Sins of the Father (14 page)

Suddenly there was a sharp rapping on the driver’s side window. An instinctive jolt of fear shot through his entire body.

It was the mom-jeans lady, gesturing with her pudgy, pink, manicured hand, demanding that he roll down the window.

Peter complied.

“What the hell do you think you’re—” she began.

“Look, lady,” he said. “You need to get out of here. It’s not safe…”

“You’re damned
right
it isn’t safe!” she snapped, crossing her arms. “Driving like a maniac—what’s the matter with you? There are children around here!”

“Please,” Peter said, hands up. “Please, just
go
. You’re gonna get hurt!”

“Are you threatening me?” she asked, raising a pencil-thin eyebrow. “I ought to call the cops. I wrote down your license number, you know.” She frowned, looking him up and down. “Why are you all wet?”

The flat crack of a gunshot echoed through the lot, and the mom jeans lady staggered against the car door clutching at the side of her neck, where a fountain of blood appeared. She turned to Peter with a baffled, almost offended look, as if she couldn’t believe something like this was happening.

And then she dropped to the asphalt.

Doctor Lachaux let out a strangled cry, but Peter didn’t have time even to look.

In front of them, the gunshot startled the old woman into gunning the giant whale of a car. The behemoth lurched forward with a throaty roar and plowed into a sub-compact, allowing Peter just enough space to squeeze the little coupe through the gap without losing too much paint. Not that he cared, since it wasn’t his car. But it seemed a shame to mess up such a classic ride.

Behind him, the bad-guy car tried to follow and slammed into the old woman’s boat. It was a little bit too big to fit through the gap, and lost a headlight. The thug was forced to reverse out of the aisle, giving Peter a narrow but precious lead as he floored the gas and sped toward the nearest exit.

As he hit the street, the area around the mall was so generic that he couldn’t tell if it was one he’d been on before, or if it just
seemed
familiar because all the streets looked the same. He was hoping to find his way to the highway, or get lost in some residential side streets, but he couldn’t seem to find a clear path. He took several turns at random, yet the black car picked up his trail again, pulling to within barely a half a block of them.

Glancing at the passenger seat, he saw that Doctor Lachaux had gone stiff and glassy-eyed, staring at nothing.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder as his glance flicked up to the thug car in the rearview mirror. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond. He thought he noticed something strange, an inexplicable iridescence flickering in the air just outside her window, but his attention was abruptly diverted as her eyes rolled up and her body was wracked with a short burst of jerky, twitching movement.

A seizure of some sort.

“Aw, man,” he said, looking back up at the pursuers. “No, not now!”

He had no idea what to do to help her, other than a vague notion that maybe he should put something in her mouth so she wouldn’t swallow her tongue. But even if it was the right thing to do, it wasn’t going to happen, given the circumstances.

He needed some kind of clever plan, and he needed it five minutes ago.

At the far end of the block he spotted the giant, anthropomorphic Boston terrier on the roof of a Butchie Burger franchise. Below that familiar black-and-white dog holding its gargantuan hamburger stood something else that was also black-and-white.

A police prowler, pulling into the drive-thru.

He almost missed it as it turned the corner, moving around to the other side of the building, disappearing from view. With any luck, the goons in the bad-guy car hadn’t seen it at all.

Before it could sink in that this was a really terrible plan, Peter swerved into the restaurant parking lot, braking just enough to make sure the thugs were able to catch up.

Beside him, Doctor Lachaux straightened up in her seat, and started looking around like a kid who had fallen asleep on a long road trip.

“What… where are we…?” she started to ask, but the rest of her sentence was lost in a quick, breathless gasp as Peter punched the gas, causing the reluctant coupe to rocket forward into the drive-thru lane.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she gasped. “I’m used to it.”

“Want anything?” Peter said as they squealed around the corner of the building. “Maybe a Butchie shake?”

“Are you
insane
?” she asked.

“Probably,” he said, sailing past the intercom and flying up behind the prowler at the window. “Hold on.”

To the right of the drive-thru lane was a narrow strip of dirt with some patchy grass, struggling flowers, and a few crumpled burger wrappers. Beyond that stood a cement-block wall. Peter eyeballed the width of the strip, and desperately hoped the little coupe would fit between the wall and the police cruiser.

Only one way to find out…

Scant seconds before rear-ending the police prowler, Peter wrenched the wheel to the right. The wheels rode up along the curb that separated the dirt from the pavement, and there was a terrible grinding sound as the right side of the car struck sparks against the cement-block wall.

Doctor Lachaux curled up in her seat with her arms over her head, as if she was expecting to crash and die at any moment. Peter probably would have been doing the same thing, if he weren’t driving. He fought the urge as he barely squeaked past the prowler’s right front corner, and bumped back into the drive-thru lane ahead of it.

An emo teen with too much eye makeup was handing the cop behind the wheel a black-and-white Butchie shake. The cop dropped it onto the pavement, sending it splashing everywhere, and goosed the siren. Lights pulsed to life across the roof.

The black sedan came screaming around the corner, way too fast. The thug behind the wheel stomped on the breaks, but it wasn’t enough to prevent him from rear-ending the prowler with a loud
crunch
.

Officer Not-So-Friendly was out of his car in a heartbeat, with his gun drawn.

Peter grinned as he sped away, victorious. He hung a sharp right and slowed down to a reasonable speed, sliding into a residential area. He took a moment to catch his breath before he spoke.

“Okay,” he said, causing Doctor Lachaux to jump nervously at the sound. “It’s time to get a few things straight. You first. Who the hell
were
those guys?”

Doctor Lachaux slowly uncurled her trembling body, like a reluctant snail coming out of its shell, peering around to make sure the coast was clear. It was a long moment before she spoke.

“Well,” she said. “It’s kind of a long story. You see…”

There was a bang, and a nasty jolt through Peter’s spine as they were rear-ended by a large black pickup truck.

Peter shot a look into the rearview mirror at the pursuing truck. Behind the wheel was the big blond from the hotel. In the crazy chaos of trying to get away from his two buddies, Peter had forgotten all about the guy. He had a smear of something on his forehead, a strange silver liquid that seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Then the pickup slammed them again from behind, shoving the little coupe forward and pushing all other thoughts out of Peter’s head. It would be no problem for the larger, heavier vehicle to push them off the road, and even to crush the coupe like a tin can. But the driver looked as if he was having fun messing with them.

Peter’s clever-plan reservoir was running on empty. He was tired of the breakneck madness that had taken over his life, turning it into one crazy chase scene after another. Suddenly he had the feeling he knew what an Antarctic explorer might experience, in the moments before he froze to death. The sense that it would be a good idea to lie down for a nap in a comfy snow bank.

How much easier it would be just to give up.

But he didn’t have any such option—he wasn’t alone in the car. In fact, he’d put himself in a situation he’d successfully avoided for years. Peter wasn’t a hero by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t willing to let Doctor Lachaux die just because he was tired of running.

No, he needed to dig deep, and figure a way out.

To buy some time, he swerved into the parking lot of a supermarket. It wasn’t large, and was less than half full.

Thin cover again, among the scattered suburban vehicles.

The pickup stuck right behind them.

Up ahead, he saw a large delivery truck about to ease into a loading bay along one side of the building. It had a large cupcake painted on the side, with a bite out of it to show the creamy filling. The driver was being cautious in the narrow space between the building and an adjoining cinder-block wall.

Suddenly, he had a decision to make, and quickly.

Option A: he could cut left, try to make it to the far aisle, and back out the way they’d come in, all before the pickup could cut them off. Option B: he could gun it down the side of the building. If he was fast enough, he might make it past the truck, just in time for it to block their pursuer.

Maybe.

Or maybe not. No time to think. He had to commit.

He gunned it toward option B.

“What are you…?” Doctor Lachaux braced herself, eyes wide. “Oh, my God!”

Peter swerved at the last second, squeezing the little coupe through the swiftly closing gap between the loading bay and the rear of the snack cake truck. He was nearly through when the rear corner of the truck smacked into the right rear corner of the coupe, sending the lightweight car skewing off to the side, toward the wall.

The truck driver laid on the horn, waving an angry fist, but Peter barely noticed. He managed to miss the wall by inches, but there was no time to celebrate before he was confronted with another one, directly in his path.

Crap…

It was a cul-de-sac.

A dead end.

Damn!
He’d been sure that he’d seen a driveway on the far side of the supermarket, but somehow it had vanished.
Wishful thinking, or maybe just sheer stupidity.
It didn’t matter now. He had been dead wrong—obviously, since they were now trapped. The only upside to the situation was that the blond thug wasn’t able to get to them—not unless he decided to get out of his pickup and crawl under the delivery truck.

Peter wouldn’t put it past him. So they couldn’t just sit there—they had to keep moving.

Like it or not, they were going to have to ditch the coupe and continue on foot.

“Come on,” Peter said, climbing out of the battered car and running around to open the passenger door. He offered his hand to Doctor Lachaux. “
Hurry
.”

She seemed to steel herself, then grabbed his hand and pulled herself out.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked.

Before he had a chance to answer, a bullet ricocheted off the wall beside them, hitting the coupe’s rear tire and puncturing it with a
bang
.

“
Run!
” Peter cried as another shot hit the wall, showering them with stinging debris. He shoved her toward the loading dock.

Spurred forward by bullets, they bolted.

The loading dock was about waist-high to Peter, and the steps were on the other side, blocked by the body of the truck. He could see the blond thug crouching there, gun hand extended beneath the chassis to take shots at their running legs. There was no time to lose.

“Sorry,” Peter said. “What…?”

He grabbed Doctor Lachaux’s ass and awkwardly shoved her upward onto the dock. She made a funny little squawking sound, feet flying as she sprawled across the surface in a splayed and undignified position. He avoided looking up her skirt, instead concentrating on hauling his own body up and not getting shot.

By the time he was beside her, she was on her feet, hauling the twisted hem of the damp skirt down to cover her thighs. There was a befuddled stock boy standing in the open bay door, staring at the two of them as if they’d just stepped out of a UFO.