by Penny McCall
“You think the police arrested them?”
“Unless they grew wings.” Conn headed for the nearest shop.
Rae pulled him back. “You’re too memorable,” and before he could argue, she put up her hood and went inside.
Conn let her go, but he put a foot on the door to hold it slightly open so he could hear the conversation without being seen.
Rae wandered around, aimlessly browsing for a couple minutes before she approached the checkout counter, plucking a pair of earrings from a rack and holding them up to her ears. “I hear there was some commotion on the island today,” she said to the bored girl picking at her nail polish behind the cash register.
“Yeah,” the girl said, “some guys stole horses from the Grand Hotel and, like, chased this carriage all over the island. With guns.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Nah. The driver took them on single-handedly, like John Wayne or something. The people in the carriage, like, totally stole a plane and flew it off the island. They landed it about ten miles away from here, like, right in the middle of I-75.”
“Really,” Rae said.
“Yeah, I heard it was some guy built like the Hulk and a lady with red hair . . .”
“Shit,” Conn said under his breath as Rae shot out of the store and took off at a fast walk.
“You heard all that, right?”
“Aye,” Conn said, letting her lead the way into the maze of boutiques and restaurants. As soon as they were out of sight of that first shop, Conn slowed to a more leisurely pace so they didn’t draw more attention. “So much for you being the unremarkable one.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten that much out of her. She’d have taken one look at you and—”
Conn popped up an eyebrow.
“Okay, you could have found out whatever you wanted to know, but not by asking questions.”
“There are many ways to get information, but I would not want to cross that particular line.”
Rae didn’t say anything, but Conn thought he caught the beginning of a smile before she looked away. It gave him a little ego boost, knowing she was jealous, but then there was the downside. Her feelings. But it was too late to do anything about it, except try not to encourage her.
They’d been working their way toward the docks, and the parking lot where they’d left Mr. Pennworthy’s car. When they found themselves at the last line of buildings, ready to step out into the open, Conn caught Rae’s arm.
She didn’t argue with him. She looked like she understood his hesitation, if not the exact reason for it. “I don’t see anyone around the car.”
“That’s what troubles me,” he said.
The car was parked in a wide-open lot, no other vehicles around it, owing to the lateness of the day, and the season, and the scarcity of tourists. He didn’t see anyone lurking nearby, and the closest building was too far off to be used as cover. The sun was low in the western sky. Not much natural light made it past the buildings. All they had to do was cross the parking lot, get in the car, and drive away. Nothing to it. That was exactly what bothered Conn.
There’d been a pretty big ruckus on Mackinac Island earlier, complete with a horse chase and gunfire, not to mention a stolen airplane that was currently blocking the southbound lanes of a major interstate highway. Only half the combatants were in police custody, and it made sense that the authorities would be watching the ferry yards at Mackinaw City and St. Ignace in the hope they could collar the hijackers. Just because he didn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there.
Their options were limited. If there’d been a bus station in Mackinaw City, and if it weren’t being watched, the ticket agent would have instructions to be on the lookout for them. And he and Rae were anything but mistakable. They could steal a car, but he preferred to take their chances with the Cadillac. It was a prime example of Detroit technology, perfectly maintained, with an engine more powerful than anything he was likely to stumble across in a small town where most of the residents worked the tourist industry for slightly over minimum wage. Especially since the tourists, who might have provided something worthwhile to steal, were all snug at home, getting ready for winter.
Now, if he could only figure out a way to get behind the wheel . . . Not a good idea to push that agenda, he decided, not after the plane. No way could he sneak that kind of skill by Rae twice. He’d barely made it the first time. And Rae wasn’t such a bad driver, judging by their two previous auto-related altercations. Not that he could warn her of the possibilities since Conn the Armorer couldn’t possibly anticipate the actions of twenty-first-century law enforcement.
He took Rae by the hand and stepped out into the open, crossing the parking lot. They were at the car, and she was coding them in, when the lights came on. The lights came from two cars.
“Shit,” he said, losing precious seconds while he wrestled with the urge to race around the car and get behind the wheel himself. He finally yanked open the passenger door, yelling, “Let’s go.”
She opened the driver’s-side door and looked in at him. “Can’t your friend get us out of this?”
Conn grabbed her arm and pulled her into the car. “I don’t know how to get in touch with him,” he lied.
Rae just sat there, staring at the police cruisers bearing down on them.
“Either you drive or I will.”
She pushed the keyless ignition, and shot it into DRIVE as soon as the engine roared to life, giving the car enough gas to make the tires spin out on the gravel as she wheeled it toward the road.
The two cruisers swung out behind them, sirens screaming as they sped back through the area Conn and Rae had just covered on foot.
“I-75?” Conn asked her.
“That’s our best bet, don’t you think?”
“Not southbound.”
She looked over at him, jerking the steering wheel to the right just as one of the cruisers pulled up next to him. The deputy driving it took evasive action and ran into a light pole.
“One down, one to go,” Conn said, grinning.
“I was just trying to change lanes,” Rae said, looking panicky. “Do you think he’s hurt? He’s hurt. Oh my God, I killed a police officer.”
“Air bag went off,” Conn said, then closed his eyes and called himself every kind of idiot there was for mentioning something no medieval armorer would know about. If she hadn’t been busy worrying about killing a cop he’d’ve been toast. “He’s fine,” Conn said. “The car won’t be moving anytime soon, though.” He looked over his shoulder. “The other guy seems to be okay with staying behind us.”
“That’s because we have nowhere to go,” Rae said, taking the northbound ramp onto I-75. “Except the bridge.”
Conn reached over and set his left hand on top of her right hand, leaving it there until she stopped shaking.
“You okay?”
She nodded, giving him a slight smile. It came out more like a grimace, but at least she’d tried. It said something about her state of mind.
“He’s not following us onto the bridge,” Rae said.
Sure enough, the cruiser had stopped at the Lower Peninsula entrance to the northbound side, pulling across the two lanes of traffic to stop any other vehicles from crossing the bridge.
“What are they up to?”
“My guess,” Conn said, “is that they have the other side of the bridge blocked.”
Rae blew out a breath, but she stayed calm. “They’re trying to keep innocent bystanders from getting hurt. And it’s not like we can go anywhere but forward.”
She had a point there. They couldn’t cut over to the southbound lanes, and it had to be at least a couple hundred feet to the water. Even if they could get the Caddy over the side, they’d never survive the fall.
They passed the southern tower, moving onto the center span. Even when they’d crested the hill there was nothing to see, no taillights in front of them, and since the sun had completely set, and they were still a couple
of miles from the far end, not even the hint of the vehicle blocking their way was visible. Conn still knew it was going to be there.
So did Rae, but instead of slowing down when the vehicle came into sight, she sped up. Even worse, it was a pickup truck, the seal on its side illegible at that distance but a clear indication that it represented a sheriff’s department—not to mention the equivalent of a brick wall at the speed they were going.
“Rae,” he said, keeping his voice calm so he didn’t upset her. “Maybe we should stop.”
“If I hit the back end of the pickup really hard, I can punch it out of the way and keep going.”
“Maybe, but—”
“It always works in the movies.”
“I don’t doubt the mechanics of your plan. But even if the police car that hit the pole a few minutes ago had been driveable, the officer was unable—”
“Because of the air bag.” Rae smacked herself in the head with the heel of her hand. “Stupid. So we stop, and then what? He’ll have a gun.”
“So did Harry,” Conn reminded her.
“Right.” Rae did another one of her deep-breathing exercises, slowing the car as they passed the second tower and started the final descent.
She was about a quarter mile from the truck, going less than twenty miles an hour, when Conn opened the passenger door and rolled out, letting momentum take him to his feet again. He stayed low, keeping the bulk of the car between himself and the police officer getting out of the pickup.
The Caddy rolled to a stop, Conn catching up to it just as the officer approached the driver’s side and ordered Rae out of the car. By the time he caught sight of Conn in his peripheral vision it was over, Conn clouting him on the jaw hard enough to put him out.
He didn’t waste any time, dragging the officer up into a fireman’s carry and dumping him in the bed of his pickup, then jumping in the cab and pulling it up far enough so the Cadillac could get by. The radio was already squawking for a response.
“What the hell was that?”
Conn turned around in time for Rae to punch him on the arm. “Ouch,” he said, just registering the aches and bruises from the stunt he’d pulled.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
He rubbed his arm. “I won’t if you won’t.”
“You scared me half to death.”
“Yell and walk,” Conn said, nudging her back to the Caddy. “We don’t have much time before the deputy on the other side decides to come over here and find out why he’s not getting an answer.”
“I think it’s too late already.”
“Fuck.”
That got a reaction from Rae, although it was nonverbal.
“It seemed to be appropriate to the circumstances.”
“I’ll say.”
Conn climbed into the passenger seat of the Cadillac, Rae barely waiting until he was completely in before she took off. “Now what do we do?”
“Drive. And lose him,” he said, shooting a glance at the cop car bearing down on them, and wishing he was behind the wheel. Then again, Rae hadn’t done too badly.
She took off, but she couldn’t seem to lose the squad car on the curving back roads. He couldn’t catch up to them, either, but it was just a matter of time before he called in reinforcements.
“We can’t do this forever,” Conn said.
Rae kept her focus on the road, but she must have agreed, because she poured on the speed, taking the next curve practically on two wheels.
Conn braced himself, marveling at the cornering ability of the Cadillac but keeping an eye out the back window. The cruiser was falling behind, coming into the curve just as Rae steered out of it. By the time she made it around the next bend, the cop was still out of sight. She went another couple of miles, keeping to an insane speed, then taking a left at a narrow dirt lane leading into the forest. She went a couple hundred yards and turned off the lights and engine.
They both turned around in time to see the squad car cruise to a stop at the entrance to the lane. He sat there a minute, long enough for Conn to start thinking about what he’d do if it came to a confrontation. Then he zoomed off, his tires squealing a little on the blacktop road.
Conn had just begun to relax when Rae clutched at him. “Watch the nails,” he said, peeling her claws out of his arm. He looked over to find her pointing out the window with her other hand.
They were surrounded by men in camouflage, almost all of them with a bow slung over their shoulders.
“That explains why the sheriff took off.”
“Great,” Rae said. “There’s never a cop around when you need one.”
chapter 18
CONN REACHED FOR THE DOOR HANDLE.
Rae squeezed his arm. “Do you think that’s a good idea? If we stay in the car, and there’s any trouble, I can run them down.”
“I think they’d get back up.”
Rae smiled slightly. “I’m pretty sure they’re human, despite appearances.”
“I suppose if I told you to stay here, you wouldn’t listen, either.”
Rae turned the headlights back on and opened her door. “You keep mistaking me for one of those mousy, oppressed sixteenth-century women who were afraid of big, strong men.”
“Well, beating a woman was legal, and if that didn’t work, you could always be burned as a witch.”
“Renaissance, huh.” Rae got out of the car.
Conn got out as well. They both stayed behind the doors.
“What do you trolls want?” one of the men called out.
“Trolls?” Conn asked.
“We’re not trolls,” Rae said.
They all looked at the car. “Definitely trolls,” the same man said. “That’s what we call anybody living in the Lower Peninsula—below the bridge.”
“Clever,” Rae said. “If we’re trolls, what are you?”
“Yoopers.”
She frowned.
“Yoopers,” a kid about eighteen repeated, “as in U.P. Upper Peninsula. Jeez, trolls are stupid.”
“And Yoopers don’t have any manners.”
“Why are you antagonizing them?” Conn said under his breath.
“Why are you so calm?” Rae shot back. “These guys aren’t here for a square dance, they’re armed and dangerous.”
“I think she just insulted us with that square dance comment, Billy,” the guy who’d spoken before—the guy who seemed to be the head Yooper—said conversationally to the man standing next to him.
“I think you’re right, Jonas,” Billy said back. “That definitely felt insulting. I think she owes us an apology.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Rae said. “And you called me a troll, so I think we’re even.”
“Does that sound like an apology, Billy?”
“No, it most certainly does not, Jonas.” And Billy stepped forward.
Conn was around the door and grabbing him by the neck before anyone else could move. He took Billy’s bow and quiver and shoved him into the dirt, nocking an arrow and shooting it into the ground between Jonas’s feet, then shooting twice more, his aim perfect. Rae’s heart was pounding a mile a minute, and she doubted the whole episode had taken three beats.
Jonas held up his hands to show he didn’t mean any harm, then stepped forward and helped Billy to his feet. Jonas seemed pretty calm, but Rae took a quick survey of the other faces and figured she and Conn were about to star in a remake of Deliverance, minus the canoe and the catchy soundtrack.
“He’s lost his memory,” Rae said, hoping an explanation would help. “He thinks he’s a sixteenth-century armorer.”
“We can fix that,” one of the supporting characters yelled out. “Let’s hit him over the head.”
The others laughed, but there was a sinister undertone that told her it probably wouldn’t stop with Conn’s head, and he wouldn’t be able to take enough Yoopers out before they were on him. And okay, now she was thinking like she was from the sixteenth century.
>
“Look, we didn’t mean to trespass,” she said, trying to sound as sincere and nonthreatening as possible. “Just let us go and we’ll never come back.”
Jonas rubbed his jaw. “First, tell us why the cops were after you.”
Rae looked at Conn.
He bumped up a shoulder, which she took for agreement. “Like I said, Conn lost his memory.”
“Conn?” the eighteen-year-old said. “Cool name.”
“It’s short for Connor—and why am I explaining that to you? My parents travel around the country working Renaissance faires.”
“They have one of those over to Ironwood,” the kid chimed in, adding for the benefit of the trolls, “that’s all the way to the other side of the U.P. Hey, do you dress up in one of them wench outfits?”
The peanut gallery seemed to get a kick out of that idea, laughing and leering, which struck a nerve.
“Do you want an explanation or a fashion show, cup-cake?”
“There she goes, getting all insulting again,” Billy said.
“She is kind of touchy,” Jonas agreed.
Conn crossed his arms. “You have no idea.”
“Explaining, here,” Rae said tightly.
The morons all quieted down, and she gave Conn a look that said she was including him in that group. “A week or so ago, a couple of guys conked Conn over the head and he lost his memory,” she continued. “They’ve been trying to catch him ever since and finish the job.”
“Why do they want you dead?” Jonas asked Conn.
“Don’t know,” Conn said, “but they caught up to us on Mackinac Island this morning.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” Billy sidled up to Jonas. “I bet they’re the ones who stole that plane we heard about. Landed it right in the middle of I-75.”
“Cool,” the kid said, still mired in the seventies, slang-wise.
The rest of the troop chimed in, equally impressed with their larcenous activities.
“I take it you don’t like the people on Mackinac Island,” Rae observed.
“It ain’t the residents,” Billy said, “it’s them rich trolls, buying up all the waterfront real estate and lording it over ever’body else. They do the same up here, buying hunting lodges and traipsing around in their sissy orange clothes, shooting up the countryside with no concern for whose backyard they’re in.”