Driven

by Robert J. Crane

  “We need to move,” Angel said, watching Abdi floor it toward the end of the parking lot.

  “I need to get my stuff out of the Corvette first,” I said, heading for the side of the building, circling toward the flames that were now flickering in the night, casting the sky in a potent orange.

  Angel followed behind me as we ducked for cover along the side wall. I heard something moving from inside the station, and we both hurried to the side, hiding behind the edge of the station.

  Loud voices speaking Spanish hit open air just as Abdi was sliding onto the road in an unannounced right-hand turn that had some serious drift to it. If I’d been in the car, I’d have cautioned him to get his tires changed soon, because based on the amount of rubber he was burning, he was heading for a serious blowout.

  Abdi, though, with other things on his mind—like escaping the scene of his workplace exploding thanks to a bunch of crazy ladies with superpowers—zoomed down the street, and a second later, both our pursuers went bolting past, smelling of smoke and shouting furiously into the night.

  Angel held up a finger as they ran on, then motioned that we should circle back around the other side of the building. Silently, we did so, as our two banditos ran after Abdi on foot, pretty damned fast. They might actually catch him at some point, too, if not for the fact Abdi was terrified and probably driving sixty miles an hour on surface roads with a speed limit of thirty. I could hear them screaming at him in Spanish.

  We eased back along the shadowy rear of the station, past the door where we’d escaped, and then around the corner. We had a clear pass here, the fire ahead, but blocked by the awning, which acted as a shield, and beyond it, the street, where the ruin of the Corvette waited.

  I went at a sprint and lifted the half of the car nearest me to find my bag, still whole and undamaged, though marred by charring along one side. I slung it over my shoulder and listened; sirens were ringing in the distance, of course. The soundtrack of my life.

  “We need to get out of here,” Angel said, echoing my exact thoughts.

  “Yeah,” I said, motioning her forward. Now that I was looking, I kinda recognized where we were. “Got any ideas about that?”

  Angel shook her head. “This isn’t my territory. My only safe house in the city is about twenty miles west of here, way out in the sticks.”

  I gave that a thought as I ran, along the street, toward a nearby fence and hopped it with ease. She followed along behind, and now we were under the temporary cover provided by the back yards in this area. Lots of old, mature trees, and shadows. If we could keep it quiet, we could probably traverse backyards without arousing suspicion. “I might know a place we can lay low for a little bit. It’s about … six blocks away? Something like that.”

  Her eyes flashed in someone’s back porch light as we cross a pinecone strewn backyard that was way overgrown. “Lead on,” she said, and, bag on my shoulder, I did just that.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Crawling through overgrown backyards in South Minneapolis in the waning hours of night was not my idea of a grand time. Here I was nonetheless, duffel bag on my back, hopping fences and crossing lawns that varied in neatness from “perfect ten” to “needs a team of gardeners to work from sunup to sundown, plus a tank of weedkiller and maybe a little scourging fire.” At every fence we’d have to look at least two yards ahead for dogs, which was easy when the fences were chain link and much, much harder when they were wood.

  I paused at a chain link fence, a full yard over from one of wood planks that extended six feet or so in height, listening. For dogs, for someone sleeping in a hammock—for anything that had the potential to ruin my night.

  “Hear anything?” Angel asked, meta-low.

  A dog lit off into a series of furious barks ahead. “Yep,” I returned, just as quietly. This was the advantage of being a meta; we probably would have heard the dog breathing before crossing the fence. This, though not quite as desirable an outcome, also worked. We turned to our left, jumping the chain-link fence and passing a dilapidated garage into an alley that demarcated the block.

  “Where are we going?” Angel asked, as we jumped into a yard across the alley from the dog, who was going nuts, barking in our direction through the two fences between us.

  “About three more blocks this way,” I said, “I think.”

  “You think?” The skepticism was obvious in Angel’s voice, though I didn’t bother to turn to see her face, being a little too busy watching the darkened, curtained windows of the house whose yard we were crossing. Any sign of light and we’d need to freeze. Picking our way through the grass was relatively quiet work, but motion tended to draw the eye, and we needed eyes on us like we needed more kicks to the ass.

  And given that our current enemy fought with her laser eyes … eyes were definitely bad, especially at the moment.

  “It’s not like I usually take shortcuts through the gardens,” I said, keeping my voice in that sweet spot where I couldn’t really be heard. “This isn’t an Edgar Wright movie; I mostly use roads, like a normal person, so this is kinda new to me.”

  “Great,” Angel muttered, but she didn’t offer any helpful suggestions for other courses of action, so on we went.

  “Who is Laser Eyes and her sidekick? Miguel, I think you called him?” Might as well take advantage of this dog-free yard to get some info, I figured, listening to see if a pup went off in the next yard from our meta-low chatter. They were damned sure the only ones who’d be able to hear us talking like this.

  “I’ve read about them,” Angel said tautly. “Miguel is Adoncia’s bodyguard.” She paused. “The meta powers are a new-ish thing for both of them, from what I read—which are intel reports from DEA.” I could almost hear her blush without looking at her. “I, uh … kinda have J.J. pass me a few things under the table to keep apprised. Adoncia is the boss. The big boss of the entire Tamaulipas Cartel.”

  I frowned, pausing next to another wooden fence, this one decaying with age and lack of upkeep. “What? Why is a cartel kingpin—queenpin, if that’s a thing—in Minneapolis, chasing after us?”

  “I think she’s mostly after Miranda,” Angel said, “but killing us would probably be a nice fringe benefit. And I don’t know why she’s here herself. But in fairness, the Tamaulipas Cartel is relatively small compared to the Gulf or Sinaloa Cartels. Not exactly a huge operation. Or at least it wasn’t.” She shrugged. “Maybe things have changed.”

  “With their boss in the field chasing down their targets?” I asked, and leapt over the fence, satisfied there was no dog waiting on the other side. Angel followed a second later, landing quietly in the grass. “Doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Adoncia is a hands-on kind of gal,” Angel said as we made our way under trees through another backyard. I was avoiding fallen leaves like mad, trying to avoid producing so much as a crunch in the night. “I’m sure she’s killed people before, but I think it’s usually been in a—you know, torture chamber kind of environment. She had thugs to handle the chase downs and whatever else.”

  “If her powers are new,” I said, “then maybe the reason she’s out in the field is because she has the ability to, now.”

  “Maybe,” Angel said. “But the thing I wonder—how’d she get the powers?”

  I didn’t look back. “Given everything we’ve seen the last few years … that question kind of answers itself, y’know?”

  Angel stiffened as we reached the next fence, pausing next to me before we each hopped the chain-link, waist-high barrier. “The Revelen serum,” she said as we came down.

  “Exactamundo,” I said, stealing a glance toward the back of the house whose yard we were crossing. This was the end of the block, and ahead was a row of trees where hedges had grown into the fence, blocking our passage forward and our view of much beyond.

  “How do you think she got her hands on it, though?” Angel asked as we paused next to the trunk of a large elm. I was scanning ahead, trying to figure out where to go nex
t. I saw a gate to our left, just on the side of the house, and it seemed the most logical egress point to get us out of the yard. Downside? It was facing the street, but since this was the corner, we were heading into a street either way. I couldn’t hear cars coming in either direction, so at least things were relatively calm tonight.

  “I met a guy last year named Caden Sims who’d gotten his hands on a vial,” I said. “My guess is that there’s enough floating around out there at this point that anyone well-connected could get some if they were of a mind to. You guys must have seized tons of it when you busted up the ring last year, after all.” Another thought occurred. “Hell, for all we know, Vlad and his cronies used this Cartel to help set up their distribution network in the US. Why not go to people with experience moving contraband? It’s not like they were operating legally anyhow.”

  “You have a point,” Angel said as we paused next to the gate. She listened, as did I, and when we heard nothing from the street on the other side, she nodded that she was going first, and I let her, shading myself next to a tree as she jumped the fence.

  A light popped on from the side of the house, and I looked up. I could see it from where I was hunkered in the tree’s shadow; it was a double floodlight with a motion sensor, and Angel had tripped it when she’d landed on the other side.

  “Calmly walk toward the sidewalk,” I said, meta-low, “like you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”

  I didn’t hear her reply, but I did hear her walk off calmly, feet crunching on the grass, and I moved over to the overgrown fence row. The sound of someone moving in the house made its way faintly to my ears, and I picked up the pace, seeking a small space between two trees where I could hurdle over the fence.

  The door at the front of the house opened, loudly in a squeal of hinges and click of locks, and a rough, deep, male voice shouted, “Who’s out there?” He did not sound pleased.

  Taking advantage of the fact I was out of sight of the front of that house, I found my exit from the yard, leaping between two trees, and came down a little roughly on a broken patch of sidewalk.

  “Who is that?” The guy shouted from around the corner. “What are you doing?”

  “Just out for a walk, man,” Angel said, looking over her shoulder. She was about twenty, thirty feet down the sidewalk from me, in clear view of him. She was looking back, holding up her hands to show she didn’t have anything.

  “You liar,” the guy said, “I’m calling the cops.” And he shut his front door.

  “Better move,” I said, noting a few faces at windows peering out from the houses across the street. “But calmly until we’re out of sight, cuz there are an awful lot of people watching, and probably wondering what the hell’s going on.”

  “I’m wondering what the hell’s going on,” Angel said, joining me as I crossed the street, trying to keep the tree-girded backyard between us and the house of Mr. “I’m Calling the Cops on You For Nothing!”

  “It’s pretty simple, really,” I said, shouldering my bag, which was probably not helping us in the realm of staying inconspicuous, given that it was taller than I was. “You’re fleeing from the scene of a crime with an international fugitive. Let the good times roll.”

  “Two crime scenes, actually,” Angel said. “I stole that Corvette, after all.”

  “Probably pretty tame compared to getting it destroyed by a lady with laser eyes, though. I really was all set to call her ‘Lady Laser Eyes.’ ‘Adoncia’ seems very much a come-down after that.”

  “You could call her ‘Adoncia Laser-Eyes,’” Angel said.

  “Cool. Let’s do that.” And I hurried down the street until I could no longer see people staring out their windows at us, then crossed into the darkness of another backyard as the wail of sirens grew closer behind us.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “So … Adoncia Laser-Eyes,” I said. “Why’s she after Miranda?”

  We were crossing a hedge onto a familiar street. I could see the sign up ahead for Hamilton Avenue. Five or so backyards before we reached the target, which I knew from experience, would be plenty secluded and a decent spot to lay low for a short while.

  “I’m not sure I can explain it to you … “ Angel said, staring at me, eyes slightly wide. “There was an incident … a few years back where she—we—crossed the Tamaulipas Cartel. I’ve assumed they might have carried a grudge because of, uh … stuff … that happened back then.”

  “How delightfully vague,” I said, pausing to listen. The moon was high overhead, sweat dripping its way down my body from the June heat of evening. It had been a warm day already. “You going to keep me in the dark or do some ‘splainin’, Lucy?”

  Angel snickered, though she didn’t look much relieved. More tense, which was probably understandable given that we were being chased across the city by a lady with laser eyes. “I … I will explain everything. I’m not trying to keep you in the dark, it’s just … “ She shook her head. “It’s a long story. Lots of moving parts to it.” A little reserve cropped up on her face, highlighted by moonlight shining down from above. “Gimme a little time to figure out how to … tell it, because … uh … it’s complicated.”

  “I hope you find a way to tell it soon,” I said. “I do like to know the reason why I’m being hunted by random murderous metas. Something to do with being able to explain the cause I’m dying for, you understand.”

  Ehh, who was I kidding? I was always throwing myself into danger for strangers, regardless of whether I fully understood why or not. Still, it was nice to be aware of the nutcase reason I was getting myself in trouble up to the neck.

  “We caused the cartel a headache or twelve last time we crossed paths,” Angel said, a little reluctantly and not really answering what she and Miranda had done to piss them off. Still, it seemed the best I could expect as we crouched and ran over a nice little patio deck complete with a bricked-in barbecue chimney. This one had a floodlight shining off the back of the house, the beams of which we dodged by hiding behind the chimney for cover for a minute as I kept watch on the windows for curtain movement. When there was none after a short interval, we moved on. Three or so yards to go.

  “Way to go, guys,” I said, and when Angel frowned at me: “I cause headaches for assholes everywhere I go, so I always appreciate the efforts of others in that regard. Still … I’m very curious about the specifics of what you did.”

  “Yeah, well … “ Angel said. She was clearly struggling with whatever was in her head about this. “I guess it’s hard to understand if you weren’t there.” Her voice sounded a little husky, like she had something stuck in her throat. I tried to chalk it up to—well, the extreme circumstances we were under. Most people didn’t live like a fugitive every day, after all.

  Angel was getting a little out of breath, huffing as she paused. Then she executed another perfect leap into the next yard, but hit a fallen leaf when she landed. It made a hearty crunch, and I waited a second before jumping after her. I hit one, too, and sat there cringing, frozen in the darkness as I listened for signs that we’d been heard.

  Thirty seconds later, nothing, so we moved on. Two yards to go.

  “Like a cat, I’m waiting on that yarn,” I said, leaping a wooden fence. We found ourselves in another secluded back yard, this one backing to a white, single story house that was nicely kept, though the paneling in the back was looking like it needed replacement.

  “And like a dog, I’m waiting to see where we end up after this long jaunt,” Angel replied a couple seconds later, still trying to catch her breath.

  “Come on, one more leap,” I said, and we hurried across the yard to a high fence that looked a little ratty closer toward the house, the planks shriveled up from fire damage.

  I jumped without looking, knowing about where I’d land, and when I hit the ground I was not disappointed. The yard was indeed clear all the way to the back patio, which led up to a burnt, collapsed ruin of a house, wooden timbers sticking
up like bones from the earth. The backyard was well-shrouded with overgrown lawn and vegetation, completely encircling the high fence. It was a nice, secluded hiding spot, shielded from the world by the burnt wreck, and the tattered remains of the fence that had hemmed in the backyard from the front, though much of the facings to the street had been removed by the fire department to keep it from going up with the house.

  “Oh, wow,” Angel said. “Welcome home, I guess.”

  “I’m not expecting much of a party,” I said grimly, looking at the burnt remainder of my childhood home. I let my gaze wander, searching for a triad of trees in the corner of the yard, all of which sprang out in different directions. The tall, old trees sheltered the yard from the stars and sky, and also provided a nice place to hide in case a cop car came rolling by with a spotlight, shining it into the yard now that the fence along the front and sides of the house was mostly gone. “Come over here.” And I led her over to the little triangle of trees, slinging off my bag quietly as I sat, back against one of the pines.

  “Surprised you brought us here,” she said, looking around like cops were going to come charging in any second. “Won’t this be the first place they look for you?”

  “I don’t think they’re going to be looking for me,” I said, settling back against the trunk and unzipping my bag slowly. There were a couple bottles of water in there. I kept one for myself and tossed the other to Angel, who nodded appreciatively. “Minneapolis experiences the sort of mayhem we just caused all the time, and without Sienna Nealon to blame for it. Given the distinct lack of me-ness to it, no signature, y’know other than wanton destruction and explosions—I’m hoping it takes them a while before they chalk it up to me.”