“You’re not seriously thinking of trusting that woman again, are you?” he asked. “Remind me again, how many times did she rob you?”
“Three,” I said. “But now we’ve got nothing for her to steal.”
“Except a truck full of whiskey.”
I was distracted for a moment when a pepperoni pizza slapped against the inside of the window behind Floyd and slid down.
“She’s not interested in the whiskey,” I insisted.
“You think all she wants is to get her hands on your skinny body again? She had you and she tossed you away like trash!”
“Maybe you’re right...”
“Maybe?”
The door to the diner crashed open and a trucker ran out. He was covering his head with one of the menus.
“But this time we know we can’t trust her,” I said, “we’ll be on our guard.”
Floyd shook his head slowly, but he knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. Behind him, a piece of lettuce smeared with mayonnaise stuck to the glass.
“I’m not having her in the truck with me,” Floyd said.
“Harmony can ride with me.”
“And at the first sign of betrayal, I’m going to shoot her,” he said.
“Remember the rule, no killing.”
“Fine, I’ll just maim her.”
Harmony exited the diner and crossed to join us. “Everything all right?”
“Floyd was just saying how much fun we’ll have riding together,” I said.
“For a conman, you’re a lousy liar,” Harmony said. “Floyd, sweetie, there’s no need to get your tin panties in a bunch. I’m not coming with you.”
“You’re not?” Floyd and I said in unison.
Harmony smiled and shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you both.”
A family of four ran out of the diner, the father shielding his children. Their clothes were badly stained and the mother had spaghetti in her hair.
“What’s going on in there?” I asked.
“I think someone started a food fight,” Harmony said.
“Someone?” Floyd asked.
Harmony shrugged. “I needed a distraction. I’m going to steal a car.” She held up a bunch of car keys, gave us a little wave and then turned away.
“Don’t steal mine!” I called after her.
“That went better than I expected,” Floyd said, watching her walk towards the row of parked cars. Then off my look: “What?”
I stepped aside as three more people rushed out of the diner. They seemed to be wearing most of the salad bar.
“When you went to sabotage the Marshal’s car, what did you actually do to it?” I asked.
“Nothing too drastic, why?” Floyd said.
“Harmony is about to steal it.”
“We should leave. Now.”
“I didn’t pay the check,” I said. “I have to leave Luna a tip.”
“We’ll mail it to her. Move!”
“What did you do?”
When Harmony turned the key and started up the green-and-white it set off a sequence of actions that quickly escalated into chaos. The flashing lights on top of it started blinking and whirling but this might have been a deliberate move on her part. Then the siren started whoop-whooping loudly. I thought maybe Harmony had just hit the wrong button. She also seemed to have the music system turned up full. From the sound of it, the Marshal liked Oompah music.
The front door of the diner crashed open and Marshal Dimmock appeared. His uniform was smeared with a rainbow of foodstuffs. I couldn’t tell if he’d been trying to stop the battle inside or had been one of the main fighters. The Highway Patrolman came out after him. His uniform was spotless. Maybe nobody had dared hurl ketchup in his direction.
“Stop her!” the Marshal yelled. “Don’t let her get away with my car!”
As Harmony released the parking brake and moved off, the Highway Patrolman moved to intercept her. She had no intention of stopping and jammed her foot down on the accelerator.
People were spilling out of the diner, looking like survivors of a zombie apocalypse. They blinked in the sunlight, staring at the Marshal’s car as it barrelled across the parking lot. A couple of them started filming the action.
The Highway Patrolman was directly in Harmony’s path and, to give him his due, stood his ground until the very last moment. I thought the green-and-white would surely hit him head-on, but he managed to leap sideways and roll clear.
I spotted Luna Moth in the crowd and went over to her. I pressed some of Mister Flint’s cash into her hand. “I’m sorry about the mess.”
“I hope you get to where you want to go,” she said.
The automatic trunk lid popped up at the back of the Marshal’s car as Harmony fishtailed it across the parking lot. And then I saw all of the airbags deploy inside the car, filling the interior like a bunch of rapidly expanding marshmallows that squashed against the glass. Stunned by this, especially since she hadn’t collided with anything to trigger them, Harmony used one arm to try and push down the safety balloon in front of her so she could see out of the window. Steering with the other hand she sideswiped a minivan and a loud grinding and squeaking sound could be heard over the siren’s wailing.
“My new car!” the Marshal cried.
Floyd was already in the truck at this point and I heard the hiss of the brake as he released it. He sounded the air horn. He was right, it was time to go. I ran for the Trekker.
The final piece of Floyd-orchestrated mayhem occurred when the hood of the Marshal’s car popped up, obscuring Harmony’s forward view completely. She braked and the car smashed front-first into the side of a delivery truck. The siren died with a final comical squawk and then there was just the sound of glass tinkling as it hit the asphalt.
“Don’t just stand there you big ox, arrest that woman!” the Marshal shouted, waving his arm angrily at the Highway Patrolman.
“Hey, Marshal,” a voice called, “your backseat’s on fire.”
Dimmock twisted around and tried to look at the back of his pants until someone nudged him and pointed towards the green-and-white car.
The big Highway Patrol officer ran towards the battered cruiser. Harmony managed to push the dented driver’s door open. Smoke wafted out. She staggered out looking woozy and dishevelled.
I put the Trekker in ‘drive’ and the tyres squealed as I shot forwards. I put myself between Harmony and the advancing patrolman.
“Get in!” I shouted.
Harmony launched herself towards the open passenger side window and I accelerated away while her legs were still sticking out. Her kicking foot caught the Marshal in the mouth as we zipped past him.
“After them!” the Marshal yelled, wiping blood off his lip.
We sped down the highway after Floyd. He was trying to pick up speed to help carry him up the slope out of the valley.
Harmony was gasping and groaning as she contorted herself, trying to get turned around and sit in the seat properly. It was like watching someone try to do yoga in a cardboard box.
“You were responsible for that,” she accused, finally getting her butt down on the cushion.
“I can honestly say that I never touched the Marshal’s car,” I said.
“Then it was that walking trashcan of yours,” she said.
“Floyd? I think he did mention that he wanted to slow the Marshal down.”
“You two are just a touring disaster area, aren’t you?”
“That’s a bit unfair,” I said. “I didn’t crash my getaway car.”
Harmony crossed her arms and glowered at me.
“You should thank me for rescuing you,” I said.
“If it wasn’t for you two I wouldn’t have needed rescuing.” She did have a point there.
“Have a look and see what’s happening back there,” I said.
Harmony twisted in her seat and looked out of the back window. “The Marshal is putting out the flames in his car with a fire extinguisher,” s
he said.
“I don’t think the fire was part of the plan,” I said. “I’ve told Floyd he’s not allowed to kill anyone.”
“Does that include me?” she asked.
“I haven’t decided.” I smiled but she couldn’t see me.
“That Highway Patrolman is getting on his motorcycle,” she said. “Oh, the wheels have fallen off.”
I grinned proudly. “That was my idea.”
“Sometimes crude and simple is the way to go,” Harmony said, turning around and facing forward again.
I’d forgotten about her uncanny ability to make a compliment sound like an insult.
“Do you want me to drive for a while?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I don’t have health insurance.”
“I’d forgotten what a monumental pain in the ass you were,” she said. “And how slow you drive.”
I think she’d missed me too.
“What colour pick-up did your friend Gawain drive?” I asked, looking in the rear-view mirror.
“Green and rust,” Harmony said.
“You didn’t leave your purse in it did you?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“He’s trying to catch up with us.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Do all men think with their joy-rods?” Harmony asked.
“Joy-rods?”
“Isn’t that what you call them?”
“I call mine Boris,” I said.
“No you don’t,” she said. “You don’t have a name for it.”
It was sweet that she remembered that.
“I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think Sir Gawain is charging up to carry you off and show you the size of his lance,” I said.
“You didn’t see the lust in his eyes...”
“I saw the look on his face when I told him you had more crabs than a Salty Bay trawlerman.”
“You did what?”
“I was only trying to save you.”
“Save me for yourself, you mean.”
“That might have played a small part in my choice of words.”
“If Gawain doesn't want me, what does he want?” Harmony asked.
“I don’t know, ask him.”
The green pick-up must have had something special under the hood because it had quickly caught up with us and was now drawing level. Harmony and I looked across. Gawain had his window open and was pointing a shotgun through it.
“I wonder what he calls it?” I asked.
I stamped down on the brakes. The tyres smoked. The pick-up shot past us. I heard the blast and saw the shotgun pellets zip past about an inch in front of the Trekker’s windshield. Too close.
Gawain’s pick-up slid to a halt with a screech of tyres.
“He’s going to come around for another shot,” Harmony said. “He probably thinks you lied to him so that you could have me.”
“I told him I’d already had you.”
“You men are just pigs when you get to talking,” Harmony said.
Gawain had turned the pick-up truck around and was now facing us. It was a stand-off. He’d come to a stop maybe three hundred feet away from us.
“It’s time to see who has the biggest weapon,” I said. “Get out your Johnson.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” She pulled her gun out of its holster.
“I remember it being bigger,” I said.
“When I use that line later, remember that you started it,” she said. She flipped off the safety.
“Please aim for his truck,” I said.
“You’re still squeamish? We need to have a talk about that.” She rolled down her window and leaned out. “Aren’t you getting yours out?”
“Why, are you planning to miss?”
Harmony smiled at that. She was a much better shot than me.
Gawain had reloaded and was pointing his shotgun at us. He flashed his headlights to say he was ready. When I flashed mine he’d start moving towards us. It was a modern-day version of a medieval joust.
“If he’s Sir Gawain doesn’t that make me the Black Knight?” I asked. “Wasn’t he the villain?”
“I thought you were Robin Hood?” Harmony said. “Either way, you know I like a bad boy.”
“Get ready,” I said. I flashed my headlights, releasing the handbrake at the same time.
Tyres squealed as the two vehicles launched themselves towards each other. As we hit forty miles an hour the gap between us looked like nothing at all.
I kept both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road. This was one set of circumstances where I trusted Harmony absolutely. Wind whipped into the car but she didn’t have any hair to get into her eyes. The two blasts when they came seemed impossibly loud. They were followed a split second later by the blast from Gawain’s shotgun.
A single hole appeared in the green pick-up truck’s front grill but I knew neither of Harmony’s shots had missed – they’d both found their mark within an inch of each other. I saw sparks and then smoke. Gawain had released both barrels at us and some of the pellets had taken out the headlight on my side.
As the pick-up truck ground to a halt, I kept my foot to the floor and sped past it. I didn’t want to give Gawain time to reload and fire on us. We were half a mile away when he finally loosed a pointless shot after us.
“Nice shooting, Miss Harmony,” I said.
“Nice driving, Mister Hood.”
It felt good to be partners again. I kept my foot to the floor and it wasn’t long before we caught up with the truck.
“What kept you?” Floyd asked.
“We got into a fight,” I told him.
“Already? You two only just got back together,” he said.
“Floyd thinks we’re back together,” I said.
Harmony smiled but I couldn’t quite read the look in her eyes.
“...a song that proves that you don’t need a broken heart to be miserable. You’re listening to Bobby-Ray on Kay-Bee-Oh-Tee, the station with more of what you want and less of what you don’t.
“Here’s a news and weather update for you. We’re hearing about a dust storm heading east along Route Nine kicked up by a gaggle of two-wheelers travelling at speed. Police are advising other motorists to steer clear. I repeat, do not engage.
“And if you’re heading over to the Big B diner on Route Nine this evening, be aware that they’re cleaning up after a little storm of their own. Eyewitnesses have called in reports of a food fight – yes you heard me right – and we received video that appears to show someone taking a Marshal’s car for a joyride and wrecking it before they even left the car park. Take a look at this...”
Harmony leaned forward and turned it off. “Not a word,” she said.
“Hey, Quincy,” Floyd said over the radio. “Remind me again about your plan to sneak out of the diner without drawing the attention of the police... I love how Lucy Legs there ‘accidentally’ kicked one in the mouth. I’m sure that didn’t get his attention at all.”
“Can’t we turn him off?” Harmony asked.
“We need him to drive the truck.”
“I’ll drive it,” she said.
“If we wanted it wrecking I’d just drive it off a cliff,” Floyd said.
Harmony made a pained face.
“What did I tell you,” I said, “just like old times!”
Chapter Sixteen
I called up the trip display on the dashboard screen.
“We’ve covered three hundred and eighty-four miles,” I said. “We’re still on schedule.”
“Only just,” Floyd’s voice said from the speaker.
We’d used up all the time we gained by getting away early from the freight depot. We couldn’t afford to waste any more.
“Keep your foot to the floor,” I said, “we need to cover as much distance as we can before nightfall.”
“It won’t be long before the police are on our tail,” Harmony said. “That Highway Patrolman may have called ahead already. We cou
ld be heading straight for a roadblock.”
“Let’s hope Mister Flint paid off the Highway Patrol as well,” I said.
“A whole federal agency might be beyond his influence,” Floyd said.
“Check out the route ahead and see if there are any smaller roads we can use to bypass problems,” I said.
“We’d lose time on them,” Floyd said.
“Not as much as we’d lose if we clash with the cops,” I said. “If we need to, Harmony and I can scout ahead and see if an alternative route is okay for the truck.”
“Do you still have your drones?” Harmony asked. “You could send them ahead to check if there’s an ambush.”
“What do you think, Floyd?” I asked.
“Let’s save them until we need them,” he said. “I’m not picking up anything on the police channels beyond normal chatter.”
“As soon as word gets out about us, they’ll send police drones up to track us,” Harmony said.
“We’ll worry about that when it happens,” I said. “You can always use them for target practice.”
“I don’t have my rifle,” she said.
“Are you any good with a cannon?” I asked.
Harmony looked at me and grinned. Of course she was. “Does this thing have defences against those EM pulse bombs the police use to disrupt a vehicle’s circuits?” she asked.
“The Trekker does but the truck doesn’t,” I said. “The tyres on this will also ride over their spikes and keep going, but again the truck is vulnerable.”
“Hey, Quincy, want to trade seats?” Floyd said.
“No, I’m good.”
“I’ll check out those alternative routes,” he said.
We travelled in silence then, each of us lost in our thoughts. The atmosphere was more tense than it had been. We all knew trouble was coming – we just didn’t know when. Or which direction it would come from. It would probably come from the Highway Patrol, but even that wasn’t a given. The Dragon Riders were still somewhere behind us and then there were those other guys in the pick-up truck who had tried to stop us taking the whiskey. Had that only been yesterday? Silence makes me uncomfortable so I reached forward and turned on the dashboard screen.
“Margarita, aged seven from Toad’s Bottom, sent in a question,” Bobby-Ray said. “Have you ever had a real job? That’s one I always like to ask the politicians, Margie. My answer is Yes. I haven’t always been a celebrity – I used to work for a living. I was the robot that emptied the vats at a liposuction clinic. I’ve carried more ass fat than a city service bus seat. It was only through constant striving that I was able to become what I am today – a dismal failure.
Road Rage Page 9