Then Felicity saw what she had missed. Just as it became too late to matter, she realized she was caught and cornered by Davis, but she got no alarm from her danger sense. He would not hurt her.
“Ross, you may not believe this, but I’m sorry too,” Felicity barely got the words out before a pistol barrel smacked against Davis’ temple and he melted onto the narrow planks like a frozen custard cone.
“Always in the right place, aren’t you Paul?” Felicity asked, running down the stairs.
“I try to be,” he said, turning after her. Felicity slowed so Paul could pass her and take the lead. Half a block from the boardwalk Felicity heard a firecracker sound and something chipped the sidewalk not far from her.
“Three men follow,” Paul said. “All black. Two are quite large.”
“That’s the opposition,” Felicity said, gasping for breath. “Where’s the car?”
“Right here,” Paul said, opening the driver side door. Felicity broke into a broad smile when he pushed the switch unlocking her side. He had brought her BMW 650i. She slid into the low seat, the car started instantly, and they moved away from the curb.
Any thought of relaxing faded quickly. When Paul pulled into traffic, so did two cars across the street. Felicity could see two black faces behind the windshield of a white Dodge Spirit, and another in a candy apple Mercury Tracer. Her instincts confirmed her suspicions.
“Those two cars are with us,” she told Paul. “Davis must have called for backup. Can you lose them?”
“I’ll try,” Paul said. The car leaped forward like a scalded cat, streaking through an intersection an instant after the light changed. Both followers ignored the red light and flew through. Paul slowed to avoid crashing into a parked car. The Mercury pulled to the right, off the BMW’s tail, and a revolver grew out of its passenger side window. A sharp crack was followed by a ping noise behind them.
“These guys are serious,” Felicity shouted. “Shooting at us in broad daylight. Pull over. I need to drive.”
“You think we can switch without getting killed?” Paul asked.
“Take this corner. Now!” Felicity told him. The words had barely left her mouth when her face slammed into the window. Paul’s foot pressed the floorboards and anti-lock brakes engaged. Tires squealed and the car stopped by the curb.
Felicity dropped out of the passenger seat, rounding the back end of her car. Paul slid across the front bucket seats, powering his window down. Felicity’s door stood open when the Dodge came flying around the corner, tilting on its McPherson struts. Paul pointed out his window and fired twice. The Dodge kept rolling past, turning slightly toward them, to slam its right rear into two parked cars.
The red Mercury followed seconds later. Bullets sprayed from it, but nowhere near on target. It was suppressive fire, to prevent Paul from hitting anyone. Felicity whipped into traffic, cutting off two cars, getting blaring horn sounds. She spun around, roaring off back the way they had come.
“We’re good if we can find a sign to Philly,” Felicity shouted. Paul’s open window made it a noisy ride. “If I can get to the Expressway, we’ll just outrun them.”
“That red car looks like a sports car too,” Paul commented in his usual calm manner.
“The hottest Tracer made won’t do much more than a hundred and twenty,” Felicity said. “I can wring one sixty out of this baby’s twin-turbo V-8. But it’s not too cool to be drag racing on city streets. On the other hand, the Turnpike will be…whoa.”
Felicity’s eyes widened and Paul noticed the Mercury coming up behind them.
“More bad guys,” Felicity said through clenched teeth. “In front, somewhere. I can feel it.”
“Just tell me where,” Paul said, climbing into the back seat.
Felicity’s fingers tensed around the wheel. Watching traffic, walkers and lights made focusing on the threat difficult. They passed endless small shops, narrow streets and cars both parked and moving. An enemy could be anywhere, waiting to fire from cover. Suddenly she looked up. They were closing in on the threat. Or it was coming to them.
“There,” Felicity shouted. “Big. Blue. Gun.”
She prayed it was enough for Paul to get a focus. A big blue sedan was cruising toward them. A Ford Crown Victoria, she knew, or the Mercury Grand Marquis. They shared the same chassis. Hall had the wheel, driving with his right, holding a pistol out the window with his left. Two passengers sat in back.
“Down in front, Miss,” Paul said. Felicity felt his hand on her left shoulder, and her window dropped. Both cars had slowed to about thirty miles per hour, but they still appeared to be rushing toward each other. Loading her driving path into her memory, locking parked cars and other obstacles in her memory, Felicity bent right, lying on the seat, still driving forward.
Felicity was driving blind, trusting her memory, trusting Paul to alert her to anything moving into her path. She imagined two medieval knights, riding down their chutes in a joust, only with semi-automatic handguns instead of lances. There was only a second to consider how foolish this was.
When she knew they would be within two car lengths of their pursuer, Felicity down shifted and floored her BMW. The car jumped like a spurred stallion. Gunshots pounded her ears, too many to count. Hot brass cases stung her as they bounced off her left arm and side. She heard breaking glass, skidding tires, a loud profanity from outside the car. Paul fell against the back seat, firing twice more.
Felicity popped up just in time to take a sharp right before the light changed. Pressed against her door, she felt her rear tires break loose, then grip the road again. Carefully going up through the gears, she was soon pushing seventy-five miles per hour, heading out of town.
She was driving like a lunatic on a busy road. Where the hell were the police? Being pulled over by a black and white would be one way to avoid trigger happy followers.
“We’re being herded,” she said, almost to herself.
“What?” Paul asked from behind her. He sounded out of breath.
“Sorry. The big car’s behind us, keeping up fairly well in town here. He’s not too concerned with pedestrians. The ocean’s on our left. The sports car, the red Merc, is hanging a block away on the right.”
“Can he get ahead of us?” Paul asked.
“Not bloody likely. He’d have to be one hell a driver to do this any faster than I am. Hey, you all right?”
A pause. “Not really.” Felicity looked for him in her rear view mirror. Paul’s face was pale, ashen, his eyes a bit dull. His right hand, holding his gun, was pressed against his left arm, just below the shoulder. A bright red stream flowed through his fingers. Glancing down, she found herself rushing toward a bicycle from behind.
She down shifted, swerved left with a squeal of rubber, and barely ducked right in time to avoid an oncoming bus. Breathing was difficult, she thought, because her heart was out of place, pressed up into her throat.
“Jesus, Paul,” she said, louder than she intended, “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“You need to concentrate on driving,” he said. “I got the other driver, I think.” After a moment, he said “Sorry about the upholstery.”
Things were moving too quickly for Felicity’s comfort. In the last seconds she had left the city limits and entered a rural area. Too quickly she was in the middle of farm country.
It looked like a truck farm to Felicity, low lying vegetables going on for what looked like miles. Being able to feel where a bullet might come from was little help in this case. Her pursuers knew this area a lot better than she did. They had let her slip four or five miles inland, but stayed between her and any on ramp to The Atlantic City Expressway or The Garden State Parkway.
A bullet whizzed behind them, and Felicity turned right. The rural street she was on gave way to a dirt road. A huge plume of sand flew up behind her, obscuring her followers while it made her impossible to lose. This could go on forever, she thought, only it couldn’t, because she had a wounded man
in her back seat. How badly, she would not know even if he told her. She was no doctor, but he needed one.
After twenty minutes of hard driving on ragged roads Felicity was beginning to think she had found the source of all the world’s tomatoes, when a field of sweet corn rose up on her left. She turned down a road that led between rows. At what she hoped wasn’t an obvious spot she cranked the wheel hard, plowing her car’s nose into tall green stalks. Ten seconds into the field, she cut the engine.
No ears of corn battered the hood, just snapped green stalks releasing a powerful, sweet aroma. They sat in a tunnel of green overarching the car just enough to hide it. Felicity turned to look at Paul, and noticed for the first time that her expensive sports car had no back window. It must have been shot out when that maniac tried to shoot her friend in the back seat.
“We can’t stay here long,” Paul said, his voice slurred. “Let me out. I can find a good vantage point and reduce the odds.”
“Not today, pal,” Felicity said with a soft smile. “You’re needing medical attention. Stay in the car while I lead them off on foot. I think I can lose them in here. You wait ten minutes, then get the car going and get to a doctor. Got it?”
Paul shook his head. “No, ma’am. You can’t escape them on foot. I have to protect…”
“I don’t need you defending me,” Felicity said. “I need you free to find Morgan and keep him from getting caught. You’ve got your orders, mister. I expect you to carry them out.” Paul frowned at her, sighed, and nodded.
Felicity popped the door handle, but the door didn’t budge. Corn stalks formed a thick wall beside the car. Even pressing with her feet, Felicity couldn’t get the door open. Sighing with frustration, she lowered the window and crawled out. Sliding over the car roof, she dropped off the trunk lid, into the path she had driven down.
Felicity had grown up in a rural area in Ireland, among sheep herders and potato farmers. She had walked a lot in her youth, and still retained the toughened soles of her barefoot childhood. This was a good thing right now. Without shoes, her path was not an easy one. The ground was soggy, but much worse than that mucky feeling were the sharp stalks and husks.
At the dirt road, Felicity wanted to sit for a moment, but she knew Hall’s team wasn’t far behind. To keep Paul from being found, she had to backtrack so when they saw her, they would go no farther up this road. After only three minutes walking on the soft dirt, she heard the growling of a fuel injected engine. When the red Mercury came into view seconds later, she sprinted across the road, diving into the corn field on the other side. Behind her, she heard the car skid to a halt on the soft surface, and the doors open and slam. She was only twenty yards down this row of corn when she heard a second car stop behind the first.
Progress was painfully slow. Felicity was resigned to being caught soon, but the thought infuriated her. She could avoid these clowns forever if she could go faster. They thrashed through the forest of stalks at a quick pace, fanned out behind her at about arm’s length.
She, on the other hand, had to control her noise level. Corn husks scratched and scraped at her limbs as she walked. Worst of all, sharp stalks brutalized her feet as she went. She had no idea where a house might be from here. She could see no more than two feet in any direction.
Finally, she stepped on a sharp rock, her tears broke, and she sat down in the middle of the row. To hell with this, she thought. Let them find her right there.
As soon as she thought it, her mind rebelled. Find her sitting here, crying? Not bloody likely! She lurched to her feet and drove on. She left a faint blood trail if her followers had the eyes to find it. Up ahead, she sensed danger. She must be approaching another road. They would send someone ahead, to wait for her.
Felicity walked still more slowly, making her passing as quiet as possible. It still sounded like a drunken midnight choir to her, but when she stopped, on hands and knees barely a foot from the road, she was undetected. Through the screen of corn, she stared at her old friends, the twin towers. Both held guns, looking ridiculous in suit and tie in the middle of a dirt road, against a background of corn stalks. There was no getting past them. No avoiding the men behind her, either. If she fought they would have an excuse to kill her. Only one reasonable action presented itself.
Felicity waited until one of the men was looking up the road one way, the other staring in the opposite direction. She took a deep breath, parted the corn in front of her like a curtain, held her head high and stepped out.
“Hey, stupid,” Felicity said. Both men turned their eyes and guns on her. “Sure and it’s lucky for you I don’t have a machine gun. I’m tired. Let’s go home.”
She stood, wincing, caught in that crossfire until Hall came crashing through the corn behind her. His suit was covered with corn silk and his hair whitened by that powder corn husks give up. Felicity came close to laughing, but her feet hurt too much.
“Where’s the white guy?” Hall asked.
“Oh, so you lost him,” Felicity said. “Well, he dumped me and took off. Anyway, I thought it was me you wanted.”
“He put two of my friends in the hospital, bitch. And he did this.” Hall pointed at a bandage around his left arm.
“Good for him,” Felicity said. “He’s probably half way to Philadelphia by now.”
“We need to get moving, Wiley.”
Felicity’s head whipped around. It was Ross Davis, sitting in the big blue Ford’s cockpit. She stepped toward the car, gritting her teeth. Her eyes bored into Davis’. His expressed remorse and helplessness. Her answering expression reflected only anger and a fierce determination not to be taken in.
“Let’s go talk to your boss,” she said, reaching for the car’s back door handle.
-27-
Discounting short breaks for gasoline and bathrooms, it was a long five hours travelling. At least the big Crown Victoria was comfortable. Felicity rode in the back seat sandwiched between the twin towers. She had not heard them called by name all day, but a close look told her they were certainly brothers and possibly twins indeed. They sat quietly, reminding her of black Paul clones. Soul music from two or three decades back poured from the stereo during the whole trip. The ride’s only negative was, someone had chosen leather upholstery, and her sweaty bare legs were sticking to it.
It was a boring ride, since Felicity found this to be boring country. The land on either side of The Garden State Parkway was indistinguishable from that off The New York State Thruway. Only big green and white signs gave any indication of their location. A short break in New York City gave her a cityscape for a while. Wiley Hall got out at Harlem Hospital and they continued on.
With nothing to look at, it was almost impossible for Felicity to keep her eyes away from the rear view mirror. Alone in front, Davis tried several times to catch her eyes. Each time she turned away. Each time it was harder.
After leaving New York City, they had stopped off The Thruway at New Paltz. She was escorted to the ladies room, where she again washed her feet in the sink, which seemed too filthy for even this purpose. When she opened the door, Davis was there. He handed her a small paper bag. She looked inside, and then closed the door again. He had bought her a washcloth, a hairbrush, new pantyhose and a cheap pair of shoes. After only a minute’s hesitation, she made good use of them all. When she came out, Davis gave a half smile and followed her closely back to the car.
“You should at least be able to walk in with dignity,” Davis said. She offered resentful thanks but avoided eye contact. Part of her wished the hose had not fit, or had not been her color, or that the shoes had been more than half a size too big. He was too attentive, and too damned sincere for her to hate.
The major highway turned into a minor one. Route 28 was the last numbered sign Felicity saw. When they left it, they were on roads barely wide enough for two lane traffic. They were in The Catskill Mountains, which put her in mind of the mountains back home, around Glendalough, Ireland. She found these low, green, sp
arsely-treed mountains very familiar.
Then they drove into denser woods and Felicity wondered if they were lost. Davis continued until they passed onto dirt roads carved through a pine forest of inestimable age. Shadows flittered across the car, and curves became sharper as they went.
When at last their tires bumped up onto a paved street, Felicity thought they had returned to civilization. This, however, wasn’t true. Davis parked near the corner of an intersection from another time. Felicity could see that one block away, the city faded into a clearing, and a block after that the woods took over again. Buildings were brick and brownstone, with tall windows. Across the street the sidewalk was wide, almost seven yards across. An awning stretched from the building there all the way to the street. It looked like a club left over from prohibition days.
One of her escorts got out, and taking her arm, pulled her from the car. Felicity’s senses were confused enough to prevent her from resisting. She was looking at a model city scene, like a movie set. It smelled like a crisp mountain glade, but the building ahead was pumping out unmistakable bebop rhythms. She was facing a theater, one with an old fashioned ticket booth out front, posters of performers from the past along its entrance walls, and a vertical neon sign overhead reading “The 125 ST. APOLLO.” On a giant marquee the same words were covered with tiny light bulbs instead of neon tubes. Below this were black removable letters proclaiming “4 INK SPOTS, CLAUDE HOPKINS & BAND, MOMS and PIGMEAT.” Performer’s list or menu, she wondered.
A guard held each of Felicity’s arms. In step they walked past the theater to the corner. She stood under an ancient street lamp, beside a street sign that told her she was walking along 125th Street, about to cross Lenox Avenue.
The building on the opposite corner looked like a typical inner city tenement, except for its storefront. It seemed dark behind the wide front window, despite the evening sun’s strong beams outdoors. A fanciful neon sign in front of the building proclaimed it to be “Birdland.”
The two men hauling her through the door made the place more disappointing than it already was. What Felicity found was a bar, typical in every way, with perhaps a larger than usual bandstand. She let her eyes slide over Morgan, seated at a table with two of the Convincers. She only saw the back of his head, but she had no doubt he knew she was there and that was enough. A dense smoke cloud hung in space at about chest level, apparently growing out from the broad bandstand. A trio in black suits and string ties played hot bebop jazz up there, lost in their own world.
Lost Art Assignment Page 15