Pittman felt the vibrating impact of the eerily muffled bullets hitting the Rolls.
Jill struggled with the steering wheel. “This thing handles like it’s a tank!”
“At the time, I thought my late husband was insane to want an armored car!”
A gunman appeared ahead of them, firing directly at the windshield, diving for cover as Jill sped past. She swerved from the narrow tree-lined lane and reached the side of the house, aiming the Rolls along the brick driveway toward the street. There hadn’t been time to turn on the headlights, but the glare of lights in the shubbery at the front combined with the glow of streetlights, showing that the dark Oldsmobile the gunmen had arrived in was parked directly in front of the exit from the driveway. There wasn’t any way past it. Other cars were parked everywhere along the curb, preventing the Rolls from veering off the driveway, across the sidewalk, and onto the street.
“Brace yourselves!”
Jill tightened her grip on the steering wheel, directing the Rolls toward the front fender of the Oldsmobile blocking the driveway. “I hope this
In the backseat, preparing himself for the collision, Pittman felt the Rolls increase speed. The Oldsmobile grew alarmingly, seeming to fill the windshield. The Rolls struck it with such force that the Oldsmobile jerked sideways.
Pittman felt as if his chest had been punched. His head snapped back. Next to him, Denning slammed onto the floor. As the Rolls kept heaving forward, ramming the Oldsmobile farther sideways, the servant groaned. In the front seat, Mrs. Page shoved her hands against the dashboard to absorb the shock.
Even though Pittman’s ears kept ringing, he couldn’t help hearing the crunch of metal and the crash of glass. The Oldsmobile had been jolted sufficiently sideways that the Rolls slammed past it, scraping an Infiniti parked at the curb but hurtling forward, reaching the street and streaking across it. Jill stamped the brake pedal. But the heavily armored car barely slowed. Jill swung the steering wheel to avoid the cars parked on the opposite side of the street. But the Rolls-never meant to be so heavy-responded sluggishly. One of the cars across the street seemed suddenly huge. The Rolls struck it, more glass shattering, metal crumbling. The Rolls rebounded, its distinctive winged woman hood ornament and thickly slatted, shiny grill falling onto the pavement.
From the backseat, jolted by the two collisions, Pittman watched Jill in dismay as she tugged the car’s gearshift into reverse and stared behind her. Working the steering wheel, she tried to maneuver the car so that it wasn’t positioned diagonally across the street, blocking both lanes. Too late. Pittman was suddenly knocked sideways by the jolt of another collision. A car coming along the street hadn’t been able to stop in time to avoid hitting the Rolls. Headlights glaring, a car coming in the opposite direction squealed to a stop before it struck the other side of the Rolls.
No! Pittman thought. We’re boxed in!
Drivers got out of the cars. Alarmed by the din of the multiple collisions, men and women hurried out of houses on both sides of the street. Pedestrians watched in shock. The sidewalks became rapidly crowded. Horns blaring, cars lined up in each direction, blocked by the accidents.
“What are we going to do?” Denning whimpered.
“One thing’s sure. We’re not going anywhere in the Rolls,” Jill said.
“Get out of the car,” Pittman said.
“They’ll shoot us,” the servant said.
“We can’t stay here. Hurry. Everybody out.” Pittman helped Denning rise from where he’d been thrown to the floor. “Are you all right? Mrs. Page, what about you?” Pittman shoved his door open. “
Stunned, slumped in the front seat, Mrs. Page groaned.
Jill leaned over, examining her.
Outside the car, Pittman rushed forward and opened the passenger door. “How is she?”
The drivers of the cars that blocked the Rolls crowded toward Pittman.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” a man yelled. “You came out of nowhere.”
“She’s shaken up,” Jill said. “But I don’t see any bleeding.”
“We have to get away from here!” Denning wailed.
Pittman spun to study the driveway next to the mansion. Past the commotion of numerous onlookers, he saw solemn-faced men wearing windbreakers running down the shadowy driveway, dispersing into the crowd.
“Jesus, buddy!” a bystander said, stumbling back in terror, pointing toward Pittman’s right hand.
Pittman didn’t understand why the man behaved as he did. Then, squinting down at his right hand, Pittman saw that he still clutched the pistol he had taken from Jill.
The panicked man who’d seen the pistol bumped against the driver of one of the cars that had struck the Rolls. Now the driver, too, saw the pistol and reacted the way the first man had, stumbling to get away.
“Jesus, he’s got a gun!” somebody yelled.
A woman screamed.
The crowd around Pittman bumped into one another in a frenzied effort to get away from the gun.
Pittman kept darting his gaze past them, toward the driveway and sidewalk at Mrs. Page’s mansion. The solemn-faced men wearing windbreakers were no longer in view. He scanned the panicked bystanders, afraid that the gunmen might be using them for cover, stalking nearer.
“She’s all right,” Jill said abruptly behind him.
Pittman spun, seeing Mrs. Page next to Jill.
“Let’s get out of here!” Denning yelled.
“The Duster.” Pittman ran toward the front of the mansion where he had parked it. He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the driver’s door, frantically opened it, then pulled the passenger seat forward, wishing that the Duster had four doors.
Denning scurried into the front. Jill and the servant helped Mrs. Page into the back, throwing Pittman’s gym bag and Jill’s suitcase onto the floor. Pittman pushed the passenger seat back into place, hurried behind the steering wheel, slammed his door, started the car, and sped away from the curb. In the opposite lane, ten cars were backed up, headlights gleaming, drivers and passengers leaning out in confusion. But Pittman’s lane was completely empty, the Rolls and the car that had hit it blocking traffic behind him.
“Stay down!” Pittman yelled to Jill and the others. “If those gunmen are still in the area…!”
He sped through a murky intersection, steered sharply to avoid a pedestrian, shuddered, and turned on his headlights. In the sudden glare, flat-faced brick town houses with cars parked along curbs were a blur on either side of the Duster.
“We got lucky!” Denning blurted. “The crowd scared them away!”
“Maybe,” Pittman said.
“What do you mean
“I agree with you. I think we got away,” Pittman said. “At least for now. What I meant was, I’m not sure they were scared by the crowd.”
Denning shook his head in confusion.
“I have a hunch that if it suited their purposes,” Pittman said, “they’d have shot us right there in the street. In the dark and the panic, who’d be able to identify them?”
“Then why didn’t they?”
Tires protesting, Pittman swerved the Duster around a corner, speeding south on Thirty-fourth Street. Slow down, he warned himself. You can’t let the police stop you. Sweating, he reduced speed and blended with traffic.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Denning complained. “If you don’t think they were frightened by the crowd, why didn’t they shoot us when we got out of the Rolls? What do you mean, it didn’t suit their purpose?”
“The idea wasn’t just to kill us all,” Pittman said. “You’re right. I am Matthew Pittman. The police want me for murdering Jonathan Millgate. But I swear to you, I didn’t do anything to him. If anything, I was trying to help him.” Pittman explained what had happened at the Scarsdale estate. “I’ve been on the run ever since. What Millgate told me is dangerous enough to all of them that they’re desperate to kill me before I figure out what it means.”
Driving, Pittman stared nervously ahead, seeing the lights and traffic of Pennsylvania Avenue. “To prevent me
