by Zack
Before Gil could reach him, Mike had fallen to his knees and then slumped forward onto the ground.
Greg ran and threw open the passenger door of the car parked silently in the shadows. They hadn’t been as cautious as Mike in switching off the courtesy light, and for a brief moment Gil saw Lewis the Drive at the wheel and a wide, hulking figure in the back. The engine roared and, spitting gravel, the car leapt forward and down the farther narrow passageway. Gil heard its tires screech as they gripped the better asphalt of the canal dockside.
A clatter of boots announced Steve. He ignored the father and grabbed a wobbly Nathan in one hand and helped Gil haul Mike up between them. They dragged his unconscious weight with difficulty along the alley to where Horny waited, engine still purring quietly. Behind, Gil heard Mr. Heathcliff’s confused protests.
“Get in!” Steve shouted at Gil as he manhandled Mike into the back seat and then shoved an out-of-his-head Nathan in after him. “No, Gil. I don’t fuckin drive. Get behind the wheel.” He was so shocked by what had happened, Gil never even questioned Steve’s command. A second later, Steve slammed into the passenger seat. “Get going! We gotta follow the bastards!”
“I’ve never done much driving in the States. Steve, I can’t drive this thing—and on the wrong side of the road. Look! For chrissakes—it’s a manual, it’s got a gear shift stick!”
“Yeah, mate, and pedals. Hit them.”
Shuddering with nervous energy and feeling like he might simply pass out at any second, Gil tried to remember how Mike used the gear shift, clutch, and gas pedal—accelerator, he called it. With a dreadful lurch, Horny reacted, almost stalled, and then hopped forward.
“Change the fuck up,” Steve shouted.
Gil looked down and managed to declutch and shift into second gear. He was barely aware of Steve reaching across to grab the steering wheel and haul the car back onto the roadway. A wildly passing streak of brickwork in the headlights flashed past the windscreen, and then Gil had Horny under control again.
“For god’s sake, Gil, don’t look down when you change gear.”
“What the shit do you know? You don’t drive, you said so.”
“I know bus drivers never look down when they change gears, nor taxi drivers. There must be a good reason.”
The engine shunted and hunted as Gil battled with unfamiliar hand and foot controls. Horny’s headlights picked out the shape of the getaway car, just turning left onto Lisson Grove ahead.
“Mike’s gate trick slowed them up,” Gil said. “Do you know what type of car that is?”
Steve sniffed miserably. “Bloody great. Only the most popular vehicle in the world. A Ford Cortina GL. They could lose themselves among half the bloody cars on the road.”
Gil bared his teeth in a grim smile. “Just as well it’s a nice shiny silver, then. Should be easy to follow.”
Two vehicles ahead of them, the Ford suddenly veered sharply right down what Steve said was Broadley Terrace. “You know the district?” Gil asked.
“Nope. Saw the friggin sign up there.”
The Ford dashed under the cover of trees lining the left side of the street. A flash of brake lights and it crossed an intersection. As Gil hurtled after it a car came out from the crossing street without stopping. Gil slammed down on the gas pedal, panicked, hit the brakes, and slewed Horny around the tail of the offending vehicle with an inch to spare.
“Shit, man, that was ace driving,” Steve said with admiration.
“You should see me at the controls of a Jumbo jet.”
Their quarry made a left and Gil followed, with Horny’s engine screaming in third gear and the tires “laughing,” as Mike called it. “How’s Mike?”
“Out of it. Don’t worry, I’ll look after him. You just keep following those shitbags with the money and whatever else they got.”
“I think this must be the damned Edgware Road ahead again.”
“Hey, man! How’s it go-go-going.”
“Nathan!” Gil shouted over the engine noise. Horny never sounds like this when Mike drives. “Fuck, Nathan, will you stop hitting me.”
“Ho, where we going then?”
Gil felt Steve turn in his seat. “You stupid punk. Sit back.”
“I’m feeling really terrrr-ific.”
“Out of his shit for brains mind,” Steve said. “Shut the fuck up and sit back.”
Gil flinched when Nathan wrapped both arms around his neck. He struggled to keep control. Ahead a series of traffic lights all went conveniently green. The Ford wove in and out of the two southbound lanes to dodge slower moving traffic and Gil did his best to keep on the villains’ car while disentangling himself from Nathan’s grip and Steve’s futile attempts to push the boy off him.
“Why’s the engine so loud,” Gil moaned.
“Change up. You’re still in third gear.”
“Oh.”
He felt pride in the smooth gear change. “Getting the hang of this.”
And then without warning and certainly no signal, the Ford braked and shot off right across the northbound traffic. Horns blared, headlights flashed in annoyance. Gil hit the brake pedal, now he knew where it was, thought better of changing to a lower gear, which he remembered Mike usually did, and cornered viciously between a looming double-decker London Transport bus and a black cab zooming up on the inside of the bus.
“Aargh!”
Steve choked back his strangled gurgle as Horny rocketed into Sussex Gardens in hot pursuit of Greg, Lewis, and whoever lurked in the rear seat. They were only twenty yards in front. And then ten.
“Yee-hah!” Gil exalted. He pulled out onto what he considered to be the correct side of the road and made to head off the getaway car …
“Oh shit,” Steve yelled in fright.
Gil realized his error. Lewis had only slowed to take a corner hidden from Gil by trees. Obviously the chauffeur knew his London better than Gil, but then, who wouldn’t? Gil hit the brakes as hard as he could and nipped in behind the Ford just in time to miss a car coming the other way. The quarry accelerated away through the shallow corner, jinked around a stupid, tiny bush-ridden traffic island and roared off down a short street beside Lancaster Gate tube station, with Gil close on his rear fender.
“You ain’t getting off that easy, fella,” Gil said.
“This is a one-way street, Gil—”
“So what? They’re going the same way.”
“Yeah, but those aren’t!” And Steve threw up hands to cover his eyes as Gil hauled the steering wheel first left then right. The towering bus missed them, just, and the car following swerved onto the farther sidewalk. Then the street ran out. Gil had no idea what would happen next. Lewis wasn’t slowing for the big road ahead which cut across their path. “There’s nowhere he can go …”
Ahead, the Ford never stopped and amazingly passed between cars crossing left and right, mounted the sidewalk and vanished between ornate iron gates. Gil didn’t hesitate. In fact he had no alternative—he couldn’t have stopped Horny if he’d tried. Miraculously, they missed cars, trucks, and buses, and banged with a bone-jarring thump over the curb. People on the sidewalk to left and right who were barely recovering from the passage of the Ford, scattered again in a panic.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Gil moaned.
“Hey, Gilly-boy, this is such fun!”
“Nathan, don’t … ugh.”
Nathan thumped Gil’s head happily, and for a moment he almost lost control of Horny altogether. They were now on a path, which because of the late hour was mercifully free of pedestrians. The Ford swerved to the right and quickly again to the left onto a wider graveled way.
“Where the hell is this?”
Steve looked around for a second. “Dunno. Oh yes, I think it’s Kensington Gardens.”
“How lovely …”
“Isss bee-ootiful. Hey, wa’s up with Mikey, hey? What you done to him …?”
The path became a decent straightaway and Gil pressed his gas p
edal to the floor. Horny, back in third gear, flew like a bird. The Alfa drew level with the Ford and in a snatched glance Gil saw Greg the Minder glowering at him from the passenger seat. And then the path narrowed again and went into a long slow curve around a body of water on the left which reflected distant street lights off its black surface.
“Oh turn here,” Nathan crowed gleefully. “Le’s go swimmin …”
Gil fought to bring Horny back up against the side of the Ford, uncaring of what damage might ensue. And then in his headlights and those of his quarry, Gil discerned a clutch of people filling the pathway ahead. Have to brake … have to. He did, just in time to avoid what happened to Lewis. With less space and time in which to maneuver, Lewis drove off the path straight ahead as it continued to gently curve. Gil watched in fascination as, obviously taken by surprise, Lewis tried to avoid the statue sitting full in his new path. A slew of turf flew up from the rear tires, but provided no grip. The Ford crashed into the base of the statue. Its hood sprang up as the engine compartment crumpled with a rending of steel.
Gil spun the steering wheel and also mounted the grass to avoid the pedestrians. But he had bled off speed on the gravel and Horny barely kissed the Ford’s rear end.
In a flash, Steve was out, followed more slowly by a dancing Nathan who wobbled uncertainly toward the pathway. As Steve approached the crashed vehicle, Gil saw a bulky figure burst from the rear offside door and lumber off across the sward, almost instantly lost under the dark of the trees.
Gil swore, but he was more concerned now about Mike. He looked up over the Ford’s crumpled roof as Steve spoke. “These two beauties are out of it.”
Gil paled. “Dead?”
Steve grinned and shook his head. “Nah, just shook up and hopefully with some painfully broken limbs to put them in hospital.” He held up the attaché case triumphantly. “I think we’ll have this back, thanks, gents.”
“Hey, what happened to Nathan?”
“There’s no holding me back
And I’ll bend you to my will.
Jump to the fast lane, cos
The guy beside me is my Gil! ”
“Oh no. We have to get him someplace where he can …”
Shrill screams from the path drew Gil and Steve in that direction. Gil stared at what looked like a writhing ant hill. It took a few seconds to resolve what he was seeing into a scrum of yelling girls who had Nathan on the grass under them. A shin and ankle, an arm and fingers-splayed hand were all that was visible of the pop star.
“Mate,” Steve said in a worried tone, “we need to get out of here before the rozzers turn up.”
“Go and rescue the brat, will you? I’ll check on Mike and then back up onto the path.”
He started back to Horny when the statue Lewis and Greg had crashed into caught his eye. He peered down at a small brass plate illuminated by the Ford’s still running headlights. Oh my, well, how’s about that … we ran the bad guys into Peter Pan.
“Poor Mikey. You were so brave and you took the bullet for me.”
Gil smiled at the sight of Nathan gently wiping Mike’s brow with a warm face cloth where he lay on the big double bed, safely back at Aberdare Gardens. Mike, he knew, was putting it on. Sure, he’d been a bit shaky on the run back from Kensington Gardens, but that was probably more to do with the shock of coming around to discover Gil at the controls of his beloved Horny. That and the horror at the damage.
“Jeez, Mike, it’s only one scratch.”
Steve had helped him get Mike and a woozy but also recovering Nathan indoors, and then with a brief kiss on Gil’s cheek, let himself out. “That was tremendous fun, but I’d better get back to the kid and the missus.”
Nathan looked up expectantly as Gil came and sat down beside him. Gil rubbed the bunched bulge in Mike’s pants fondly. “I know you’re hamming, Michael Smith, worse than Nate here.”
Nathan pursed his lips indignantly. “He got hurt, Gil.”
Mike smiled bravely in the face of his pain. “I got hurt, Gil.”
Gil leaned over. “Ah, you did, here on the side of the head where that nasty man hit you with the case. Mmm …” He kissed the small bruise. “And here on the side of the chin where the nasty man punched you out. Mmm … I’ll kiss it and make it all better.”
Mike rolled onto his side and wrapped Gil in his arms. “I love you Gil Graham.” He kissed Gil on the lips and they quickly moved into a furious tongue lashing.
“Erm-hum.”
Mike and Gil broke apart to look at Nathan.
“Yes, I love you too, you scoundrel.”
“Well, in that case …” Nathan didn’t finish, but he did pull his expensive t-shirt off over his head and toss it on the carpet. He stood and in a blink peeled himself out of his tight jeans and briefs. He brushed up his perky dick, but then paused a second. “What did you do with my father, by the way?”
Gil flushed guiltily. “My God, I’d forgotten all about him. We … we just left him there. You’d better phone him.”
Nathan stretched luxuriously. “I will. But he can wait.” He flipped a floating cascade of hair from his eyes, and began undressing Gil as the nearest to hand. Gil resisted until Mike stripped his own clothes off and joined in.
“How’s this going to work?” Gil murmured
Mike just smiled. Nathan started stroking Gil to get him hard. “I’m going to help you two have the best sex ever. My way of saying thank you. I’ll roll all over you, offer a helping hand, mouth, ass, whatever you both want. I can wobble my head over your skin so my hair tickles, and lick whatever needs attention, starting … right … here …” He forced a no-longer resisting Gil up onto his knees, positioned himself carefully, and with a wild grin of possession at Mike, wiped his famously long tongue, the one that turned his girlie fans to liquid lust when he pushed it out from between his luscious lips and salaciously licked the head of the microphone, along Gil’s protruding spine to the coccyx and then down into his bared ass cleft, and down, and then a bit father down. Gil moaned in undiluted pleasure as Nathan found the mark and guzzled with gustatory enjoyment.
Gil fell forward onto Mike’s naked thighs. Nathan straightened up and transfixed Mike with his dazzling smile as he traced a finger down the glistening path of his saliva and followed the trail his tongue had left. “Now that’s what I call the fast lane … right down and in … there.
And the finger slipped deep inside Gil’s ass, and in reaction Gil fell mouth-down on Mike.
~ ~ ~
Mike Benson realized he had been staring, unblinking, for what felt like hours, mesmerized by Mike Smith’s tale. Slowly, as the older Mike fell silent, the soft rushing of traffic out on Ventura Freeway reasserted itself.
“But … you left out something.”
Mike Smith inclined his head questioningly.
“I mean … didn’t you get into trouble for crashing into Peter Pan? And what happened to those incriminating negatives?”
“Hah, yes. Gil got away with it for the simple reason that no one identified Horny, it all happened so fast, and the gaggle of schoolgirls, as they turned out to be, on the path were virtually brain-dead from having encountered their idol in such a vulnerable state. Steve only just saved the poor kid from a fate worse than death by a thousand cuts. I swear they would have ripped him limb from limb and devoured him there on the path and not even have waited for the horseradish. Steve had the presence of mind to show Gil the south route out of the Gardens on the maintenance access road, so it drew no further unwelcome attention. Obviously Lewis and Greg daren’t say anything. They were lucky to get away with fines for dangerous driving and damage to public property—when they got out of hospital.
“And the negatives. Mundy may have been a vicious bastard, but he was a smug one, too full of his impregnability. He ran off from the crash, for it was indeed him. But when he turned up at the studio and let himself into his castle of an office next morning, sporting a bruise on his forehead, he found me sitting in his c
hair, dangling two strips of negatives in my hand.”
“You found them! I guess he was pretty pissed?”
Mike Smith laughed happily at the memory. “Oh he was. But also full of mirth once he recovered from the shock of seeing me there in his sanctum. ‘You take me for a fool, you stupid punk?’ he said. I said, ‘The game’s up Mundy, now I’ve got these.’”
“Weren’t you afraid he’d just snatch them off you?”
“Not really. They weren’t the ones he’d had shot, as he well knew. Gil and I worked it out. It was almost a dead cert he wouldn’t have them stashed in his studio office. But I just knew he would brag when he saw me playing some game with him. And he did. He rubbed it in big time about how safe the negs were, and how much I was going to pay, and how he would destroy Nathan Cliffe if his daddy didn’t play ball. ‘Now get the fuck out of my chair,’ he boomed. Instead, I picked up his phone and dialed an internal number. Even before the connection was made, my old sound recordist mate Alan, who I worked with in Rome, stuck his head around the door. ‘Did you get all that?’ I asked. ‘Oh yes, just fine, Mike. That little radio microphone you’re wearing picked up the lot. I just checked. Oh, Mr. Mundy. Good morning to you.’
“Gerald Mundy spluttered, threatened, and finally caved in. We had him over a barrel and he knew it. It was quid pro quo, or checkmate, as they say in chess.”
“And, as we know, Nathan Cliffe went on to become a fine actor.”
Both Mikes turned to see Gil standing in the doorway to his suite.
Gil spread his arms wide. “But I guess Mike Smith here is too modest to tell you that, while it was never acknowledged by the wide world, the director of Terry Blood and the Vampire’s Rubies credited its huge global success—and the rescue of First Metropolitan—to a certain second assistant director. Wolfgang Henze praised Mike’s efforts with young Nathan, who went on to star in the three sequels and became so rich he could give his parental agents the finger. And he remained a good friend to us both … although I wish to God that Fast Lane song of his hadn’t been such a big hit!”
