I grudgingly allowed myself to be escorted from the store, and the guards waited at the door to be sure I was leaving. No doubt, the news tomorrow would say Wal-Mart security foiled some nefarious terrorist plot.
The parking lot was a ghost town, with only twenty or so cars under the humming lights. Moths and other flying critters darted around the pools of light like little biting fairies, shadowed by the bats that preyed on them.
I accosted the single poor soul who happened to be walking into the store at that moment. “Hey, did you see a Hispanic kid, about my height, come running out this way? Or a blue Ford Escort?” The man shook his head and made haste to put distance between us.
I stood in the parking lot for a long time, watching the darkness beyond the sickly yellow light. Nothing stirred, save the gnats and the bats. And there was no sign of a little blue Ford Escort, though, somehow, I didn’t think Paulo was the type to try and kill me, no matter what tough-guy front he wanted to put up.
Whatever Paulo had been up to, he was gone now. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but the next time I saw him, he and I were going to have a long and heartfelt discussion in the back room. First and foremost on the topic list was the proper way to tail someone. I never would have spotted the little idiot if he hadn’t run in the first place.
Only when I got into my truck did I realize how badly my right leg was throbbing. A wince escaped as I reached down to examine it. Nothing seemed to be grossly out of place (I’m not a doctor, but I visit them a lot!), but the calf muscle was extremely tender to the touch. The fall had done more damage than I’d thought. Maybe I was getting old after all.
Driving a stick shift was going to be interesting. I put the truck in gear and coasted out toward the highway, experimenting with hitting the clutch and accelerator all with my left foot. Damn, damn, damn! My kingdom for cruise control.
It occurred to me, once I was already on the highway, of course, that I still hadn’t gotten my mother a present. I used the opportunity to truly exercise my creativity at cursing. That entertained me for a good ten minutes.
Thankfully, traffic was light at nearly midnight, and there was minimal shifting involved. I started to think I was going to make it home without any undue stress. I should have known better.
I only vaguely noticed the dark car parked on the emergency access road in the median. People left disabled vehicles all over the road all the time, and cops liked to lurk there, waiting for hapless speeders.
The headlights flicked on as I passed, though, and the car pulled onto the highway. That I noticed. “Oh, do not do this now.” The last thing I needed was a ticket. Out of habit, I checked the speedometer, and I was going a nice and sane sixty-five, under the seventy speed limit. I broke out in sudden goose bumps, shivering in a nonexistent chill. That, as well as the car’s never flipping on its cherries and berries, made me certain this was not a cop.
As a test, I stepped into the gas, but all it did was make him work a bit harder to catch me. Paulo, if that’s you, I’m going to pinch your head off. As I watched those headlights loom larger and larger in my rearview mirror, there was no doubt in my mind that this was my mysterious vehicular stalker and he was going to hit me again.
Not if I hit you first. I had had it with being a victim.
The highway ahead of me was a long straight stretch across acres of flat grassland. There were no bridges to fall off; no hills to plow into. Even more important than all that, it was completely empty except for me and my new best friend-just what I needed. I apologized profusely to my soon-to-be-abused truck and took a good grip of the wheel.
(Later, we’ll talk about why this is actually not the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.)
I waited until I could no longer see the headlights over the tailgate of my truck. I braced myself for the coming impact, gritted my teeth against the pain in my leg, and hit the brakes.
I felt the crunch of metal before I heard it. The jarring impact seemed to travel through my steering wheel, up my arms, and into my shoulders, slamming me against my seat belt. The back end of my truck swung around, no matter how I tried to steer out of it, and next thing I knew I was careening into the grassy median. Somewhere in all the bouncing and jouncing, my head met my window with a smack and a spider-web of shattered glass. Stars burst behind my eyes, and I blacked out.
My own voice woke me, which is a really weird sensation even without having just taken a blow to the head.
“Jesse! Jesse, open your damn eyes! You have to wake up!” Someone was pounding on my pillow, which turned out to be the cracked glass of my side window.
I blinked my eyes open, and for a brief moment, I saw a face outside. A blond, with a Mohawk and piercings, staring anxiously through the shattered glass. Axel? The moment I thought it, the face was gone.
My truck wasn’t running, and I hoped she had just stalled out when my foot came off the clutch. Fighting against the grogginess in my head, I threw the door open and stumbled out into the grass. Somehow, I’d wound up facing back in the wrong direction, but at least the truck hadn’t crossed into the oncoming lanes.
Across the southbound lanes, I could see the dark Escort crumpled against the guardrail, steam from the engine billowing through the beam from the one remaining headlight. The night reeked of boiling antifreeze where it spewed all over the asphalt, and the driver’s door was hanging open. I managed to limp across the dark highway, only realizing halfway there that I was unarmed. Oh well. Hopefully, he was in worse shape than I was. “Time to find out who you are, buddy.”
No such luck. The mangled car proved to be totally and completely devoid of life. Sometime during my brief bout with unconsciousness, the bastard got out and ran off. He obviously knew how to bleed, though. The spiderwebbed windshield was smeared with red. It wasn’t enough to be fatal, but he’d have a helluva headache for a week or two.
“God-fucking-dammit!” For good measure, I caved in the back fender with a well-placed kick. Unfortunately, that’s when I remembered that my leg wasn’t even close to sound. What followed was the most colorful one-sided exchange of cursing I’d ever heard, and I’m still proud of what small bits I can remember.
I was still ranting and raving by the side of the road when the highway patrol car pulled up. The trooper got out, training his flashlight right in my eyes. “Sir, is this your vehicle?”
I spent the next hour standing on the side of the highway while two more units showed up to check out the wreck. The Escort had been stolen from Utah two months earlier. That much I got from eavesdropping on the radio chatter. The cops noticed the blood trail, too, following it a few yards down the road where it ended abruptly. It seemed that Evel Knievel had another ride.
I got near the car only once and managed to snatch a crumpled bit of paper from the console before I was shooed away. Sitting on my own tailgate, I inspected it by the flickering blue and red lights.
It was a fast-food receipt, dated a month ago. Not a big deal, except that my home address was scribbled on the back of it. I stuffed it into my pocket before the cops got too curious.
How long had they had that address? And why hadn’t they used it? Something between cold-sweat nausea and immeasurable rage brewed in my gut. If this lunatic had gone anywhere near my family… I had to get home.
It took even longer to convince the highway patrol that no, I had not been drinking; no, I did not see where the other driver went; and no, I did not need a hospital. It was the last one that took some fast talking on my part, but finally Officer Allen resigned himself to writing “Refused medical treatment” in his report and let me drive my poor abused baby home. The truck, for her part, still ran like a champ, and as far as I could see the damage to the rear end seemed strictly cosmetic. That’s my girl.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll get you fixed up, I pro m-ise.”
Pretty sure I broke a land speed record getting home, all the while watching every car that came up behind me with a healthy dose of suspicion. Who knew what kind of car he would be driving next?
At home, Mira was blissfully asleep and didn’t see me limp in. If she even suspected I was hurt, I’d be on my way back to Dr. Bridget faster than I could blink, and I didn’t want that. I settled on a plan of distract and evade, if the subject came up. I’d explain the damage to the truck later-somehow.
I knocked back two aspirin, swallowing them dry, and stuck a bag of frozen peas on the giant lump on my head. While I waited for the painkillers to kick in, I hobbled into Mira’s little sanctuary to boot up her computer.
