Garden of Evil (22 page)

“T
HAT IS A FUCKING CHOPPER
!” K
EPPIE
shrieked. “Not a UFO! See, I
can
tell the difference!”

The police. How did they get a chopper out here so fast? They must know who we are! For a wild elated moment I expected Ojeda to be aboard. They had come at last.

“They ain't cops!” Keppie yelled.

I squinted up through the windshield,
WSTR 950-AM RADIO, NEWS-TRAFFIC-TALK
was painted on the helicopter.

“A news chopper!” I said. They must have been in the air already, to cover the traffic accident we saw.

Keppie jabbed the radio button.

“…our traffic news chopper at the scene of that serious car-truck collision on I-Seventy-five at the junction with Flamingo Road is now monitoring a police chase in progress. We take you to Maynard Swan in the WSTR Traffic Copter. Maynard?”

“Yes, Alex, we're over the fleeing car in the northbound lanes of I-Seventy-five at Suwannee Boulevard, where the FHP and county deputies are involved in the high-speed pursuit of a black SUV, could be a Ford Expedition—”

“Asshole!” Keppie shrieked.

“Looks like this may have started out as a routine traffic stop, but the driver refused to pull over. The pursuit has reached speeds well in excess of a hundred miles an hour. So you motorists out there, steer clear of this area, use alternate routes, because this could get messy. We'll stay with it, Alex, keeping you and our listeners informed of the outcome of this chase.”

“Look out!” I cried, gripping the door handle as Keppie weaved between lanes, forcing a Greyhound bus into a skid as the driver hit the brakes.

Joey sobbed.

“Whoops! The driver of the black SUV nearly ran a Greyhound into a ditch. This suspect shows no signs of slowing down, so, drivers, if you see this pursuit headed your way, pull off to the side and let them by.”

Surreal. We were listening to our own live police chase on the radio. If we crashed and burned, would the last voice we hear give a live description?

“Turn it off!” I said.

“Hell, no!” Keppie cranked up the volume. Chopper rotors in stereo beat the air overhead and reverberated through the speakers of the car's surround-sound system. I felt the vibrations in my gut.

The chopper suddenly vaulted into the air, soaring high ahead of us for a bird's-eye view.

“Okay, Alex, this chase is now approaching County Line Road. We've been in communication with the sheriff's department and hear that deputies are positioned up ahead to stop this runaway pursuit before someone is injured.

“Police are at the junction just south of the Seminole Trail exit, where northbound I-Seventy-five narrows to two lanes. That's where they'll roll out the spike strip, right into the path of that fleeing SUV, and we've seen what that can do, folks. Those spikes will instantly blow out the suspect's tires, ending this pursuit. Amazing no one
has been injured yet. This is gonna be a sight to see. We're staying with it, Alex.”

“Shit. No exit between here and there.” Amid the heat of the chase, Keppie's words were cold, her voice oddly calm.

Helpless, my heart racing, I considered trying to force her to a stop, but struggling for both the wheel and the gun was suicidal at these speeds. I couldn't control both her and the car. Time, the enemy, accelerated faster and faster, like an amusement park ride run amok.

Joey's sobs had stopped. His pinched face was chalk white.

As the SUV ate up the highway, we saw the roadblock, ahead, where the pavement narrowed and jogged to the right. Other motorists were being waved off to the side. I had seen spikes used in Miami. Police roll the eighteen-foot strip across the road and block the shoulders with vehicles. The fleeing car is channeled across the spikes and disabled, a quick and easy stop to a high-speed chase. Cops snatch the strip out of the road before pursuers run over it.

Two cars blockaded the right-hand shoulder. Another was positioned at the edge of the wide median to the left. The low, sloping, grassy area beyond it was bordered by soft shoulders, too wide to block completely. No place to go except straight over the spikes. How far, I wondered, could she drive on rims?

“Here they come, Alex!” bleated the radio voice. “The end of the road for this fleeing driver!”

I expected Keppie to slow down, but she never took her foot off the gas. We roared directly toward the spikes. Four cops scrambled for cover in case she spun out of control. At the last moment she wrenched the wheel to the left, off the road, directly at the cops. The torque snapped my head back and Joey started to scream. A deputy crouching at the roadside dove and rolled to escape being hit as we veered past his patrol car onto the soft
median, wildly spinning tires spitting grass and mud high in the air. The four-wheel drive kicked in as we slid, tires fighting for purchase. Lost traction slowed us down to twenty miles an hour, and I breathed again. Two officers came running, guns drawn, but Keppie spun the wheel and we were back up on the highway before they reached us. They scattered again as the county car and the FHP cruiser skidded toward the spike strip, brakes screaming. One spun twice, ran over it, and slammed into the two county cars positioned on the shoulder.

“Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh!” the traffic reporter was screaming. “Un-believable! Alex, the SUV managed to swerve onto the median and avoid the strip. But hoooo-weee! An FHP and a deputy's car ran right into it. One of 'em has struck two other county sheriff's cars. They could see the strip, Alex, but couldn't stop in time. The officer assigned to remove it from the roadway apparently had to abandon his post and run for cover when the fleeing driver nearly ran him down.”

“Any injuries, Maynard?”

“Not clear at this time, Alex. The third pursuit car did avoid the spikes by following the suspect onto the median but appears to be stuck there in the soft grass. The SUV made it back to the road and is still on the run. I tell you, Alex, this is one for the books.”

We continued to race the copter's shadow north as Keppie crowed in jubilation and Joey screamed for his mother.

“I'll bounce that brat right down on the pavement head first, he don't quit that yelling!” Keppie shouted.

“Joey, Joey, Joey. Hush, sweet boy. Hush, it's okay. Isn't this fun!” My voice shook. “Like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disney. Be quiet now, sweetheart.” I reached over the seat to try to soothe him. “It's okay.”

Face wet, nose running, he choked back the sobs but continued to make a soft, one-note moaning sound.

The chopper still hovered over us, and somewhere far behind another siren wailed.

“Can you tell us what's happening out there now, Maynard?”

“The suspect's black SUV is continuing to travel northbound at a high rate—”

“Gotta take a break now, Maynard. Folks, we'll return to our bird's-eye account of this live police chase, in the aftermath of a serious accident, following these messages.”

Keppie suddenly left the highway during the commercial, kicking up a cloud of dust before turning onto a narrow road into a wooded area. Pines and oaks towered around us, branches embracing overhead in a natural fretwork of boughs, leaves, and pine needles. We still heard the chopper but couldn't see it through the trees.

We were somewhere near Ocala National Forest. Was this it? The one-lane roadway curved, then ran alongside the main road we had come in on.

Obviously familiar with the area, Keppie drove off the road, taking a trail used by hunters and campers on all-terrain vehicles. It led into dense woods. Gold and green leaves and branches slapped and scraped our windows. Joey was quiet again. Hoping he was asleep, I looked back. Eyes wide in the dim light, he was sucking his thumb. I hadn't seen him do that before. If I thought it might settle my nerves, I'd try it myself. I loosened, my seat belt as the SUV lumbered through the woods.

“Whatchu doing?” Keppie demanded.

“Looking for his Beanie Baby, his little Scottie.” I plucked it off the floor in the back and placed it in his hands. “Here you go, Joey.”

“Thank you,” he murmured faintly. “Want some juice now, please.”

“Not right now, honey.”

The weather, “hot and muggy,” followed noisy commercials for Piggly Wiggly Markets and an automobile dealership; then the annoyingly cheerful Alex returned.

“Okay, back to Maynard Swan, our traffic spy in the
sky. How goes it? What's the situation out there now, Maynard?” Ear-splitting bursts of static followed.

“Are you there? Maynard?”

“Alex, can you hear me? The suspect crossed the county line, then exited I-Seventy-five, taking off into the woods, near Camp Town Trail, apparently still headed north. We can't see the SUV at this point but we're over Camp Town Trail waiting for it to emerge back onto the roadway.”

They watched north-south, as we crunched east through the underbrush. What would happen when these dense woods became impassable even for this vehicle? Drained, my knees shook. We would have, should have, been in police hands by now. I cursed the reporter for screwing up a police operation, aware of the irony. At least we were still alive. So far.

“Can you clear this up for us, Maynard? How does this pursuit relate to that serious car and truck accident out there at the exit? Or is it linked at all?”

“Not absolutely clear at this point, Alex.”

“Sure, blame the wreck on us too,” Keppie said derisively.

“We'll be coming in to refuel shortly and be back in the air for rush hour this afternoon. Just stay tuned to Nine-fifty on your dial, WSTR. We'll get you home safely. Back to you, Alex.”

“Thanks, Maynard, for keeping us posted on all the action out there on our highways and byways. Now let's have a look at the national news. A House-Senate committee today—”

Keppie cut off the radio. The SUV pressed through the foliage like a huge animal. We saw no one, but there was evidence of campsites used by weekend hunters and hikers, even a few small cabins, unused this time of year because of the heat and unbearable mosquitoes. After nearly two hours, we stopped in a small clearing. Joey was asleep. I envied him. The engine idling, Keppie sipped
tequila, stretched, rolled her head, and rotated her shoulders.

“Well, how'd I do?” she asked, her smile arch.

“Outfoxed 'em again,” I acknowledged. “Were you scared? I was.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nah, I was too damn busy.”

“Did—”

“Shhhhhh.” She raised her hand, eyes half closed as though listening.

I heard nothing.

“Okay,” she murmured softly and nudged the gas. We emerged from the brush into brilliant sunlight and a four-lane highway. She glanced both ways, then barreled across all four lanes into the woods on the far side. Trees closed in behind us, blocking out the familiar sights and sounds of civilization. In seconds we were safely swallowed up by the forest. We had not seen a single vehicle.

“While we talked, you were listening for a break in traffic so we could cross without being seen,” I said. “Amazing. I never heard a sound.”

She shrugged. “You didn't know the road was there. I grew up in this kinda country, been in and outa here lotsa times before. Never could've done it without this here veehicle.” She patted the walnut-accented dashboard fondly, the first time I had seen her demonstrate affection for anything.

She appeared to meander aimlessly across dirt paths and trails, knowing all the while exactly where she was and where she was going.

“Here we are,” she announced, an hour later, as she stopped in a small clearing at the foot of two giant live oaks.

“Where?” I asked.

“Home. Don't wanna take the car out there for a while. It's too risky.”

Joey stirred in the back. “I have to go pee-pee,” he said.

Keppie nodded. I got out and unbuckled his car seat.

“Come on,” I told him.

“Be careful out there,” Keppie teased. “There's black bears in these woods, and snakes, maybe even a mountain lion.”

“It's okay,” I whispered, as he clung tightly to my hand.

An unfamiliar yet strong emotion overtook me. I could hang tough myself, but I had neglected to childproof my heart.

Kneeling in the pine needles, I hugged him. “Everything will be all right,” I promised. He hugged back, his little body warm and soft against me, his brown eyes trusting. Each of us was all the other had. In this beautiful but desolate place, there was no chance on earth that Ojeda, the cops, or a rescue team from
America's Most Wanted
was suddenly going to appear. Nobody would find us here.

The woods were silent except for bird songs, the buzz of insects, and the occasional rumble of a distant jet. If this was the Ocala National Forest, a park ranger might stumble upon us. I rehearsed a plan: scream a warning, snatch up Joey, dash for cover in the woods. But rangers work alone. What if Keppie killed him or her? She would hunt us down. She knew where we were. I didn't even know which way to run. How fast could I go with Joey? How far were we from the safety of other people? I felt helpless. I could take chances, but I couldn't endanger him.

I brushed a mosquito from his cheek and smoothed his hair as we walked back to the car. That was when he began calling me by name.

 

“You mean you want to sleep out here tonight?” I complained. “Why not go back to one of those cabins we saw? It shouldn't be hard to get inside.”

Keppie tossed her head. “This is the place. We stay in the car.”

“What about food…water?”

She shrugged. “A little stream runs back behind those trees. We can wash up and get water there.”

“Is it safe to drink?”

“Safer than getting shot.”

We had a small cardboard carton of Animal Crackers the motel manager had given Joey, a few cellophane-wrapped Saltines, and two unopened bottles of tequila along with the one Keppie was drinking.