took. And then the other Bo was back, voice rising in intensity, becoming loud and rapid fire. “I don’t know, Nick! I don’t know! I think in a fair fight, you’d beat that Reacher guy. Really do!” looking down and shaking his head.
I laughed, “Yeah, but…”
“But Reacher, hey, he don’t fight fair, Nick. You’d have to watch your back! Mean right hook, Nick. Really mean!”
Bo winked and closed the door.
Settling into the Vic, “What do we do with this thing, Nick?”
“Safe deposit box would be my guess.”
Turning the key, the Vic rumbled awake. We headed toward city center. Never got there.
A white Honda tailed us out of town, onto 101. Learned a long time ago to watch the rear view mirror and something sparked in my brain. Gray hair and a hoodie behind the wheel of the Civic. A little tickle in the pit of my stomach.
“Sal, I think we got company.”
The big man turned in his seat, peered out the rear window. “Lose him or confront him? Whatcha think?”
“Let’s see how serious he is, first.” I pressed the accelerator and the Vic lurched forward, side exhaust grumbling in pleasure. The Honda was hard pressed to keep up, but the driver tried, his grille maybe 40 feet off my rear bumper.
Through the light where the four-lane turned to two and a couple of miscellaneous cars in front. No sweat. I pressed down harder and the Vic kicked down two gears. I crossed the yellow line to pass the first car ahead and stayed in the oncoming lane til I’d passed the second. No oncoming traffic so the Honda followed, even though it was falling behind.
“Get a license number.”
Sal turned, squinted and twisted back to forward muttering letters and numbers to himself.
“Glove box,” I said.
Sal popped it open, pulled out a pen and wrote the license designation on his hand. The Honda continued to fall behind. The Vic hit 90. Easy as pie.
“Got it.”
“Then hang on.” Pushed the pedal to the floor. The Vic topped 130 in an eye blink. Edged up to 140. Nothing ahead, only the Honda behind and falling back fast. I kept the CV hovering at that speed until we reached the side road to the Bandon airport. Slammed on the brakes, spun the wheel, released the brakes and was quickly facing the opposite direction. Jamming the pedal back to the floor, I raced toward the Honda. Speedo topping 130 once again. The Honda’s grille suddenly pointed to the pavement. The driver slamming on the brakes, rubber burning, when seeing the flames coming toward him. Side window skittered down and an arm thrust out. Silver semi-auto gripped tightly. I reached behind my back, pulled the Magnum from its holster, slammed the window-down button and shoved my hand into the onrushing wind.
Three shots from the silver semi, none causing damage. Like knights in a joust, we were aimed at each other, arms extended through our respective windows. Guns instead of lances. The Magnum roared five times. The Honda’s windshield shattered on the passenger side. In less than a few seconds, the two cars passed each other in opposite directions. I slammed the shift lever into third. Vickies’s engine spinning up. Tach hitting 5500 rpms, but the car slowed quickly to 80. A quick stab at the brakes, wheel cranked to the left, perfect sliding U turn with the rear end slewing, nose once again aimed south.
The Honda was a good half mile ahead, but the CV closed the distance quickly, again burying the speedo past 140. The white Civic swerved around a slow moving truck, barreling at 100-plus into the oncoming traffic, missing a motorhome by inches before returning to the southbound lane. I smashed my hand onto the switch for the under-carriage lights. The grille of the CV started glowing blue then flashed on and off in a quick sequence. Illegal, but so cool at night.
Seeing the blue lights, traffic moved to the side as the Vic roared past, exhaust rattling house windows as we passed. The Honda was in sight and getting closer. Fast.
Until a girl on a scooter decided to cross 101.
Slamming on the brakes, the Vic shuddered. Smoke from locked up tires billowed through my open window. We stopped 10 feet in front of her. She never knew how close she’d come to being road-kill crow bait.
Sal and I watched the Honda disappear over a crest in the highway. The girl on the scooter smiled sweetly and waved as she crossed the highway.
Sal, who had been leaning against the door, feet planted on the floor, turned to look at me. “Well, that was exciting. Care for some sky diving without a parachute?”
“I’ve told you to wear your seat belt, haven’t I?”
“You don’t.”
“touché.”
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket.
Flipping it open, “Drago.”
It was Forte. He was talking fast. “Holy samoli, Nick. Was that you who blasted through town at 100 miles an hour? Don’t deny it. Everyone knows your car.”
“130. Maybe a bit more.”
I hit the speaker button.
“What the hell are you doing? You scared the living crap out of the mayor, and the guys at the Quick Lube thought they were under jet fighter attack! That damn side exhaust…”
“Got lots to tell you, Chief. We’ll stop by in a minute.”
“Christ, Nick, don’t make it a minute. Make it 15. That way I’ll know you rolled into town at the speed limit.”
“That’s what I’m doing right now,” I said, looking down the speedometer and lifting my foot to let the needle wind down from 80.
Forte let out a long breath. “FYI, the mayor was in the pickup you passed at 130 plus a bit. She’s already read me the riot act. Can’t wait to hear what she has to say to you.”
“She’s a nice lady. Good upbringing. Great personality. Not a mean bone in her body.”
“Ha.” Forte disconnected.
By the time Sal and I stopped at the bank, put the gold ball in my deposit box and made a quick run through the coffee kiosk, Forte was calmer. When we entered his office, he pointed at a couple of chairs. Sal and I each slumped into one and I put my feet on his desk.
“Hi Chief,” Sal said.
“Mr. Rand. So nice to see you. And the asshole you’re with is…?”
I leaned across the desk and put my hand out. “Drago. Nick Drago.”
Forte bump fisted me and leaned back grinning. “You guys are a menace. Whatcha got?”
We filled the Chief in on the assay, the Honda and my putting
