As Mariah floated backward toward the bed, time down-shifted to a sluggish pace and Hannibal found himself in one of those defining moments that we see in slow motion with high definition clarity. He saw Mariah’s eyes, clouded yet aware, set in a face expressing more confusion than pain. Then his focus shifted to the enormity of Rod’s fist extended from his body like a weapon wholly separate from Rod’s body. Thoughts of a fight faded in the face of blind rage.
“You bastard,” Hannibal said through clenched teeth. His own right fist launched forward as if of its own will. His body began to pivot, his hips and back and stomach driving that fist forward. He saw awareness pull Rod’s face to the side. Rod began to turn to his own left. Rod’s left arm was tensed but held too low as he spun toward Hannibal. No! This was not the way it was supposed to go.
But of course it was too late. Rod’s hate filled visage turned toward Hannibal powered by the full might of his thick bull neck. Hannibal’s right fist drove forward, a missile beyond guidance, and Rod’s jaw moved directly into its path. The impact was jarring. Shock waves rode up Hannibal’s arm and into his shoulder. Shock washed over Rod’s face, chased by oblivion. As Hannibal withdrew his arm Rod began to drop toward the floor as if his soul had suddenly departed his body.
As the hulk crashed onto the floor life jumped back to full speed. Hannibal’s knuckles pulsed with pain, reminding him why he usually worked in gloves. Now he had only seconds in which to choose a new path. A face-to-face battle with Rod would have been more satisfying, but he had learned long ago that the only direction to go in life was forward.
His shoulders feinted toward the door before his head yanked him back toward the bed. If Mariah was in sight when Rod awoke he might beat her to death. Leaving her behind could not be an option. He grabbed her wrist and saw a slight smile move her lips as he pulled her over his shoulders. Hooking an arm around one of her knees he hurried down the stairs. In the living room he lowered Mariah to the sofa, even as he watched seconds tick past in his head. Time mattered, but now sound mattered too. He didn’t want Rod awake any sooner than necessary.
The basement held a storage area and a laundry room, but when Hannibal turned on the light his eyes scanned only the walls. He knew that home security systems were designed to defend from outside the walls, not from within. He found the small metal box he was looking for hanging beside the furnace. It was locked, and that would cost more seconds. He pulled a small Swiss Army knife from his pocket and opened the shorter blade. With it he defeated the lock in less than thirty seconds. Then he had only to flip two switches to shut down the alarm system.
Upstairs, silence and darkness continued to reign. Mariah leaked a soft moan. Hannibal hefted his human burden, not knowing how close to awareness she might be. With some effort he managed to sidestep out the front door and pull it closed behind them.
The air was thick and damp as he scampered down the street with Mariah across his shoulders like an ox’s yoke. Hannibal dragged air deep into his lungs, wondering if the alarm company received a signal when the alarm was disabled from within. If they did, he hoped that they would send the police to the house right away.
Less than a minute after leaving Rod’s house Hannibal was loading Mariah into his back seat. He felt naked and exposed under a white-hot full moon. Cars, trees and buildings hugged pools of blackness and when he closed the door and stood to his full height. Hannibal had the feeling that his shadow was taller than his soul. Still, he had more business to attend to. He pulled his backup piece, the Smith and Wesson Centennial Airweight, out of the glove compartment and ran back toward Rod’s house.
In seconds he was crouching silently beneath a rear window, one that would lead into the computer room. He slipped the five shot thirty-eight caliber revolver into the back of his waistband. What had come to Hannibal when he was standing over Rod’s unconscious body was a reconfiguration of values. The data disc containing Anita Cooper’s legacy was one objective, but he couldn’t abandon human needs for it. Even as he reached for Mariah he knew that he couldn’t leave the other girls behind. Sheryl might escape danger since she clearly had nothing to do with the apparently unsuccessful attempted theft. Missy, on the other hand, was still an innocent in Hannibal’s eyes. If he was going to stop to pull Mariah out of harm’s way, he had to at least save Missy as well.
A car full of loud teenagers approached from the beach and rolled past, leaving Hannibal with only the sound of his heart, thumping in a world painted stark blue and white by the moon. Then the sound of crickets slowly swelled in the yard behind him. That sound grew until the racket was almost as painful as the alarm had been.
Hannibal stood, fingers locked into the edge of the windowsill. His stomach clenched in anticipation of the next effort. Sensing no movement inside, Hannibal raised the window. While he pulled himself slowly up and into the room, Hannibal wondered if Rod had regained consciousness. If he had, walking in through the front door would have been suicide.
Seconds later Hannibal was listening for the slightest hint of movement from his familiar hiding place inside the computer room closet. He waited a full five minutes before stepping out of the computer room. Gun in hand he stood briefly, sniffing the air for trouble before moving to the stairs. He moved upward, one step at a time, sensitive to the slightest creaking.
The room at the top of the stairs stood open. Rod lay face down with his feet toward the door, unconscious or maybe just asleep. His hairy back rose and fell in a slow steady rhythm. A gentle snore rolled out of his mouth. Hannibal doubted his one punch could have done that much damage, but there was no way to know what effect drugs and alcohol would have added. All in all, it seemed that things were going his way this time.
At the second door he heard quiet conversation. Having been interrupted, Derek and Sheryl would be slowly getting back into the party mood. No danger from that quarter.
The door to the third room stood open by only a crack. Hannibal pressed it slowly open with his empty right hand, holding his gun close to his side. A muted lamp on one side table lent the room a ghostly glow. Missy looked up, her brown eyes round and wide. When Hannibal was growing up his mother had paintings of little black kids on the walls. Their eyes were bigger than any real person’s ever could be. She found it cute, but as a child Hannibal found the pictures disturbing in some odd way. Missy’s eyes almost reached that size now, and her pupils were stretched wide by the dark or maybe by drugs. Her face betrayed both surprise and relief. Her mouth moved but his finger pressed against his lips cautioned her to silence.
Only after taking in her beautiful brown face did Hannibal’s appreciation of the scene broaden. Missy was kneeling on the bed, naked, with her arms stretched out in front of her, spread wide to display her petite breasts. She did not hold the pose out of respect. Her wrists were each handcuffed to the short posters at the foot of the bed.
“You don’t have to take this,” he whispered, stepping slowly toward her. Her wary eyes followed him as he approached her, and then turned to the cluttered dresser. The small silver key lay there in plain sight. He felt her eyes on his face as he unlocked one cuff, then the other, but could not guess what emotion hid behind them. She never pulled at the small chains to free herself any faster. She continued to kneel on the bed with her arms spread apart until Hannibal took one arm and gently pulled. She placed one foot on the floor, hesitated, then stood beside the bed.
Hannibal pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it round Missy’s shoulders. When it began to slide off he pushed one edge into her hand.
“Hold this,” he said. She did. Was she in shock, he wondered, or heavily doped up? Holding her free hand he guided her toward the door. She didn’t resist, but she seemed in no hurry. They moved slowly through the darkness toward the stairs. They passed one room and were in front of the door to the other when Hannibal heard footfalls behind him.
“What the hell?”
Hannibal spun, leveling the gun in the direction of Derek’s voice. “Just stay quiet and don’t move,” Hannibal whispered, “and you can live through this.” Derek’s breathing was quick and shallow. He was on the verge of making a move. Hannibal took a couple of slow steps backward toward the stairs. Derek moved forward, maintaining a constant distance from Hannibal who had no desire to fire his weapon. If questioned by police, could he convince them that he was in the right? Was he on a rescue mission, or was he guilty of an overprotective kidnapping? Could saving Missy from whatever she had agreed to do merit the use of lethal force?
A roar of rage from his left froze Hannibal for a couple of tenths. It was enough. Rod’s bulk crashed into his side, a speeding freight train that numbed his gun hand even as its momentum smashed his right shoulder through the wall’s plaster. He saw his pistol hit the carpet and tensed his stomach just in time to receive the bludgeon that was Rod’s left fist. Rod’s right smacked across his skull, birthing a flock of blue floaters before Hannibal’s eyes.
“Raiding my stable, eh?” Rod said in a hateful snarl. “Well let’s see what you got when you don’t get to sucker punch me.”
Hannibal managed to block Rod’s next left hook, but his knees were already buckling. He had no space in which to move and his balance was thrown off. Rod had the momentum and just kept throwing punches until Hannibal slowly crumpled to the floor. Then kicks replaced the punches, flexing Hannibal’s ribs in as they landed. He clenched his teeth and kept his elbows in. Each kick rocked his body and spread a burst of pain through him, but he knew the important truth. This kind of thing never lasted very long. A familiar gray gauze curtain slid up over his senses.
Hannibal mentally clawed the gauze aside. Somehow he knew time had passed. His ribs ached, but didn’t drown the pain from rug burns on his knees. His view was narrow, like looking at close objects in a small room through a telescope. His other awakening senses tried hard to assemble a broader picture for him. An odd, hollow ringing in his ears blunted rhythmic grunting, above and too the left. The caustic smell of sex and sweat flared his nostrils. Salt in his mouth? No, that was blood.
Hannibal craned his neck upward, moving his narrow view until a small hand came into view. Missy’s hand, again cuffed to the bed. So he was on the floor not far from the foot of the bed and she was back where he had found her. This time, her hand was clenched around the footboard it was chained to, holding her steady as she rocked forward and back.
He readjusted his view up and over to her face. Missy’s long, straight hair flew forward and back lagging behind her head’s movements. Her eyes were clenched and her lips pressed together in a straight line, stifling what would be squeals of pain if they got out. Hannibal felt his own eyes welling up.
Up and back from Missy’s face he found Rod’s. Focus was difficult. His whole body was pulling back and slamming forward. His eyes were vacant, and Hannibal wondered for a moment where he really was.
“Do her harder!” That came from the other side of the bed in a woman’s voice. Hannibal managed to widen the circle of his view enough to find Sheryl. Her eyes blazed in a way he found at once frightening and sickening. Had she endured the same initiation? And now, was she joyous to see someone else having to take their turn? Beside her, Derek panted like a hungry dog.
Sheryl snapped, “Feed it to her,” and shoved Derek to the foot of the bed. Missy looked up, eyes wide now. Derek lowered his zipper. Hannibal shut his eyes and turned away, tuning out not just Missy’s shame but his own as well. I’m so sorry he thought. The world faded into a gray mist and slowly down into blackness.
Hannibal’s eyes snapped open and the darkness came into sharp focus. A deep breath set off sparks around his rib cage. That was okay. The pain made his mind sharper.
He curled his lips in. The blood on them hadn’t completely dried yet, so he hadn’t been out for very long. The ringing in his ears had stopped. Rod must have given him a mild concussion, but the effects had faded. Now ragged snoring helped him pinpoint the bed. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he could make out two figures on the bed. The larger one, the source of the snore, lay on his back.
The smaller figure was almost lost in the darkness except for her eyes and small, brilliant teeth. Missy lay with her chin on her overlapped hands, staring into Hannibal’s eyes. How long had she been watching him? While he stared back she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
What on earth had she to be sorry about? He was the one who had failed her. The image of her dramatic rape scene made his stomach lurch. He raised his right hand toward her but it moved only inches. He was still handcuffed, he saw, to a leg of the dresser. The dresser’s legs were pedestals ending in wooden balls. No way to slip the cuff over it. At Hannibal’s end, the steel bracelet was clamped tight on his wrist, cutting into the skin each time he moved.
What would Rod plan for him in the morning? Another beating? No, the most logical move would be to hold Hannibal until the deal for the formula was concluded, and then turn Hannibal over to the South American gang lords who made the purchase. Hannibal caught the stench of fear and realized that he smelled himself. South American gangs could be very accommodating to their friends.
Hannibal wasn’t very good with locks and even if he could pick it, did he have enough time? Although he was still chained, he saw that Missy was free. Her restraints, he realized, had been part of the game, just there to enhance Rod’s control fantasy. Maybe they enhanced her fantasies as well. Was the horrible rape he observed in fact consensual? Was she happy about all that had happened to her?
As if she was reading his mind, Missy shook her head in the negative. Then she swung her feet off the bed, moving only inches at a time stopping often to look at Rod. After it up, Hannibal could see her breathing rate increase. Watching Rod, Missy shifted her weight off the bed and onto her legs in tiny increments. The snoring never wavered. Once standing upright, Missy released a shuddering sigh.
Hannibal caught himself admiring her perfect form in rear view, and berated himself, turning his eyes away. He knelt there with his face turned aside until he sensed her kneeling in front of him. Then he heard the soft click of a tiny lock opening. He looked to Rod to make sure he hadn’t moved. Then Hannibal moved his arm enough to be sure of his newfound freedom.
He rose silently to his full height and turned a thankful smile on Missy. She had pulled on white bra and panties that glowed in the darkness. She stood very close to Hannibal, leaning in to whisper into his ear.
“Take me with you.”
Hannibal nodded. They moved toward the bedroom door, both watching the chest of the snoring Rod rise and fall. Hannibal quickly glanced around for his pistol but it was no place obvious.
Again Hannibal and Missy moved down the hall. She seemed much more alert this time. Whatever drugs she had been on must have washed through her system. Still, her movements were as awkward as his. Maybe she was sore as well, from rough use rather than a beating. And here she was, rescuing him.
At the living room door they paused again to listen.
“Wait here,” Hannibal said. “One little thing to do.” He crept across the floor to the sofa. The prize that had started all this was there, hidden in the material underneath. He knelt beside the couch, working his hand through the small hole he had made. Soon, the case would truly be over.
And then the world exploded in a sonic burst that froze the blood in Hannibal’s veins. Missy held the doorknob as if it was all that supported her. Hannibal could see two inches of blackness between the edge of the door and the wall. Rod must have turned the alarm back on in the basement and then reset it while Hannibal was unconscious. By opening the door, Missy had changed them from escapees to prey.
“Time to move,” Hannibal said, leaping through the door, dragging Missy by her wrist. Adrenalin drove him down the street toward his car faster than the girl was prepared to run. She stumbled behind him, only just remaining upright.
The night air burned Hannibal’s lungs as his free hand dug into his pocket for his keys. The moon was a spotlight singling them out as the only things moving on the street that night. Missy’s white underclothes glowed like fluorescent targets for anyone who might want to sight in on her. Hannibal prayed that Rod, once awakened, would first call the alarm company to prevent a police visit.
Ten feet from his car, Hannibal pushed the button on his key fob that unlocked the doors. He had not looked back but once in the driver’s seat he was pleased to see that no one followed them. He was staring a Rod’s house because he was parked facing it. The street was too narrow for a three-point turn around. Hannibal heard the throaty roar of his engine and glanced at Missy. She was staring in surprise at Mariah, still asleep in the back seat. His nose told him that she had vomited back there, probably without ever waking up.
“She breathing?”
“Yes,” Missy said. “But she’s a mess.”
“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, crouch down. We’re driving past the house.”
Hannibal slapped the Volvo into first gear and popped the clutch. After the briefest squeal of tires the car jumped forward. Rod’s front door opened as they approached. Hannibal looked over Missy’s ducked head and locked eyes with Rod as he raced past. Even in that brief contact he could see the naked hatred behind those dark eyes.
Seconds later Hannibal was driving down a narrow street with only occasional streetlights. In the yards just behind the lights he could see vegetation growing wild. On each block he spotted a pile of trash near the curb. This was not, he thought, the best neighborhood in Virginia Beach. In fact, the area he was in reminded him of his own neighborhood in Washington. He turned to Missy again, but she was bent over the seat leaning into the back.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Strapping her in.”
“Good idea,” Hannibal said, stopping at an unmarked corner. “Any idea where we are?”
Missy settled back into her seat. “Got a pretty good idea. Go left I think. That should take us to the beach again.”
Hannibal nodded and made the turn. He thought he saw the lights of another vehicle in his rearview mirror, but it would be pure paranoia to think it could be Rod. He considered how he would explain his evening to the police, and which of these young women would back his story. Missy had already been unexpectedly helpful. His next day might have been very unpleasant if not for her having both the courage and the caring to free him.
“You look so unhappy.”
Missy’s comment caught Hannibal off guard. “I was thinking of what I woke up to back in the house. I’m really sorry I let that happen to you.”
“Not your fault,” Missy said. Here eyes drifted right, away from Hannibal. “I asked for it, really. And it wouldn’t have been so rough except, that, well, Rod wanted to take me as a virgin.”
Hannibal glanced right, swallowed, and then focused straight ahead. “You were a virgin?”
“Well, in that hole anyway.”
“Oh.”
“The drugs made it easier. I’m still a little numb all over.”
It seemed clear to Hannibal that she was a lot more comfortable with this conversation than he was. His rearview mirror was still clear, but he made a couple of aimless, spontaneous turns just to be safe. He could imagine someone seeing the White Tornado’s radiance in the moonlight. He tried to focus on driving but after a minute the silence seemed too heavy to carry.
“So why’d you do it?” Hannibal asked.
Missy stared out her window into the deep darkness. “A man like you could never understand. Giving up control of your own life is so liberating. That’s what being a subbie is all about, after all.”
“No.” Hannibal shook his head. “I mean, why did you help me? It seemed pretty clear that you were under Rod’s spell.”
“Oh that.” Missy looked at Hannibal and he saw a coquettish manner that had escaped him until then. “He only whipped up on you because you tried to help me. It was my fault you got stomped. I didn’t need that guilt.”
It was cool enough in the car, but the air was still and stuffy, prompting Hannibal to turn on the air conditioner. “Okay, so you let Rod dominate you, but you decided to do this against his obvious wishes. That kind of tells me that you’re too strong a girl to be someone’s submissive slave.”
“Oh no, I’m definitely a subbie by nature,” Missy said with a smile. “I like being told what to do by a strong man. I like being devoted to pleasing someone else. I like having rules I must obey.”
“But you left.”
She watched the moon for a moment. “You know how people take orders in the Army? It’s kind of like that. They choose to follow, but only if the leader can lead. For me to sub to a man, he’s got to be a Dom I can trust and respect. Rod is a strong man, but what he did to you just wasn’t right.”
Hannibal nodded in the darkness as they rolled to a stop at another corner. “This goes into a dead end,” he said to himself.
“Hang a left here,” Missy said. “You know, when I met you I thought you were in the life. Now that I know you’re not, I’m kind of confused about why you got involved with Rod.”
“Long story,” he said, making the turn. The rambling beach houses had given way to smaller structures, each still with its deep front porch, but the houses themselves were shoved too close together for comfort. Older oaks and ashes arching over narrow sidewalks made the streets look even more claustrophobic.
“I guess you were just destined to meet,” Missy said, as if it were a random thought.
“Is that the kind of defeatist crap you pick up on the streets these days?”
Missy’s laugh was light, like a southern belle in one of those old movies Hannibal’s mother used to watch. “Actually it’s straight out of philosophy class.”
“Some community college bullshit?”
“Actually I’m a sophomore at Wesleyan,” Missy said. “Physics, with a minor in chemistry.”
“Sorry. I just never imagined you for a co-ed.”
“It’s okay,” Missy said. “You’ve probably just never seen one in her underwear.” She laughed then, to Hannibal’s surprise, and he smiled along with her. He thought he saw the beach in the distance and sped up just a little.
Hannibal didn’t know why, but for a second he could smell Rod on her. “Rod talked about having a destiny. You don’t believe all that destiny crap, do you?”
“No, not really. I do believe in karma.”
“Karma? You mean like, if you do bad things, bad things will happen to you?”
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, well I don’t think it happens by itself,” Hannibal said. The water glistened in the distance, but he didn’t see the taller buildings that crowded the shoreline. “In fact, Rod’s been a bad guy for a long time but he seems to be made of Teflon. Nothing sticks to him. He just goes along hurting people, but nothing bad has happened to him yet.”
“Sure it has. You.”
“Huh?” The road curved, and the water veered to his right. Hannibal turned the next corner to again face the silver he saw shining under the moon.
“You are the bad thing that’s happened to him. I think maybe you are an agent of the cosmos, sent here to right the balance.”
“Okay, you’re higher than I thought.” A loud cough from the back seat cut across his mind, shorting out any other ideas. Mariah coughed again, louder, and Hannibal pulled to the curb.
“I think she’s choking,” Missy said, twisted around in her seat. Hannibal slipped the shifter out of gear and yanked the emergency brake, jumped out of his car, ran around to the passenger side and yanked the back door open. Mariah appeared to still be only half conscious, gagging on her own vomit. Hannibal grabbed her under her arms and slid her out onto the narrow strip of grass at the edge of the sidewalk. Her breathing deepened as he wiped her mouth. Sitting up seemed to be all she needed so he propped her against a tree. The cool, wet grass dampened his knees. Her pulse was a little slow, her breathing irregular, and her pupils dilated under the streetlight, but all that could be caused by any number of drugs. If he knew where a clinic was, he’d drive her to it.
A feeling of relief washed over him when he heard an engine approaching. It was one of those four-wheel drive monsters from the sound of it. It was probably a local resident on his way home from a late party. Who else would be out on the streets at this hour? Surely the driver would know where the nearest hospital was.
“Hey Missy! Flag that guy down.”
Missy rolled her window down. “What, in my underwear?”
Hannibal stood. “Good point.” He walked to the middle of the street. Bathed in the headlight beams he waved his arms overhead. The vehicle stopped just past the corner and turned to the right so that it blocked the street. Without the lights shining into his eyes he could see the vehicle more clearly. It was a Jeep.
Derek’s Jeep.
“Damn.” Hannibal yanked his car door open. He had one leg in the car when a gunshot split the night silence and he felt the slug punch into his car door. Missy’s scream drowned out the slam of him pulling the door shut. He yanked the shifter into first gear, cranked the wheel and spun his tires whipping the Volvo in the opposite direction from the Jeep. He heard another shot, but couldn’t tell if it had hit his car or not.
Now the welcoming narrow residential streets were far less hospitable. Instead they were too small for maneuver. The Jeep’s lights burned his eyes in the rearview mirror. At the second corner he pulled his car into a sharp right turn. The Jeep followed.
“Are we in trouble?” Missy asked.
“Not if we can find a cop car.”
Missy jumped at the sound of another gunshot. “Don’t you have a gun?”
“Sure,” Hannibal said. “My Sig Sauer is strapped under the glove compartment. You want it?”
“I can’t shoot a gun.”
“Well I try not to either, when I’m driving.”
As Hannibal approached the next corner another car was racing toward them. The other driver slammed to a halt at the intersection. Maybe the driver was waiting for Hannibal’s car to pass. His elbow stuck out the window. The engine thrummed so confidently Hannibal could hear it over his own humming engine's sound. It was a big car. The top was down and its white interior glowed ghost-like inside a fiery red shell.
“Jesus,” Hannibal mumbled through clenched teeth. It was half curse, half prayer. Rod leaned forward behind the steering wheel as Hannibal cranked hard to get around the corner to his right. A high-pitched crack slammed his ears followed by the dull thud of a bullet punching through his rear quarter panel. Missy screamed again and fumbled with her seat belt, trying to crouch lower.
Hannibal drove as quickly as he dared through the residential streets with Rod’s hybrid muscle car on his tail. In his mind’s eye he imagined Derek in the Jeep coming around from his right at the next intersection. They would be herding him away from the beach, toward ever more isolated streets until they could corner him or run him off the road and Rod could exact his revenge on Hannibal for deceiving him and taking his women. He might never know what this was all about and that, to Hannibal, was unacceptable.
The corner yard on his right was wide enough for Hannibal to see the approaching Jeep halfway up the block. They moved closer and closer to one another, apparently on a ninety-degree collision course. Missy sat frozen, staring out her window at the incoming open vehicle. She knew these men better than Hannibal did, but he suspected that this was not a situation that fell within her understanding. She knew violence as play but he wondered if she had missed the rage underlying it.
In the second before Hannibal cranked his wheel hard to the left he was not quite close enough to see Derek’s eyes, but he could clearly see the oversized revolver in his right hand. Rod had given the boy a. 44 and probably carried one himself. Listening to his tires squealing as he whipped around the corner, Hannibal wanted to ask Missy if the boys were compensating for something, but didn’t think she’d find this line of conversation humorous right then.
Another gunshot sounded, this one a wild shot that never came close to his car. Those boys were more dangerous to the locals than to him. If this kept up much longer some innocent would be hurt or killed. Where the hell were the police? Hannibal had heard that Virginia Beach had more cops per capita than any community in the nation except Las Vegas. Surely someone had reported these maniacs shooting up a quiet suburban neighborhood in the wee hours of the morning. How could they get away with it so close to the beach? And that was when he realized that the water he was working toward had no beach in front of it.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s one of the lakes,” Missy said, sounding short of breath. “I think. Maybe Lake Holly. It’s spread all over this area with little inlets and stuff where vacationers can keep their boats.”
“Great.” Hannibal’s hand slipped on the gearshift lever, wet with perspiration. Now he had no idea where the ocean was. Breathing was getting harder. He pretended it was the humidity and powered down his window. A swampy odor wafted in. Lakes always smelled nasty to him.
A narrow bridge loomed ahead. He would have to slow down a little to cross it. Rod’s Corvorado filled Hannibal’s mirror, its engine so loud it drowned out his pounding heartbeat. On the grid in his head Hannibal could see Derek circling around in the Jeep to get to the first corner on the other side of the bridge. Hannibal couldn’t afford to slow down very much.
“Come on, old friend,” he muttered under his breath. “Get me over this one obstacle fast enough and I think we’ll be home free.”
The bridge was wooden, arched high like a medieval monastery gateway. The water on either side of it was thick with reeds, lily pads and flotsam he couldn’t identify in the colorless moonlight. It must be lovely to stroll past on a warm summer day. Then it would be picturesque, charming, maybe even calming. This night, the bridge was simply an obstacle.
Hannibal slammed the accelerator to the floor just as his front tires touched the first slats of the bridge. He figured that Rod’s rear-wheel drive car couldn’t possibly hit the bridge this hard. Rod would lose ground and he would gain just enough to race past the Jeep at the intersection, dodging them both. All he had to do was to keep a tight grip on the wheel and allow the Volvo to go airborne past the crest of the bridge.
No! Hannibal’s eyes stretched wide as he reached the midpoint and saw the headlights of the little Toyota. What kind of idiot was driving around at this time of night? And hadn’t he heard the Volvo racing toward him? Why was he driving toward the bridge? In truth, they might have been able to pass each other if Hannibal was driving at a reasonable speed. But his speed was nowhere near normal and he would crush the other car in a second unless he did something radical.
In this case, radical meant yanking the steering wheel hard to the right just before the front tires left the ground. As the car pushed through the flimsy guardrail and began to spiral right, Hannibal mentally apologized to his old metal friend and asked it to protect him and his charge.