The cop studied the other side of the road, which had twice the shoulder, maybe even three times. “I’d feel better if you were over there,” he said. Then to his partner: “Jake, watch the traffic for a moment, will you? I’m going to push this guy across the street.” Back to Draven: “What I need you to do is put the car in neutral and steer it into that spot over there. Can you do that?”
Draven nodded.
“Sure, no problem.”
The cop walked to the front end of the car. “Did you just buy this?” he asked.
“Yesterday,” Draven said.
“Next time, talk to me first,” the cop said. “My neighbor had one of these. Bought it new and it fell apart in about three months.”
Draven swallowed and tried to look amused.
“Now you tell me,” he said.
Then the cop started pushing.
At that exact second Mia Avila groaned.
Draven coughed to mask the sound, then punched the radio button and worked the dial until he found a station, filled with static but good enough for what he needed.
He knew the song.
“Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry.
Must be an oldies station.
“Take your foot off the brake,” the cop shouted.
Draven did.
Pay attention you dumb shit.
The cop couldn’t move the vehicle by himself, so his partner came over to assist. Two minutes later, the rust-bucket of a car sat on the other side of the road, far enough from the pavement to where it wouldn’t be clipped.
Draven thanked them and said goodbye.
The woman was making noises again.
As the cops started across the road, a Hummer sped around the bend, going too fast and hugging the inside track. It clipped the rear end of the police car, only catching it by a foot or so, but crushing the metal and spinning the vehicle into the middle of the road. The cops dived for cover. The taillight shattered and the rear tire exploded.
“Goddamn it!” one of the cops shouted.
The Hummer hardly got scratched but the cop car ended up in the middle of the twisty canyon road, blocking traffic in both directions. The rear quarter-panel had bent into the tire, not only flattening it but also locking it in place so that the vehicle couldn’t be pushed.
Cars were already backing up.
Draven’s first instinct was to just calmly walk down the road until he was out of sight and then run. But he was at least five miles into the canyon. If anyone found the woman, there would be no way he could make it back to town before they caught him.
Unless he confiscated a car.
Say the last one in line.
He walked back to the Granada, slipped behind the wheel and closed the door. The woman made no sounds but he had no idea if it was because she was unconscious or she was just being careful.
“You’re not going to die,” he said. “I’m going to let you go, just like always. Unless you screw up and do something stupid. If you do that I’ll take you out. You’ll give me no choice. Do you understand?”
Silence.
Not a word.
He poked her.
She didn’t respond.
He twisted the knife in his hands. Maybe he should just stick it in her head, right here right now, and get it over with. True he’d have a body in the car with him, but at least it would be a guaranteed quiet one.
But then again, if he did get caught, a charge of kidnapping would be a whole lot better than murder.
Shit.
What to do?
Just then one of the cops walked over.
“We’re going to push you a little farther onto the shoulder,” he said. “See if we can open up a lane and get this traffic moving.”
Draven nodded.
“Good idea.”
They pushed him farther onto the shoulder while he steered and did his best to not take his knife and just start slashing everyone in sight.
Then he called a tow truck.
Draven’s tow truck showed up forty minutes later, not long after the cop car got pulled onto a flatbed and disappeared down the canyon. A big-boned woman climbed out. The sleeves of her shirt had been ripped off, displaying thick, muscular arms.
Tattooed arms.
Biker-Mama arms.
“You the call I’m looking for?” she asked.
“That’s me.”
She studied him up and down, and then said, “You got quite the body going there. I might have to give you a discount.”
She wasn’t his type, but he smiled, not wanting to piss her off.
“Thanks for coming so fast.”
She focused on his scar but didn’t say anything about it. Instead she motioned to her body. “It’s all muscle under these clothes,” she said.
“You look good,” Draven said.
She smiled.
“Of course it doesn’t just fall out of the sky and land on me,” she said. “I work my ass off in the gym. Monday I squatted four ninety-five. A personal best.”
Draven nodded, actually impressed.
“Five plates on each side,” he said.
“Very good.”
It took her only a few minutes to hook up the Granada, and then they headed down the canyon.
The radio played a country-western song that Draven had never heard before. He tapped his hand to it, feeling good and watching the scenery roll by.
“We used to tube here quite a bit,” he said, referring to Clear Creek. “A good ten of the times I’ve come the closest to death were right there in that water.”
She shook her head with disapproval.