Counterpoint

by John Day

  “Damn it!” He shouted.

  Logic had deserted him, he could not think straight. He had led a sheltered life, free from violence. News reports on television were the closest he had come to the reality of a violent world, now he was to become a victim. Probably no one would ever know he had been killed!

  The lights of the following car flashed in his wing mirror. They were on the same upward straight as him. He checked his fuel gauge, the width of the road, the feasibility of blocking their path and preventing them overtaking.

  The reality hit him. The road was quite wide, except at the bends, he had fuel enough for the 100km journey to the nearest town, but he couldn’t block murderous bandits for 100km.

  Beeeeeeep - beeeeeeep- beeeeep. The black Mercedes shot past at least 50km/hr. faster than Max was travelling, and did not stop.

  “You crazy bastards! I hope you kill yourselves,” shouted Max.

  The relief swept over him, and he started to shake. He felt so stupid! Here was the great adventurer, and at the sight of the first bogyman after dark, he was a quivering wreck.

  It was from this moment, Max’s life changed. He was about to enter Carla’s sinister world.

  After Carla had invested the drug money, stolen with the help of dearly departed Tim, in Caserta, Marco the Drug Baron and his men tracked Carla down and captured her. Carla was cornered and claimed Tim planned everything, forcing her to help him. She claimed she had been on the run ever since, too frightened to contact Marco, believing he would kill her. She told the men, she had secured the money and if they took her to see Marco, she would tell him how to get it all back. It was all lies, of course; Carla needed time to find a way out of the mess she was in. They were now on the last part of the journey to Marco’s home, as they passed the very frightened, Max Fortune.

  Chapter - Carla’s plan.

  Carla laughed falsely at the light banter, taking place between her and the four men in the black Mercedes. She sat in the back between Steve and Pepe.

  Steve was from the Gorbals, in Scotland, an ordinary looking man of 30, close-cropped light brown hair, masking his premature baldness. His quick wits and ability to handle himself well in a fight, got him a place on the team.

  Tonight, he was as wound up as a coiled spring; a Cobra ready to strike, and he had good reason. He had recommended Carla and Tim make the drug deal near Caserta, but they had pulled a double-cross. If she did not come up with the stolen money when they delivered her to Marco, he was history!

  Pepe liked to think he was in charge. Older than the others, he knew better, or so he thought, but he was actually just useful muscle, very loyal to Marco and there just for the ride. Pepe was planning retirement soon, to spend all his time with his young wife and her 5-year-old son. Pepe’s thoughts drifted off to the last time he had seen his Mexican beauty, two weeks ago. He thought of the few hours of passion they enjoyed together before Philippe gave orders to find Carla. His eyes glazed over, and his penis stiffened…

  The driver was a fat gutted Brazilian bastard, called Vincent, a brilliant driver, a sadistic killer and had a large appetite, not just for killing.

  Next to him was Philippe, the archetypical Columbian drug lord. Some thought he was the Devil’s spawn. He had handsome, but cruel looks; brown eyes, olive-brown skin, black hair, and ponytail. He was as cunning as a fox, a consummate charmer and utterly loyal to Marco, his boss. That is why he was Marco’s second in command, though Philippe intended to take over from Marco, very soon.

  Carla Day had transformed her appearance to look like a cute, but rough little tart of twenty-six. Her slightly husky voice made her appear mouthy, and hinted she probably took drugs. Her shoulder length blond hair was a bit of a mess, wild like her.

  What she could not disguise was her quick wits, her angelic face, and sapphire blue eyes. With care and grooming, she would be stunningly attractive.

  She pondered a while, considering the events that led her to this situation.

  Carla was scared. She knew that at the end of the ride was a bullet in her pretty head. She had messed up big time ripping off Marco. It was not her fault Philippe’s goons had blown up the drugs, in the Cherokee. Well, it was, actually!

  She knew the risk, but had got away with a similar scam, elsewhere in Italy. Crooks do not run to the police when they are ripped off, so she thought she stood a good chance of getting away with it.

  She felt a little emptiness at the loss of Tim, the guy she worked with, who had also been her lover.

  “What a waste,” she thought. “A good-looking hunk like that.”

  She shuddered when she relived in her mind, the grotesque way he had left this world, gut shot and dragged along the road. Then she felt the awful feeling of dread, the sick feeling deep down in her stomach, the feeling of her bowels opening, out of control. She would be dead like Tim, soon!

  Carla suddenly refocused her thoughts and regained composure. Everyone had gone quiet now, each man preoccupied with personal thoughts.

  Carla knew that she was up against four ruthless killers who knew she was on her way to certain death, though no one had let on. That was Philippe’s orders. He thought she would be more manageable and perhaps more cooperative if she could see a way of getting away with her life. The others could see the logic in that.

  She quietly visualized a number of scenarios, all relying on surprise.

  However, even if she could kill all four armed men, how could she control the speeding car on this mountain road, from the back seat?

  The road had a precipitous drop on one side and a rock face on the other. On one hand, at 60 to 80 km/hr. the car would ricochet off the rock face and plunge over the precipice, or on the other hand, just plunge.

  Then the answer came to her, and she smiled to herself.

  The men were still quiet, Pepe had gone much further with his imagination and only his body was in the car. Steve was arguing in his mind with Philippe, justifying his position, and convincing himself that he could get away with it. The argument was of course all one sided and did not consider any counter argument. Nevertheless, it took his full concentration, and it showed on his face as a series of mild grimaces, twitches and rapid eye movement.

  Vincent, the driver was hoping he would get to execute Carla. He envied most other men; the likes of Steve, Philippe and most of all, dear departed Tim. They all had no trouble getting women; even old Pepe had a gorgeous wife. He had heard, and believed, good looks were not particularly important to women, so why couldn’t he get a beauty? He imagined that if he said to Carla. “Stick with me and I will spare your life, we can make a life together,” she would go for it. He fantasized about being with her, he would make love to her, she would be a willing lover because he held her life in his hands, and then he would kill her!

  His arousal gradually reduced the cars speed by 20km/hr. Only Carla noticed.

  Philippe was preparing in his mind for the meeting with his boss, Marco. He thought he, Marco and Carla would sit down together in a relaxed atmosphere. They would ask Carla where the €2,000,000 of cash she and Tim had made off with, was kept.

  They were going to give the impression that they believed Carla had been loyal, even though the exchange at Caserta had gone wrong. That she was in hiding from the buyers. Carla could either, see a way out and hand over the money, or be stupid and die with her secret. Either way, they intended to murder her, but she might save herself from a lot of pain if she went along with the ruse.

  Philippe realized that Carla was outstanding in the wits department, she would bargain for her freedom in exchange for the money. Now what would she come up with? He stared through the windscreen into the night with unseeing eyes.

  Carla saw the blank faces and knew surprise was possible. She fidgeted and made herself more comfortable, whilst coupling the ends of her seat belt over her waist. The men next to her looked at her questioningly, but she looked back unconcerned and faintly smiled.

  Blankness returned to the men’
s faces.

  It had been about an hour ago that they passed the camper and had about two more hours to go before they got to Marco’s home.

  Staring fixedly ahead, Carla studied the road as the car swept around a left hand bend and into a right hand curve, the lights briefly revealed a tunnel in the distance. The car would enter the tunnel with the steering wheel turning slightly to the right.

  They were 10 seconds away from the tunnel when Carla struck. At the speed of a striking mamba, she jabbed two fingers of her right hand into Steve’s eyes, dragging her fingernails down his eyeballs at the same time. He screamed with pain, covering the gouged and bleeding orbs with his hands, his head and hands buried into his legs.

  Instantly she swung to her right.

  Pepe was drawing his gun from his shoulder holster with his right hand. He released the safety catch just as his hand started to clear the edge of his jacket, pulling the slide back to cock the pistol with his left, at the same time.

  With her left hand between his chest and the gun, she clutched the gun and slipped her finger under his, on the trigger. As she thrust herself between him and the seat, so he could not hit her effectively with his free left arm, her right hand pressed against the side of the barrel pushing the muzzle into the centre of his chest.

  Pepe’s right wrist was now bent nearly 90 degrees; he could not straighten it or properly control his fingers.

  Carla’s body weight prevented him pulling his gun arm away.

  She squeezed the trigger, the gun fired at point blank range, and the bullet passed through his chest, just above the sternum and out behind his armpit.

  Pulling the gun from the dead hand, she pushed away from him, turned, and fired at the back of the driver’s seat, catching Vincent in the spine, just between the shoulder blades. His legs went into spasm and floored the accelerator. The car shot forward, his head fell back against the head restraint, and he lost all interest in steering.

  The car swerved to the left pointing towards the flimsy barrier, the only thing between them and thin air.

  Philippe had now drawn his gun and was swinging the muzzle towards Carla, who flung her body behind his seat making it impossible to kill her outright. She could still fire back.

  The lurching car became a greater priority for Philippe.

  He grabbed the top of the steering wheel and pulled it towards him. He followed through with his right hand, still clutching his gun and yanked the steering round another 90 degrees. It was not enough; with the back of the car swinging out, the car hit the mouth of the tunnel, on the side near the rear passenger door. The front of the car was in the tunnel, but not the rear half. The impact was enormous throwing everyone sideways and forward from the sudden deceleration.

  The car slid along the wall of the tunnel with Philippe’s face pressed against the shattered window of the door. The car glanced off into the tunnel in a shower of sparks and shrieking metal, finally coming to a halt.

  Light from the one remaining headlight reflecting off the stone and concrete tunnel, provided enough light for Carla to see that Steve had broken his neck against the front seat, and Pepe was wedged between the driver’s seat and passenger seat. She released her seat belt, pulled Pepe out of her way, then kicked open the rear door, and slid out onto the road. Carla was uninjured, just sore on her hips where the seatbelt had restrained her. Although splashed with someone’s blood, she was not cut or bleeding Fragments of glass twinkled on her clothes, as they caught the light.

  Looking at the carnage, she realised that killing Vincent first, rather than Philippe had been the right choice. Vincent would never have stopped the car; he would have driven non-stop all the way to Marco’s, even with a gun to his head. Shooting Vincent while in the tunnel or on the road would be certain death, one way or another, the car would end up on the valley floor, Vincent would have made sure of that!

  Carla breathed deeply, cleared her mind, and explored the wreck. The car had fared quite well, except for the site of impact. Whilst the car was a write off, it appeared to be driveable.

  Exploring at the far end of the short tunnel; just outside was a small lay-by cut into the face of the mountain for parking machinery during the construction of the tunnel.

  Checking her watch, she reckoned it would be about an hour before the camper van arrived. She needed to hide the Mercedes and bodies, clean herself up and destroy all evidence that she had been in the car.

  She looked into the open boot, pulled out her travel bag containing some clothes and female essentials. Rummaging around in the boot, she found tools, first aid kit and full petrol can.

  By rearranging the bodies in the back of the car, she was able to drag Vincent out of the driver’s seat, into the back.

  She did the same with Philippe. As she rolled him over in the dim light, it looked as though his head was smashed in. His hair and ear on the left side of his head was scraped away to the bone, smeared on the tunnel wall. She searched his pockets for anything useful or valuable, keeping his wallet, bulging with cash.

  To protect her clothes, she placed the carpet from the boot, over the blood soaked front seats, and slipped behind the steering wheel. Getting into the driver’s seat, she noticed Philippe’s brief case, so she kept that, as well.

  The time had come to try to move the car. She switched the ignition off, and then on again, to restart the car. The engine fired, but immediately died.

  "Damn!" She exclaimed as she realised the petrol pump had shut off, due to the impact.”

  Putting the car into first gear then switching off all lights she used the starter motor to propel the car. The car slowly lurched its way forward, the twenty metres to the end of the tunnel. The steering was extremely stiff without power assistance, but taking a wide arc, she covered a further 10 metres, into the darkness of the layby.

  Four years previous, she had worked as service receptionist at a large garage in London and had learned many useful things about cars. She took the job to copy master keys on new luxury cars, passing them on to criminals with the customer’s details, so the car could be stolen at leisure. She made a lot of money in the six months she was there, before she had to go on the run.

  Reaching under the bonnet in the light of the headlamp, she pulled out several lengths of wire and with some pliers from the toolbox, joined them together electrically. One end of the wire connected to the live side of the battery terminal, the other to a piece of chrome trim pulled off the car, and wedged under the front suspension on the good side.

  To check the circuit, she scraped the trim on the steel suspension until the mud and paint burned away in a shower of sparks. The wire hissed as the powerful current flowed, and acrid smoke poured from it. Some Band-Aids held the wire in place and covered the wire joints to prevent shorting out on the car body.

  Placing the petrol can so one of the exposed wire joints was over its open spout, she taped the wires into place. She modified the wire joint, so only three strands formed the connection and draped a piece of cloth over the strands, and down into the petrol. This acted as a detonator to her incendiary bomb.

  In the dimming headlight, and using a broken off wing mirror to inspect herself, she stripped off her clothes, cleaned the blood from her face and hands using spit and her old T-shirt. She dressed in clean jeans, a blouse, and her favourite denim jacket. She threw her old clothes in the car.

  After combing her hair into a ponytail and checking her appearance, she unscrewed the dust cover to the tyre valve of the front wheel. Using the pliers, she carefully squeezed the brass valve until it started to hiss. She wanted to set up a slow air leak, so after about half an hour or so, the suspension would settle down on the chrome trim contact, causing the wire strands to glow under the wick, and set the petrol in the can, alight. This would destroy all traces of her if the police should get to the car, before Marco and his men did.

  She checked her watch; the camper might be here in about 20 minutes, and she still had a lot to do.

&nb
sp; Running back through the tunnel she noticed the glint of broken glass and shiny black patches of blood. Nothing she could do about them, but she kicked some pieces of metal and plastic laying in the road, over the edge.

  In the far distance below, she could see the lights of a vehicle. It must be the camper, she thought.

  By climbing down the service steps with her bag, and Philippe’s case, to the road far below, she hoped to get a lift in the camper van. She intended to divert the driver’s attention away from the blood and glass as he went through the tunnel.

  Accelerating out of the hairpin bend and moving into second gear the van slowly gained speed. The advancing headlight beam immediately picked out the unexpected figure of a young girl stood by the roadside with a canvas holdall bag in one hand and a black briefcase in the other. Anywhere else, she looked like she was waiting for a bus, but here it was nothing short of bizarre.

  Max slowed down as he approached; she put down her luggage and waved him down. There was no cover for bandits to hide, so he stopped.

  She opened the side door, and the interior light came on. Max exclaimed, “Young lady, what on earth are you doing way out here?”

  “Oh please help me!” She cried. “I have had a bust up with my boyfriend, and he has dumped me here.”

  “You have got to be joking! What kind of scumbag would do that to a girl?” Said Max.

  “One who thinks he can take me on holiday with him and use me!” She said. “Well, not this baby!” She spat and then started sobbing.

  “Hey! Hey! Come on, you don’t need to cry, I can take you on to somewhere where you can get help, just hand up your luggage, and we will get going.”

  Carla calmed down and handed up her bags, Max placed them on the seat behind him.

  As he climbed back into the driver’s seat, she turned to face him. Her angelic face radiated a warm and sincere smile. Tears twinkled in the light as she softened the intensity, of her sapphire blue eyes. She deliberately held her gaze into Max’s blue/grey eyes, so he could study her, and become entranced. Carla knew how to bewitch, and manipulate, the hardest male heart. Max, immediately fell under her spell, his soft, warm heart, doubled its beat. She deliberately leant close to him, and he could smell her warm skin and perfume. There was nothing he would not do for her, now.