Got Hope

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Got Hope Page 6

by Michael Darling


  Sigh.

  With some bemusement, I drove to the guitar of The Edge and the voice of The Bono.

  The drive from my house to the stadium would take 30-40 minutes, but it would only take 15 minutes to get to my partner’s health club, the Iron Foundry. As we hit Highway 1, I gave my cell phone to Hope so she could continue a call I’d started earlier at the house.

  She pecked at the screen with precise taps of her finger. I divided my attention between the road and the rear-view mirror.

  “Hi, Nat?” Hope said.

  I’d told Hope to talk to Nat like we were all old friends. I was only going to hear one side of the conversation but that still meant I’d hear pretty much all the conversation. Nat was the living antonym for “chatty.”

  “Yeah. This is Hope.”

  Short pause.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Look, we’re heading your way.”

  Weensy pause.

  “In about ten minutes. Got tells me you can get tickets for the Indy 500?”

  Miniscule pause.

  “Yeah. I’d love to go.”

  Microscopic pause.

  “Ok. See you in a few.”

  She hung up.

  While Hope had been on the phone, I’d picked up our tail. Two guys in a white Escalade. I kept with my Han Solo approach, flying casual, but they were overly careful in staying two cars behind us, neither drawing close nor falling behind. We drove for a few miles as the radio changed to another contemporary pop song.

  “Remind me how long y—whoop!” Hope squealed as I changed lanes and dove for the exit. The Escalade had to change lanes suddenly as well, the BMW they cut off slamming on the brakes. I was halfway into the exit but jumped back into my lane, which earned me a honk from a Corvette. My windows were tinted darker than the law allowed, technically, so I had to roll down the window to be seen. I waved and smiled and gave the other driver the carnivorous bunny, which was confusing enough to make him look away.

  Yep. The lunatics are on the road. Beware the carnivorous bunny.

  Such a beautiful day, I left my window down.

  The Escalade stayed on us. Hopefully, they thought I’d almost made a mistake and corrected myself by heading off the exit and then back again. But they’d tipped their hand trying to make the exit they thought I was going to take. That had made them easy to spot and they were probably working alone. Most professionals worked in teams so they didn’t have to make sudden, obvious moves. If I’d taken the exit, they would have stayed in their lane and their buddies farther behind would have taken the exit discreetly and caught up.

  Just because they weren’t experienced pros didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous, though. Stupid people could kill you just as dead as smart ones.

  “To answer the question I think you were going to ask,” I said, “Nat and I have known each other for about ten years. We’ll pick him up and head to the stadium from there.”

  “Okay,” she said. I caught her eye and gave her a wink. She grinned.

  We had no intention of picking up Nat. Not for long. That’s what the Indy 500 reference had been about. I’d told Hope what I planned to do and made her rehearse it back to me a couple of times. Nat and I had run this dodge before and everything Hope and I had done and said had been part of the dodge, in case people had bugged the car or hacked our phones.

  The next exit came up and we coasted off. The Escalade took the exit as well, leaving two cars between us as they’d done since they’d picked us up. We cruised for a few minutes and arrived at the parking lot for the Iron Foundry.

  The lot was filled with mommy-mobiles and four-wheeled mid-life-crisis machines. The worst place to stop was in the middle of the parking lot, in the aisle between the parked cars. That’s where I stopped.

  The driver of the Escalade was smart enough to stay in the street. He couldn’t be sure if I was onto him so if he came into the parking lot, he’d have to take a spot. Then he’d have to get out and go into the gym. It would look a little odd to walk into the building without a gym bag unless he was pretending to buy a membership. And he’d have to take a different aisle or risk getting too close. He wouldn’t know why we were stopped in the middle of the lot, although that would become apparent soon. And if there wasn’t an empty spot, he’d have to keep driving around and that meant he’d risk being conspicuous.

  So, parking in the street was smart. People pulled over for all kinds of legitimate reasons: check their messages, look up directions, eat a snack. From there, he could make it harder for us to notice him but he could keep an eye on us to see what we would do and where we would go.

  I was counting on it.

  Hope picked up my phone. I put my hand on hers to stop her. There was a silver dollar in my pocket. I dug it out and showed her how it opened. It had a four-leaf clover inside.

  “Hope, I want you to take this.”

  “This is so cute.” She took the coin and sigil like I’d just offered her plane tickets to Maui. “For luck, right?” How did she do that? She made me feel as if I’d done her the nicest favor although she didn’t know the half of it.

  “For luck, yes.” Keeping in mind the possibility that someone was listening, I leaned over to whisper in Hope’s ear. “Keep it with you no matter what. Stick it in your pocket or your shoe. Don’t leave it in your bag or in your locker.”

  Hope looked excited and whispered bac. “Is it like spy stuff?”

  I nodded. “Like that. It will keep you safe while we find out who’s trying to hurt you.”

  When closed, the coin didn’t look like anything special, but it shielded the bearer from physical harm, like bullets. This one was a little different. I’d worked on the enchantment with friends in the Fae realm to improve its protections.

  “Okay.” She dropped the sigil into the coin and closed it. Then she slipped it into her brassiere, of all places.

  “Trust me?” I asked, out loud now.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  “I’m glad. Let’s call Nat.”

  Hope dialed my phone. In the side mirror, I checked the position of the Escalade. It hadn’t moved from its spot on the street.

  “Hey, Nat. It’s Hope again. We’re here.”

  That was it. The next few minutes would be crucial. It was all about the timing.

  Hope put my phone down on the seat beside me, leaving it on. Also part of the plan.

  Moments passed and the front door of the Iron Foundry swung open.

  Nat strolled out in gym shoes and jeans with a black t-shirt and blue-tinted sunglasses. Just another studly day in paradise.

  I pulled ahead and told Hope to scoot the seat forward so Nat could get in. We rolled to a stop with the passenger side right in front of him. In one smooth motion, he opened the door and eased into the seat behind Hope. She watched him get in and when she turned forward again, she had a considerable smile. She didn’t quite say “Ooo,” out loud, but it was on her face. Nat had that effect on people.

  “Hey, Nat,” I said.

  “Got,” he replied.

  The easiest, quickest way back to the main road from here was to drive behind the Iron Foundry to the side street where you could get the light. I turned down the side of the building, cruising for the alley in back. I hoped the Escalade guys would watch for me to come out from behind the building on the other side. If they noticed the fence bordering the alley, they’d realize that’s where I’d have to go.

  If they panicked, they’d follow us, but they’d have to get into the parking lot and speed down the aisle, which was dangerous and might get them noticed. I watched in the mirror and saw the driver edge forward a bit before my view was cut off by the building.

  I coasted down the side of the building and turned the corner. For the moment, I put the phone on “mute.” Before we’d gotten halfway down the back, I braked. As planned, Hope jumped out of the car with Nat right behind her. The back of the gym had two doors and the one where we’d stopped was ope
n. Nat closed the door of the car and escorted Hope to the entrance.

  They’d done their part in less than five seconds.

  I punched the accelerator until I neared the corner, then braked to resume the same rate of speed as I’d had when I’d turned down from the parking lot. I took my phone off “mute” and rolled to the street, putting my turn signal on. If the Escalade had seen me come out from behind the building, they should get the idea that I’d just gone down the back alley without stopping. I wanted them to think that Hope and I had picked up Nat and then gone around the building to drive out. That would be logical. Who picks somebody up in front of a building only to let them out again in the back? Nobody. Unless they’re running an Indy 500.

  There was a thunk a few seconds before a car whipped in front of me and I felt an impact on my shoulder. Had someone tried to hit me with a rock? The rock had bounced off my magical shield and disappeared. The car sped to the next corner. I caught the make and model, but it was missing its license plate. The car turned and I had no desire to follow. Maybe the rock had been kicked up from a tire. Maybe it hadn’t been intentional.

  Still, it was odd. And it was going to leave a bruise.

  In any case, the fish I had to fry were driving a white Escalade. I got onto the street heading back toward them, rolling my dark window back up so nobody could see I was alone. This was my best chance to spot who was in the vehicle. The sun bounced off their rear window but there were two lumpen shadows. It was possible one of them would stay behind to investigate. Even if they suspected a dodge, however, their best bet would be to follow me.

  I turned at the corner and passed the Escalade. They pulled into traffic behind me.

  Felt good to be right.

  I kept my eye on the rear-view mirror to make sure the Escalade stayed on me. After a mile, I whistled a happy tune. I could have whistled anything, but I picked the chorus from “Being Followed” by Duran Duran. That made it cool because Duran Duran was an ‘80s band, but the album was from 2011. Take that, Hope, for making me feel old. Second, the song had whistling in it, which appealed to my sense of poetic awesomeness. Third, of course, because I was being followed. My phone still rested on the seat beside me, unmuted, where Hope had left it with the call to Nat’s phone still open. The whistle served its purpose as my message to Nat and, having delivered the message, I ended the call.

  Now Nat would know that my pursuers were still pursuing and it would be safe for him to take Hope to the stadium. If I had ended the call without whistling, he would have kept Hope at the gym, which was a fortress in its own right, and I would have gone to the police.

  I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. This kind of thing was fun.

  With the Escalade following, I drove to U.S. Highway 41, westbound. My goal was simple: keep the bad guys busy while Nat got Hope where she needed to go. After ten minutes, the highway dwindled from four lanes to three. A few minutes more, two lanes. A few minutes more, a divided highway. The north side of the road ran parallel to a wide canal and the Tamiami Trail. Screens of trees in long clumps bordered the south side of the road. We officially entered the Everglades Wildlife Management Area and started seeing signs for gator parks and airboat rides.

  I was taking an Escalade for a ride. Escalade in the Everglade.

  Reaching behind my seat, I retrieved a plastic bag holding the bits of evidence I’d collected from the briefcase bomb. I dropped the bag on the passenger seat to remind me there would be one more stop after I was done messing with guys following me. The evidence would be going to Erin as soon as I could get back to town.

  Something bit me.

  Chapter Seven: Swarm

  The first bite came as I wondered how long the Escalade was going to let me lead them out into the boonies. The tingle of anticipation I’d felt earlier trickled down my neck like a drop of sweat rolling waist-ward on a warm day, which this was. Then a slash of pain erupted between my shoulder blades.

  Ah! Dammit!

  The car swerved as I drove distracted, stretching back over my shoulder with my free hand. Whatever it was, I couldn’t reach it. I got back in my lane before I caused a head-on collision and tried getting at it around the side but my thumb only caught the tip of what felt like a scab to the right of my spine.

  Something had crawled down my shirt and dug in.

  Man, that hurt. Like a large drill bit jabbing into my skin and turning.

  The Escalade cruised right behind me now, not even trying to keep any distance.

  I felt tiny legs scampering up my pants and another flash of pain slammed into the muscle of my calf.

  What the . . .?

  I slapped hard at my leg, keeping my eyes on the road. Something like a three-inch piece of licorice had clamped down on my skin and started chewing.

  It was too dangerous to keep driving like this. Something—some things—were trying to make a meal out of me. There was a narrow shoulder to the side of the road, alongside the canal, and I got as close as I dared to the guardrail and braked hard. The Escalade shot past me and pulled over as well, stopping a hundred yards ahead.

  I’d deal with them in a minute.

  Freaking flaming flamingos!

  My torture deepened. Burning needles sliced into my back and my leg.

  A pickup truck blazed by as I opened the door, just missing me, laying on the horn. Look both ways, stupid! I looked both ways and hobbled across the highway, stepping over the guardrail on the south side. Over my shoulder, the two men had gotten out of the Escalade. Black suits and sunglasses. The same guys from the Behindbeyond. Their hands turned blue with magical power. They opened their mouths and more power flared blue in their throats.

  Black insects poured out of their mouths, and the swarm made a beeline for me.

  Crap.

  A mile-long row of thick trees, twenty feet high, snuggled up against the road. I plunged into the thicket.

  Please don’t let there be a gator.

  No reptiles came at me. Just another wave of pain.

  The ground was swampy but shallow. My shoes would be wrecked and thinking about my shoes was just dumb, considering the reaming I was taking. I staggered through the trees where nobody from the road would be able to see.

  Hiking up my pants, I found a beetle jamming its jaws into my skin. It was long and narrow and black with small hairs on its exoskeleton. I didn’t say hello. I grabbed the thing and yanked. A horrible smell came off its backside and its head remained stuck in my leg, which was nauseating all on its own.

  A spasm of pain shuddered through my shoulders, as if the other beetle in my back was aware I’d just killed its friend. I arched my back and bit down on a yell.

  The pain eased just a bit but my vision was blurry from squeezing my eyes shut. I dunked the stinky little corpse of Sir Bites-a-Lot into the water and swirled my hand around, trying to wash away any residue.

  I shoved the bug into my pocket and groped for the car keys. Using the point of my gym locker key, I dug the beetle’s head out of my leg. That set a razor-sharp fire raging, but I wanted the mini-land-shark out of my skin right now. My fingers came away bloody but I got the monster. His head joined the rest of him in my pocket.

  Searching the trees, I found a thick fallen branch.

  The beetle on my back took a bigger bite. I could almost hear the sound of its jaws as it closed on meat, and I roared.

  The crooked branch made for a poor weapon but I tried it anyway, smacking my own back with it like the newest and most devout member of Opus Dei. Between smacks, I heard a humming sound, getting louder. A dark cloud of insects crested the trees and headed my way.

  Here comes the cavalry.

  The swarm swirled and rolled towards me and I imagined what it would be like to be bitten by a thousand of these things. My guts twisted up in a spasm to match my back. Maybe they smelled me. Or the bug stink on me.

  Reversing along the tree line, I backed away from the winged nasties.

  The swarm dove at
the water where I’d swirled off the smell. They rolled in the air, paying homage, before sweeping my way again.

  Another bite seared my back, but I was going numb. Probably not a good thing.

  There would be no distracting them again.

  My chest burned as if my soul were getting angry from the inside out.

  If these little suckers want some bites, I’ll give them some bites.

  I dropped the branch and called up my power and held it, a layer of glowing blue in my hand, waiting for the right moment. Another lancet of pain ripped into my back, but my sudden rage gave me the will to shrug it off.

  Time for war.

  When the moment was right, I swept my hand in front of me and yelled, “Tine!”

  A curtain of fire unfurled in the air. I wanted to crank up the heat and fry every single one of them to ash. Part of me reasoned that the trees were vulnerable too. It was self-preservation to fry the bugs, but a small annihilation that fried the trees would be too much.

  The leading half of the swarm crisped in the curtain of flame but the remainder had time to stop. When I cut the spell, they swirled as if waiting for new instructions. I could make a break for my car, but I still had one of their number in my back. I needed to get all of them. As a large group they were lethal, but even if a few got away they could still maim or kill.

  I continued backing away from the trees and tried to figure out a plan.

  The bug on my back chomped down again and my muscles clenched. The swarm came at me.

  Erin had told me about a fireweaver’s performance where mages created fire that danced and twisted in different ways. The curtain effect was one of my earlier efforts but I’d been practicing others.

  With my power flowing out of my hands, I said, “Tine,” and sent a writhing mass of fire out to the side of the swarm. I didn’t want to hit them directly.

  I wanted to trap them.

  The fire obeyed my will as I continued to chant, “Tine, tine, tine.” The flame swept behind the swarm and curled back toward me. I brought it around my side and behind me and sent it out again, creating a vortex of heat. Once begun, it had a certain inertia and I only had to feed a trickle of power into it to keep it moving.

 

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