only part I caught was that someone had come out the back of the building. I turned and ran past the office’s front door. I heard a car engine fire.
“Porsche,” I said. I turned left at the corner of the building and headed toward the back.
The car motor revved, and tires chirped. The red Porsche flew past just as I approached the corner. The car left the pavement of the rear parking area, fishtailed through the grass separating the motel from the street, and slid sideways out into the road. Stones and bits of grass flew through the air from the gravel shoulder on the far side of the street. The car’s engine wailed. The tires spun and caught. I saw Ray and the barrel of a rifle hanging out of the window. He headed south. I brought my service weapon up and took three shots. They sounded as if they hit, but the car didn’t slow. I crouched, steadied my hands, and took another, and the rear hatchback window exploded inward. The car swerved but continued.
A Hernando County Sheriff’s cruiser approached in the opposite direction. I looked farther down the street and confirmed it was one of the cars from the roadblock near the old marine business—probably driven by whoever called Levy. The Porsche veered into the cruiser’s lane. I heard semiautomatic gunfire and saw muzzle flashes coming from the Porsche. The sheriff’s cruiser steered right, ripped through a small chain-link fence, and came to rest in the field alongside the road.
“Shit!” I holstered my weapon and ran toward my Cadillac.
“Kane! Wait!” Faust yelled.
I didn’t. I jumped in the driver’s side, fired the motor, dropped the car into drive, and stomped on the gas. The engine roared and the tires fought for traction as I cranked the wheel to the left, spun around in the street, and pointed the nose of the car south. Smoke was billowing from the tires, but with a quick lift of my foot off the gas, the tires caught, and the car rocketed forward from the cloud of smoke.
The rear of the Porsche had just passed the other cruiser up ahead, still blocking the street. With each shift, the Cadillac surged forward. I glanced at the speedometer, and I was doing a hundred and twenty by the time I passed the deputy’s cruiser still parked in the middle of the street. I didn’t see him but didn’t miss the flat tire, shot-out windows and bullet holes down the cruiser’s side. The Porsche remained at a distance, but I had no doubt I’d catch it. The Cadillac wagon had double the Porsche’s power, and unless Ray found himself a winding road, I knew he wouldn’t outrun me in that car.
A handful of cars zipped past me in the other direction on my left. The thought of other motorists hadn’t entered my head. The brake lights on the Porsche flashed up ahead, and then Ray took the car into the oncoming lane for a pass. The Porsche disappeared in front of the truck it passed. The truck grew closer. I glanced at the speedometer again—147 miles per hour. I slid a bit to the left for a look into the oncoming lane and pulled the wheel back right as a semi approached. After it passed, I slid to the left again. Another semi. I got back in my lane but was coming up fast on the truck in front of me.
“Shit!” I lifted off the gas and stomped my foot down onto the brake pedal, hard. The truck in my lane that Ray had passed was directly before me. I missed his rear bumper by inches as I veered to the left for another look to pass—it was clear. I floored the gas. The car downshifted and pressed me back into my seat.
I looked up into the rearview mirror. The truck I’d passed faded into the distance. I couldn’t see the lights of any of the Hernando sheriff’s cruisers. My eyes came back to the street ahead.
I saw the Porsche making another pass a few hundred yards ahead. A car was coming in the opposite lane, I had to slow. As soon as the oncoming car passed, I checked the other lane, saw it was clear, and once again floored the gas pedal. The Porsche was just a hundred yards ahead. I didn’t see any cars in front of it in the distance. I was closing on the Porsche with each passing second. I could read the plates, could see Ray inside. I checked the oncoming lane. No one was there. I checked my rearview mirror—still no one.
I pulled the Cadillac’s seat belt across my chest and went for a PIT maneuver. The front of my car met the side of the rear bumper of Ray’s car, and the Porsche’s rear end slid out. Ray sawed at the wheel to keep it straight. He swerved to the right shoulder of the street and overcorrected. The rear end snapped the other way, spinning the car in the road. While the car spun, it never left the surface of the street. The Porsche came to rest, facing me in my lane fifty feet away. I stopped.
Ray was staring out his windshield at me. He reached over to the passenger seat, and then the driver’s door opened. Ray stepped out into the street with an assault rifle.
I slammed the Cadillac into reverse as he brought the butt of the rifle up into his shoulder. I planted the gas to the floor. The tires screamed and smoked. The car launched backward just as Ray began firing. I ducked to the left. Bullets clanked off of the hood of my car and in a straight line up the windshield. I yanked the wheel to the right, spun the car, and pulled the gearshift into drive. I straightened the car out and kept my foot on the gas. Bullets shattered the rear window and blew through the windshield. I put a thousand feet between Ray and me before pulling the wheel right and spinning the car again. I held the brakes down and came to a stop in the street facing Ray once again.
In the distance, he got back into the Porsche and turned the car around. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the lights of police cruisers a half mile back. I floored the gas and picked up speed after Ray. My phone rang. I fished it from my pocket and clicked Talk.
“Was that you in the street?” Faust asked.
“Yeah. I tried a PIT. It didn’t work.”
“We’re coming up behind you. I’m in with Deputy Levy. We have more deputies coming, and he has guys getting spike strips set before Dade City as we speak. That is a last resort. We need to get him shut down before the area gets populated. Do you still have eyes on him?”
I stared forward through the shattered and spiderwebbed windshield of my car. “He’s a few hundred yards ahead of me, but I’m closing on him.”
I could hear Levy saying something to Faust in the background of the call.
“The road is going to split into a divided highway in a half mile. If we are going to try another PIT, it’s best to do it there.”
“Got it,” I said. I clicked off and dropped the cell phone to my lap.
Chapter 35
Ray tossed the assault rifle onto the dash of the car and retook his seat behind the wheel. He turned to continue south and slammed his fist against the car’s steering wheel.
“Shit!”
Ray looked into the rearview mirror. Kane appeared to be following once again. Ray knew if he continued in the same direction, more police would arrive soon. At the moment, he had only Kane on his tail. He needed to take him out, get moving in a different direction, and get a different vehicle as soon as possible. Ray’s eyes moved from Kane’s car closing the gap on him, in his rearview mirror, to the bag of guns on the passenger side of the vehicle. Ray reached over, unzipped the bag, pulled out the remaining TEC-9 automatic pistol, and placed it on his lap.
He rested his finger on the trigger and slowed.
Chapter 36
I was closing the gap on the Porsche and glanced into my side mirror. The lights from th
e sheriff’s cruisers were growing smaller. Painted lines began to split the road into two lanes, north and south, divided by a grass median. The Porsche’s brake lights flashed. A street sign with the name of the upcoming crossroad flew past on my right. Ray looked as if he was going to turn. I lifted off the gas and glanced down at my speedometer—forty miles an hour. I matched Ray’s speed and kept a hundred yards between us.
The brake lights on the Porsche went solid, and it came to a dead stop in the center of the street.
I locked up my brakes.
Ray’s face stared back at me around the driver’s seat. His left hand came up.
I slammed the gearshift into reverse and stomped on the gas.
Seeing a muzzle flash, I dropped my head and body immediately.
Automatic gunfire sprayed the Cadillac. Shards of safety glass from the windshield showered me, then more glass from the Cadillac’s passenger side. The constant sound of bullets tearing through the car filled my ears—it lasted only a few seconds. I felt the rear tires of my car leave the surface of the street, and I hit the brakes, bringing the car to a stop.
When I heard the squeal of tires, I popped my head up and took in my surroundings. I was off the street. I saw the Porsche through the void of my blown-out passenger-side window once again, heading south. I threw the Cadillac back into drive and hit the gas, sending grass and dirt flying as the car clawed its way back to the asphalt. The tires caught the edge of the street and launched me forward. I pointed the nose of the car south and kept my foot down. Two sheriff’s cruisers flew past me on my left. I could see nothing through my shattered, bullet-ridden windshield. I reached up and tried to push it out, but it went nowhere, so I pulled my weapon, fired five shots upward through the windshield glass directly in front of my face, and replaced it back in its holster. I ripped the sleeve off my sports coat, wrapped it around my fist, and punched at the glass until I’d opened a ten-inch hole I could see through. I put my face in line with the opening and sped up. Levy, Faust, and the other cruiser hadn’t gained much ground on me. Both cars were within a football field—just beyond them was the Porsche. Wind whipped through the hole I made in the glass.
Colors from below caught my eye, and I glanced at my car’s instrument cluster. A slew of warning lights were lit. The car’s temperature gauge was heading toward hot. I kept my foot down. The moment I brought my eyes back up, one of the sheriff’s cruisers veered to the left, into the grass median. The car slid sideways and came to a stop as I flew past. I stared through the hole in the windshield at the remaining cruiser just ahead. Pieces of debris flew through the air as Ray peppered the cruiser with gunfire while he drove. The squad car locked up its brakes in a puff of smoke and whizzed past on my right.
Again, I was without help. I stayed at a distance but kept a visual on the Porsche. My Cadillac couldn’t take any more shots, and after two attempts on my life, I wouldn’t give Ray another. I looked down—the temperature needle was pegged in the red. My only hope was to get to the officers with the spike strips laid out roughly a mile and a half up the road.
My phone rang, and I figured it had to be Faust. I clicked Talk. “Everyone okay?”
“He took out a front tire on our cruiser,” Faust said. “This car isn’t moving. We have people coming though.”
I felt the motor of my Cadillac shudder. “Shit,” I said.
“Shit what?” Faust asked.
“I don’t think my car is going to last much longer,” I said.
“Follow as long as you can,” Faust said. “We can’t let him get away.”
Steam began rising from around the corners of my hood.
“Shit!” I yelled.
I looked in my rearview mirror—no backup was coming. I looked out through the hole in the windshield—no one anywhere other than Ray in the Porsche and a handful of cars heading in the opposite direction across the median—none of them police cruisers. The Cadillac’s engine bucked, hard. A warning chime dinged twice—more warning icons lit up on the dash. Up ahead, Ray hit the brakes again. Just beyond his car was a street approaching on the right.
“He’s turning, Faust. I’m going for a PIT again.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
I clicked off and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. I pressed down on the accelerator. The engine sputtered then sped up for a moment, bringing me to within a handful of car lengths from the Porsche, and then slowed.
“Shit!” I said again.
Ray slowed for the turn. I thought I could tap the rear of his car as he turned and spin him into the tree line at the corner. I floored the gas pedal. The motor chugged, bogged down, and then came to life. I was pressed back into my seat. Ray must have noticed me coming fast. The rear end of the Porsche stepped out as he spun the tires and quickly made the corner. I glanced at the instrument cluster for a split second. The speedometer was passing sixty—too fast to make the corner after him. I had dead aim on the rear quarter panel of his car if I cut off the corner through the ditch there. I took the steering wheel in both hands as the nose of the car dipped into the grass. I kept the wheel aimed at my target, just twenty feet of grass and ten feet of street away. I braced for the impact, knowing I had him. The Cadillac leapt from the ditch, and my field of vision through the windshield hole went to the top of the tree line on the far side of the street. Then the nose of the car came down, and I saw the side of the Porsche as the front of the Cadillac made contact.
I heard an explosion as my head snapped forward into the airbag. The steering wheel jerked from my hands. My head smashed back into the seat’s headrest, and I heard the sound of another impact. I opened my eyes to a smoke-filled interior. My car was still moving. I pressed my foot into the brakes as hard as I could. Another impact snapped my head forward and back. I was stopped.
I squinted and tried to shake away the cobwebs. All I saw through the hole in the windshield of the car was trees. I reached into my jacket, removed my service weapon, and reached for the car door’s handle.
“Your time is up, asshole!” Ray yelled.
My head shot to the right, and I saw Ray out of the passenger window opening. He had an assault rifle pointed over the roof of the crashed Porsche at me. I ripped at the door handle of the car, trying to get out. As the door opened and I lunged, something hit me square in the back—it felt like a hammer. I hit the ground outside the car on my hands and knees. My weapon hit the grass and bounced a few feet away. My ears rang with the sound of gunfire ripping through the passenger side of the car. I crawled toward my gun.
Chapter 37
Ray slowed for the turn and checked his mirror. Smoke was coming from the hood of Kane’s car a ways back. Ray’s eyes focused around the upcoming corner as he began to turn. The road past the corner stretched in a long straightaway. It would be the perfect place to open up the Porsche again and leave Kane behind. Ray glanced through the passenger-side quarter glass as he completed the turn, looking to see how far back Kane was.
“Son of a bitch!”
Kane was leaving the street to cut the corner. Ray stomped on the gas. The rear end of the Porsche went sideways. Ray kept his foot down on the gas, but the tires refused to gain traction. He braced himself and looked away at the moment of impact. The airbags in the Porsche deployed, but the top of Ray’s head crushed into the roof of the small sports car. The collision sent the rear of the Porsche spinning around the front. The steering wheel spun in Ray’s hands, breaking his grip. Ray saw the street, a tree line, Kane’s car, and then the street again. With a loud crunch, the car came to a violent stop. The vision in Ray’s left eye went red from blood running down from the top of his head. He squinted and wiped it away with the back of his hand. Ray stared out of the windshield back at the street. He looked right to see Kane’s car coming to a stop into the same tree line.
Ray tried firing the motor, but the car did nothing. He looked over his shoulder. A tree was embedded into the rear of the car. Branches filled everything
up to his seat back.
Ray opened the driver’s door. He reached over and yanked the bag of weapons onto the driver’s seat as he stepped out. He took an AK-47 from within the bag, brought the rifle up against his shoulder and took a shooting position over the Porsche’s roof.
Kane was moving inside the Cadillac.
“Your time is up, asshole!” Ray shouted.
Ray took aim at Kane’s passenger window opening and squeezed the trigger, firing repeatedly. Kane disappeared from view. Ray saw the driver’s door open. He lowered his line of fire and began putting rounds into the passenger door. Then Kane’s hand came over the hood with a pistol and returned fire. Bullets splintered branches in the tree line next to Ray. The three shots Kane fired didn’t come remotely close. Ray put the remaining bullets in the magazine through the front hood area. He saw no signs of Kane.
Ray pulled the trigger again with a click. He dropped the rifle to the ground then ducked, reached back into the duffel bag, and pulled a pistol from within. He tucked it into his back waistline and removed another. His eyes came back up.
“Shit!”
Ray fumbled to get the pistol up and fire on an advancing Kane. He wasn’t fast enough.
Ray heard the first shot and felt the impact of the round. Stumbling back from the car, he swiped his hand across where the bullet had gone through his shirt. Ray looked up and saw the lieutenant still advancing and firing. Ray felt three more shots hit him in the chest. He dropped to one knee. Trying to get a breath, he coughed, expelling blood. Ray balanced himself with the pistol in his right hand and looked up at Kane. Kane squeezed the trigger again, and the lieutenant’s gun clicked.
Chapter 38
I took my gun in my hand and stayed as low as I could. I pulled in a deep breath and swiped my hand across my lower back. No wound and no blood—the vest had caught the bullet that came through the car at me. The gunfire continued, punching through the passenger side of the car and coming through the driver’s side a foot over my head. I needed better cover. I crawled toward the front of the car, buried in the trees. The space behind the car’s motor, wheels, and suspension was my best chance for cover. I knelt behind the driver’s-side front wheel, reached up and fired three shots over the hood in Ray’s direction, hoping he would unload his rifle into the area where I was protected. As soon as he had to reload, I could get a shot. I stayed crouched behind the front wheel as Ray continued to fire. Bullets ricocheted off the hood and entered the trees. Branches, twigs, and leaves fell. I could feel the bullets that entered the other side of the car making impact.
Denouement Page 18
