Eric. His name is Eric. Luke kept his eyes on the road. Under control. This Jane woman must know what Eric was planning and why. A barely felt tap, and he was six miles an hour faster than the limit.
Eric, huddled, listening on his cell, wasn’t watching the speedometer or Luke, and Luke jolted the speed up higher. Eight over the limit. And then ten. He debated in his mind as to whether to push it higher, to risk it. No. He couldn’t risk Eric noticing. He squeezed the steering wheel hard.
Eric listened to the phone and finally he said, ‘I’ll call you when the rest is complete and you better keep your side of the bargain.’
The rest is complete. Keep your side. What did Eric mean? And why would a British woman be involved in his kidnapping when his focus was on finding American extremists? He didn’t look over as Eric switched off the phone without a goodbye to his caller.
Mirabeau spanned a few exits on the highway – the BMW shot past a McDonald’s, a bakery/gas station selling kolache pastries, an exit for the downtown business district. No sign of a patrol car. Please, please be up ahead, Luke thought.
Eric seemed lost in thought and didn’t notice. Let’s keep it that way, Luke thought. Let’s make him just a little mad. Enough to keep him distracted.
‘Was that your girlfriend?’
‘Shut the hell up.’
‘I bet she doesn’t know you’re carjacking innocent people at airports. She’d be so proud.’
‘This isn’t a carjacking.’
‘I thought most kidnappers did their own driving. You’re a cheapass kidnapper, making me do my own driving.’
Eric stared at him. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’
‘Yes. I want to lighten the mood.’ Luke risked a bad imitation of a smile. Where the hell was the cop that was, on every other trip Luke made through this stretch of highway, so ready to give out a ticket? He wanted to pound his fist against the steering wheel in rage. But he had to keep Eric’s mind engaged, his eyes off the dashboard.
‘There’s nothing funny about today.’ But Luke heard a jagged curl in Eric’s words, nerves on end. ‘The hell I’m trapped in is not a joke!’
‘Exactly what hell are you trapped in? You have the gun.’ Luke screamed back in his face. They shot under a bridge and on the opposite side, a Mirabeau police cruiser sat, waiting like a spider in the heart of its web.
Yes, Luke thought, thank you Jesus and the patron saint of speeders. He was saved.
Eric glanced in the rearview, saw the blues and reds flash to life. ‘Slow it down!’ Eric yelled.
Luke obeyed but it was too late. The cruiser launched itself off the incline onto the highway.
‘Oh you rotten prick!’ Eric screamed.
‘I’m sorry. You made me nervous. I didn’t watch… should I pull over?’
‘If I have to kill this poor stupid cop it’s your fault!’ Eric hissed. ‘Don’t kill anyone. You don’t really seem to want to do this!’
‘I can’t, I can’t! You don’t understand! You don’t know what you’re doing!’ Eric steadied his voice. ‘Pull over and say nothing. Not a word.’
‘And he won’t notice the gun in your hand.’
‘I’m going to put the gun out of sight.’
Luke thought: Good because then I’m going to yell my head off.
‘Because if you say a word I don’t like, if you do anything other than take the ticket and thank the officer, I’m going to shoot you both. You just put this cop’s life in needless danger, because, yes, I will kill him, and if I have to kill him, you die, too. I always have a Plan B and this is it. Right now that cop is walking into a trap you set for him, you stupid heartless moron.’ An icy certainty colored Eric’s tone now, unmistakable resolve.
‘Heartless? You’re the goddamned kidnapper!’ Luke stopped the BMW, the police car halting behind it.
Bile clouded into Luke’s throat. In the rearview he saw the officer get out of the car and start to approach.
‘Get out your insurance and registration. Now. I have the gun where I can reach it instantly. You warn him, you both die.’
Luke gathered the papers. The rising courage he thought he’d feel if he could attract police attention felt crushed. He powered down the window as the officer reached the door.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Luke said.
The officer was middle-aged, tall, heavy-built. He wore the professional look that said he’d already heard every excuse a hundred times before. His nametag read Moncrief. ‘You didn’t pull over very fast, sir.’
‘No sir, I didn’t.’ Luke handed the officer his license and registration.
‘That’s my fault, officer,’ Eric said with a crooked, wan smile. He sounded like a disappointed big brother. ‘I was yelling at him about his speeding and he’s already upset. We just got word of a death in the family, our grandma, and we were heading fast, too fast I guess, to Houston.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the officer said, real sympathy in his voice. But still, he began to write the ticket.
Luke watched the pen move across the paper; the cop’s hands busy and not near his gun. The chance had passed. Luke squeezed the steering wheel with frustration. If he called for help now Eric would shoot Officer Moncrief before he could react. He glanced at Eric and the barest smile of triumph flickered on Eric’s face.
Officer Moncrief handed Luke his ticket and Luke signed. He wanted to write HELP ME on the signature line but he could feel Eric watching him. He paused halfway through his scrawl and he could hear Eric’s very quiet intake of breath, readying the gun.
He wrote his last name, handed the pad back to the officer.
‘Slow it down, gentlemen. If you’re dealing with one tragedy, you don’t want another.’
‘Words to live by, officer, thank you,’ Eric said.
‘Yes,’ Luke said. It was true. As soon as the officer turned away and started back to his cruiser, the gun moved to Luke’s hip.
‘Back on the road. Now. Speed limit.’
Luke obeyed, his hands shaking on the wheel, raging at himself for his lost nerve.
‘I’ll make you a deal,’ Eric said, breaking the silence as they left Mirabeau behind them.
‘You and your deals. Your deals only benefit you.’
‘Another stunt and I shoot off your big toe. I don’t have to deliver you in perfect condition. We don’t have much time.’
Deliver, Luke thought. He was now a delivery. Who wanted him?
4
Houston.
The city spread out across the vast coastal plain, a seemingly endless quilt of shopping centers, office buildings, housing developments, all connected by a stitching of highways. Haze moped above the horizon. It was a city of drivers, a constant thrumming jolt of energy and movement. As the afternoon rush hours approached, I-10 traffic headed east into the city slowed in fits and starts.
The creeping pace of traffic gave Luke a fresh hope. He kept cussing himself, inside his brain, for his fear in not trying to escape when the Mirabeau police officer was there to help him. But he believed it would have gotten them both dead. The desperation in Eric’s eyes was a fierce, awful fire.
They’d hit their first real traffic now. If the car came to a full stop maybe he could bolt. Eric might not be eager to shoot him in front of dozens of other people. Or he could mouth a plea for help, if anyone would look at him. The drivers kept their eyes on the road. Strangers did not exchange glances in cars in Houston.
‘The knife likes you to have your eyes forward,’ Eric said.
‘The knife likes to not stab me when I’m driving because we’ll crash. But God knows we want to keep the knife happy.’
