Misisipi

by Michael Reilly

  Stencek closed his eyes and imagined himself away to the white warm shores of Long Beach. His sons were skipping in the Atlantic surf and he crouched down and began gathering sand for the great castle they would soon all build.

  Chapter 28

  Scott first noticed the SUV some ways south of Winchester. It made a dark spot against the clean blue sky as it crested the brow of the hill behind him. Growing urgently in his rearview, he expected it to drift out and overtake; the road ahead was clear and it was coming at him hot. Instead, it closed within 50 yards and eased up, holding steady behind.

  It had a deep blue paintjob and the meanest-looking rack Scott had ever seen, a safari-style cage which bristled like black antlers above the roof. A bulky chrome crash bar was fixed to the front and four large square spotlights on the roof rack returned his stare. The driver did not. An opaque opal-black windshield hid whomever was behind the wheel.

  Scott checked his speed—72—and sheepishly slowed. He looked to locate cop pulse-lights in the toothy grill of the SUV. There were none. Still, he brought it back to 55 and made a ‘go-round’ gesture over his right shoulder. The blue leviathan just cruised on his tail at the same distance as before.

  Asshole, Scott thought as he slid partially into the breakdown lane to give way. Instead of availing, the SUV followed suite, coming in line behind.

  Scott considered completely pulling over and waiting until this redneck was in the next county. It wasn’t a cop; probably some kids in the old man’s weekend runabout, having some sport with the out-of-towner. They didn’t drive like pimpled punks though. This was controlled and disciplined. It had intent.

  Maybe it was the father from Loundon Street. Maybe he had more than fists ready for round two. Or maybe it was the knuckledragger from the diner, in which case there would not be a round three. Stopping suddenly became a bad move.

  His speed already slipping—45… 43… 38—Scott dropped the stick to neutral and crossed fully into the breakdown lane.

  As if on the same rail, the SUV realigned itself, equally slowing.

  Scott’s eyes ping-ponged between the speedometer and the mirror.

  29.

  He could feel the grit under his tires.

  22.

  The SUV’s heavier momentum was drawing it closer. Its Lincoln Navigator badge was clearly visible now.

  15.

  Running speed. Scott could see the surface detail of the road beside him. The Navigator loomed large in his rearview. At this crawl, its bulk suggested the grace and agility of a hippo. The BMW was a cheetah by comparison.

  Now!

  Scott floored the clutch, found 2nd, and gunned the gas, rocketing out of the breakdown lane.

  The road rapidly became a blurred strip again. Riding through the gears, screaming “C’mon!”, hitting 110 before relaxing back in his seat, Scott smiled and glanced in the mirror.

  The grill of the Navigator grinned back, snapping at his ass. It was the only part visible in his rearview now.

  “Christ!” Scott yelled. “Are you nuts?”

  He floored the accelerator. 120. The Navigator fell away, regained, was on him at once. The guttural grunt of its engine drowned the sound of his own.

  Touching 130, the chrome bars caressed Scott’s rear fender, a contact soundless beneath the dueling engines. Scott felt it though, the ominous sensation of his car threatening to lurch sideways. The BMW quivered around him and the line of highway jarred for a heart-stopping heartbeat.

  Scott righted it and looked ahead. There was a distant car in the breakdown lane. He could see a small figure standing beside it. Both were getting larger as the Navigator bullied him onward.

  The BMW winced again. Punched this time, it jarred violently: man, machine, road, all disconnected for several suspended seconds. Scott felt the impact energy shift around him. It pulsed through the metal, lurching from tire-to-tire, daring one of them to shred as Scott choked the wheel in a nail-numbing grip.

  The figure in the breakdown lane, rigid, looking his way; a woman; her door open. Stepping onto the road, her arms waved, warning-fashion, criss-cross, oblivious to the drama hurtling toward her.

  Scott looked in the rearview. The Navigator had dropped a few. He heard its engine open up for one more bite.

  He yanked the wheel and dragged his drunken car into the breakdown lane just as the Navigator had him. The BMW fishtailed manically and he fought to hold the line. The Navigator screamed past, cheated. Scott pumped the brake, furiously coming down the gears. Beside the broke-down car, the woman stopped waving. The Navigator was bearing down on her. It had no intention of swerving round. That realization was frozen on her face.

  In his bubble moment of clear sight and elastic time, Scott rode the brake for dear life as he skidded toward her car. His arms wrapped around the wheel, he lifted from his seat and peered at her. For an instant their eyes locked. A breeze blew her blonde hair across her face; he saw this with extraordinary clarity. Then she sprinted into the road and the vast onrushing outline of the Navigator swallowed her from sight.

  Scott closed his eyes and a pained Nnnnaggggghh escaped him. He didn’t care about his own impact. He didn’t want to hear hers—the sharp solid slam of the Navigator when it pancaked her into so much red mist and blackened roadburn.

  A shearing crunch split the air. A sudden thud. Silence. One or both of them was dead. Scott opened his eyes. He was stopped inches behind her Subaru wagon. In the road sat the twisted frame of its driver door. Scattered about, glass nuggets winked in the sunlight.

  When he saw the woman stood now on the far side of the highway, Scott let the relief empty him. Her arms hung at her sides as she looked at him with stunned disbelief. Scott flopped back in his seat. He lifted a sweaty hand and waved. In response, she started to scream, her arms never moving as she yelled her throat raw.

  Scott opened his door and tried to step out. The seatbelt snagged him and he flung it off and dashed across to her. Whimpering now, she lifted her arms, clasped them to her chest, and shook her fists repeatedly.

  “He almost killed me! He was going to run me over!” she shrieked, pointing after the Navigator, once more a dot in the distance.

  “Hey. Hey.” Scott put a hand toward her. She shrank back, head down. Her long hair was matted to the perspiration on her face. She was practically bouncing on her feet.

  “I tried to stop him,” she whimpered, on the verge of tears. “Why would he do that?”

  “I think he was trying to kill me. Are you ok?”

  She shot Scott a look as she barged past into the road to her buckled door. “Am I ok? Hah! You almost killed me too.” She pointed to the gaping hole in her driver’s side. “Look at my car. Look what he did to my car. Look at—”

  For a moment she was frighteningly still. Then she bent double and grabbed her knees. She issued a series of high whinny hacks which gave Scott to think she was about to have a heart-attack or a fit. This is too much for one day, he thought. Suddenly, the hacks became a torrent of gasping hollers. She straightened up and tried to find her voice in a rush of deep breathy sniggers.

  “Oh my! It looks like Fred Flintstone’s car. It serves the bastard right.”

  “Who?” Scott asked.

  “My ex. It’s his car. He’s going to be pi-issed when he sees this.”

  “I better call the cops. Those guys are crazy.” Scott moved toward his car.

  “No, wait,” she cried, blocking his way. “No cops. Please. I’m not supposed to have it. He doesn’t know where I am.”

  Scott saw the ugly mark on her face for the first time. He winced instinctively, and as she caught sight of his reaction, he burned with embarrassment, looking away at once.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. Though I doubt I look any better right now.”

  “It’s ok. Kinda stands out, huh? No point pretending it ain’t there.”

  “Your ex did that?” Scott tried to maintain polite eye-contact.

  “Uh-h
uh. We had a give‘n take arrangement. He gave it. I took it. Until yesterday. Please don’t call the cops. I just took the car and left. He’ll find me if you tell them.”

  “But you can’t drive that.”

  She nodded. “I guess. But it’s got me far enough away from him. I’ll walk the rest if I have to.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Tallahassee. My sister’s down there. She’ll be pleased to see I finally took her advice.” She bent down to drag the door from the road.

  “Careful,” Scott warned. “There could be glass in the frame. Here, let me.” He took hold of the top edge. “Grab the bottom. We’ll put it down in front of your car.”

  They laid the door in front of the Subaru and stood, marveling at the hole in its side. Scott was grateful to see her smiling easier now.

  “My heart is still racing,” she gasped. “That was such a rush.”

  “So you’re from Pennsylvania?” Scott said, indicating the plates on her car.

  “I’m running from there. Penn Hills. It’s Pittsburgh way. I’m a Jersey girl. That’s how’s I talks saw damn good, ya know,” she joked in an exaggerated ‘Joy-zy’ twang. “I’m Charlie.”

  They shook. “Hi Charlie. I’m Scott. ‘Charlie’ for… ?”

  “Charlotte,” she said in a softer, still clearly Garden State accent. “My mom had a thing for some old writer. She musta figured a classy name would guarantee a classy dame.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure it worked. Look, I really ought to get moving. I can give you a ride as far as I’m going south, if you want one.”

  “Yes. Please. But listen, we can’t leave the car looking like it is. Can we turn it round? Hide the bust side?”

  “Sure. Buys you some time, huh?”

  “I can’t wait for the prick to see this. I just want to be sipping margaritas with my toes in the ocean when he does. Yeah. Buys time.”

  Scott turned the Subaru around and reversed it neatly over the detached door. To any other passing cars, it looked reasonably inconspicuous.

  “Ok. Time to go,” he announced. Charlie retrieved her bag from the Subaru, a large long-strapped shoulder bag. Its meager contents rattled as she sat into the BMW and dropped it at her feet.

  “That’s it?” Scott asked. “You travel light.”

  “Have to when you’re running for your life.”

  He pursed his lips. “Yeah. I wouldn’t have figured.”

  Charlie put her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  He nodded as he pulled back onto the highway.

  “What’s his name?” They had been driving for ten minutes.

  “Dan. You mind if I smoke?”

  Scott glanced over. Charlie’s hands were clasped to whitened knuckles, still shaking, in her lap.

  “Sure. Go ahead.” He cracked her window open.

  Charlie dug into her bag and produced a pack of Pall Malls. “You want one?”

  He shook his head but pushed the cigarette lighter for her.

  “It’s ok. I’ve got a light in here somewhere.” She rooted in the bowels of the bag. “If yours ain’t ever been used, don’t spoil it now. Spotless ashtray, pristine lighter. Gotta add a couple hundred to the resale on a pricey car like this. German huh?”

  “Yeah,” Scott replied, slightly embarrassed. “I probably should have gotten something a little less… less—”

  “Ostentatious?”

  “I was going to say ‘showy’.” He laughed.

  “I hope that wasn’t for my benefit, friend.”

  “Of course not. A car’s a car, right?”

  “I meant the word. Don’t judge the book. I can do polysyllabic.”

  “I wasn’t, honest.”

  “Gotta love those Improve-Your-Vocabulary-By-A-Word-A-Day books,” she chuckled. “Dan could give you chapter and verse bout this car. Twin-cam-this, six-cylinder-that. But he wouldn’t have the first clue when it came to describing—ya know—what it embodies, the spirit of it. That make sense? I mean, you understand what I’m getting at bout him?”

  Scott nodded. “What’s he do? He a mechanic?”

  “Dan? Hell no.” She waved the notion away. “Dan’s a know-it-all. He’d win the gold medal in the Hundred Yard Reckonin, if there was such a thing.” She snorted. “He probably reckons it oughta be an event, just so’s he could win it.”

  “How long were you two married?”

  She found her zippo and flicked it open, holding it unlit at the end of the cigarette on her lips. “Oh God. That’s the one blessing. I never gave him the satisfaction of hearing me say ‘I obey’. We were together for four years. Well, would have been, come Thanksgiving, ya know.”

  “Yes.”

  “Say, you wouldn’t want me to go spoiling your nice new car smell with this thing.” She shut the Zippo. “Plus, your wife goes smelling tobacco in here, you’re gonna catch hell, right?”

  Scott threw her a silent non-committal look.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just noticed your ring. One loused-up relationship is enough for today. Jerry Springer’s made his quota.”

  “No. It’s cool. Puff away.”

  “You sure?”

  “I am.”

  She lit up and drew deep. “This must be your car. I don’t see any girly touches.” She blew smoke through the open slit in her window.

  “My wife has her own. It’s a little Mazda sports car.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Julianna.”

  “She from Boston too?”

  “Yes. How’d you know?”

  “You were zeroing in on me like the devil himself, remember? I was staring at the front of your car, wondering when was I gonna become a hood ornament. Probably have your plate burned on the back of my retinas now. When I shut my eyes all I can see is Spirit Of America.”

  “Sorry. Again.”

  “It’s a very unique come-on. One to get the heart racing for sure.”

  “Believe me, it’s not my usual style.”

  “I suspect this flash car’s not really your style either.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Well, I don’t mean to speak out of turn. I mean, you giving me a ride and all. I’m grateful.”

  “Explain what you mean. Don’t worry. I won’t get mad. That’s not my usual style either.”

  “Well, I just mean… call it female intuition but answer this one question. How long have you had this car?”

  “Since January. Eight months.”

  “Well, look at it. It’s spotless. Anyone would think it was a rental.”

  “What’s wrong with neat and fastidious?”

  “Most men don’t do neat and couldn’t spell fastidious if their lives depended on it. Can I prove my point by doing something?”

  “Ok. What?”

  Charlie flipped open the glovebox. She extracted the contents: the owner’s manual, log book, pink slip, and a New England driving map. She held them up for consideration and gestured to the now empty compartment.

  “What? It’s clean. So what?” Scott argued.

  “Exactly. No travel tissues. No moist wipes. No candy wrappers. Parking stubs. Loose earrings. Nothing. Nada.” She replaced the pile into the glovebox.

  “And? Your point is?”

  “Your wife has never set foot in this car, has she? Not in all the time you’ve had it.”

  “She has her own car, like I said.”

  “We like to be driven. We might not say so. We may give all indication to the contrary but we love to be driven by our men. It makes us feel special.”

  “She likes to drive herself. She’s a bigger speed demon than I am.”

  Charlie ran her fingers through the deep door pockets and showed Scott the clean tips which emerged. “No dust. No lint. This car is in showroom condition. Not even a pen.”

  “Unlike Dan’s, huh? I’m sure it was the pinnacle of spotlessness before it had its door taken off, right?” he snapped.

  “Dan was a slob,
” she returned with equal snippiness. “He treated everything and everyone with a total lack of worth, like they were always gonna be there for him, no matter what.”

  Charlie grew quiet, her expression petulant. When she got done smoking, she pushed the butt out into the breeze and gazed across the fields.

  “You ok?” Scott eventually asked.

  “If I didn’t clean it regularly, that car would have been a mobile dumpster,” she said. “My point is, and again I don’t mean to poke my nose where it isn’t wanted, this here is the total opposite. It’s like you don’t want to disturb anything. Like you’re afraid that you’ll have to give it back at any moment, that you’re just waiting for its number to be called. Like I said, it’s just stupid women’s intuition. Don’t make anything more of it, ok?”

  “You want the honest truth?” he conceded.

  Charlie sat to face him, upright and alert. “Nothing but.”

  “You’re right. She hasn’t seen the inside of this car. I suspect she hates it really, that she thinks it isn’t me. And she’s probably right.”

  “So why’d you buy it?”

  “To piss her off, mostly. I got a good bump at work. We used to have a Sable, first car we ever owned new. Got it the year we got hitched. God, we loved that thing. Silver wagon, though you wouldn’t know it. Hardly ever bothered to wash the damn thing. Always in it, going here, there. Thing always stank of whatever we’d eat on the go. Pizza, Chinese, Indian.”

  “I was always finding coffee grips under the passenger seat,” Charlie shared. “Dan always tossed em back cause the cup wouldn’t fit in the holder with em still on.”

  “Yeah,” Scott agreed. “I’d find betting stubs from Suffolk Downs or movie tickets under ours. Dunno how they hell they always wash up there, just seem to. Stuff’d be months old. You know, I once found a ticket for the first Matrix and this was after we’d seen the last one. God, that must have been three years ago.”

  “Less than two, I think,” she corrected. “The crappy one with the robots, right?”

  “Yes. God, really? Are you sure bout that?” She nodded. “Wow. And you think you had a dumpster?” he remarked.