by Matt Abraham
“You take that side,” Monday said, and headed to the right.
I walked down the left, reading the tags as I went. The names were familiar. There was Landslide, Slugfest, and Dinky Dee, but I finished without finding the two I was looking for. “Any luck on your side?”
“Nope,” Monday said. He turned to the door and called out, “Hey doc, get in here.”
The guy from outside entered, clipboard in hand, and strolled up to us. “What’s the problem?”
“The two guys from the jewel heist,” Monday said, “where are they?”
“Sorry, I’m not authorized to give out specifics. You’ll have to wait until the coroner gets back. It shouldn’t be more than an hour or two, but don’t worry, she can tell you where those meat bags are.”
I snatched his attention, along with some jacket, and lifted both a foot off the ground. “Hey pal, every last one of these ‘meat bags’ is somebody’s somebody, so show some respect before I fist fuck your mouth free of teeth, okay?”
His eyes got wider than his glasses. “I’m sorry I-”
“As incredible as it sounds I don’t care if you’re sorry, just answer the Aryan’s question, chop chop.”
“Officer?” He looked at Monday. “Some help please?”
The badge didn’t twitch.
“Ok, so that’s how we’re doing this.” The guy turned his attention to the clipboard. He flipped through the pages and said, “Here they are, uh oh… It says they were sent to Ayers Hill. This morning. They’re pro-”
I dropped him and ran towards the door.
Monday was already halfway there.
#
“Doesn’t this thing go any faster?” I said.
“Yeah, much, but I want to conserve gas.” Monday laid on his horn as we ran a red light. A fruit delivery truck turned to miss us, jumping the curb and spilling mangoes in our wake.
“Cute,” I said. “You know if those bodies get buried we got nothing.”
“I’m aware.”
“So why aren’t you hitting the roof?”
“There is no roof. This is an undercover job.”
“You’re telling me there’s no siren in this thing?”
Monday shook his head.
“Jesus, where do my tax dollars go?”
We were at least fifteen minutes away, but thanks to Monday’s swift wheelwork we turned on to the road that ran up to Ayers Hill in less than five. That put us just under a mile away. I looked out my window. The sun was still high. It was pretty early, but that didn’t mean much, it’s not like gravediggers keep strict hours.
I started bobbing my knee. “Come on come on come on.”
Monday said, “We’re almost there. Look.”
I followed his gaze and saw the bone yard’s green grass at the top of the hill. I smiled. “We’re going to make it.”
We skidded to a stop in the middle of the next intersection. “Maybe not,” Monday pointed ahead. “Road work.”
He was right. Halfway up the next block, in the middle of the street, was a team of four workmen. They were busy snaking a manhole, gumming up traffic in both directions.
“Damn it,” I said. “Go left.”
“That’s Red Forge Road, it doesn’t run to Ayers.”
I turned to the right. That way was worse. We were at the top of Hillymanjaro, Gold Coast City’s most treacherous incline. I looked down it. The road was like a ski jump. It was long and steep, and emptied right into Bittenbach Bay.
“To hell with this,” I said, “let’s ditch the boat, we might make it if we run.”
“Really? And what do I do with the car?”
“I’ll shove it off the road.”
“Great idea, while we’re at it why don’t we-”
An explosion from Monday’s door sent glass flying like buckshot. I turned away, and covered my eyes. The impact sent our car onto its side. A second later we rolled onto our roof.
I was still in my seat, thanks to the belt, but was hanging ass up like a side of beef in a butcher’s shop. I looked out my window. A few feet above me was the dented bumper of the massive black truck that hit us. Its loud engine was still idling.
I turned to Monday, and shook his shoulder. Gently. “Hey Monday,” I said, “you alright? I think we got T-boned.”
He just hung there limp while a thick line of blood wormed its way from behind his collar. It slithered down the side of his face and dripped onto the roof.
“That looks serious,” I said. “Come on, we got to-”
The truck’s engine roared, filling our car with smoke and the smell of gas. Then it leapt off the line and struck us broadside for a second time. My door crumpled in. The sound of metal biting metal cut the air. We slid sideways, our roof grinding loud against the asphalt as we went.
I reached out the window and jabbed the truck’s bumper. “What the hell you doing, Jack?”
The black beast ignored me. It pushed us over the top of the hill and Monday and I started our descent, sliding like a greased toboggan with the truck close on our heels. One block flew by. Then another. After the third the truck slowed down. No. He wasn’t slowing down. We were speeding up.
Our roof starting spitting sparks. Reaching through them, I dug my fingers into the asphalt to slow our descent. I got all five knuckles in, but the street may as well have been chocolate cake for all the good it did. At this pace we’d be at the bottom in seconds.
But I had an idea.
If I could just get ahold of the truck I could tether us to it, and use his weight like an anchor. I reached out the window as far as possible. My fingers grazed its front bumper. Just another inch, that’s all I needed. With my free hand I grabbed the side of the door and pushed myself further out. I was almost there.
Right on cue the beast hit the brakes. It screeched to a halt, and disappeared down a side street.
Then our car shook again.
I looked over at Monday. We had reached the bottom of the hill.
We jumped the curb and skidded across the pier. Then we were airborne, flying over the bay. For a peaceful moment we hung in the sky, as weightless as maple leaf on an Autumn breeze.
Then the car plunged into the waves below.
Water rushed in from all sides. I tried to yell, but the ocean, cold and brackish, filled my mouth and nostrils. I reached out for Monday, scrambling for his belt. But the world had gone dark. I couldn’t find it. The icy pressure built around me.
In the movies a half submerged car will politely float just long enough for the people inside to escape, but Monday and I sank thirty feet straight down into the silt of Bittenbach Bay in absolutely no time at all.
Other Black Cape Case Files
The Coconut Swindle
Old Iron
Grace Killer
Gangland