The left front tire blew on impact and that wheel snapped flat on the ground and wedged beneath the chassis. The Corvette's rear end blastingly pivoted the rest of the car to the left and the crippled vehicle spun halfway around as its forward momentum carried it grindingly across the remaining lanes and into the drainage ditch.
The Corvette slid sideways down the slope and into the ditch with a tremendous splash. The roaring engine stopped as a high wall of water rose to drench the road.
A car on US-19 braked sharply as it approached the scene. The Corvette's skyward-facing passenger door opened and the driver climbed out to stand on the car, briefly illuminated by the passing headlights.
Correction to my previous supposition; the driver was female. Very female, by her outline. Before she jumped down, I noted that she had shoulder length hair and wore either jeans or slacks below a dark blouse.
She started running along the shoulder of the road behind the passing car, closing the gap between them, but the driver hit the gas and left rubber pulling away from her. Instead of slowing to a walk or a stop, the woman kept running at full bore, her long strides quickly carrying her well down the road.
Sometime during all that activity, I'd pulled my car off the road as I'd watched the show. Noise ahead made me look away from the running woman.
People swarming out of the bar headed for their cars or ran across the highway after the woman. Wowsers! That ol’ girl must've really punted that anthill!
One of those ‘sport’ vehicles—an SUV with that phony ‘toughened’ look about it and oversized tires—blasted out of the parking lot, went airborne briefly at the dip, and screamed across the highway and median after the running woman.
The SUV screeched to a stop just barely behind her and its headlights spotlighted her as a guy leaned out of the driver's window. He shouted something that sounded pretty hostile. The woman shouted something equally hostile back at him and raised both hands at almost shoulder level.
Was she begging him not to run her down? She shouted something in an angry tone. Nope. She was more likely giving him the finger. He yanked his head back inside the vehicle and the SUV lunged forward at the woman as he gunned it.
I thought he might only be trying to scare her, but the SUV blasted through the space where the woman had been standing and continued on for some distance before it again screeched to a halt. The driver's door opened and a man started to get out, then he apparently changed his mind and began backing the vehicle along the shoulder.
'Holy shit, he ran her down!’ I thought, steering my car back onto the highway after a truck had passed. I eased across the median strip, waited for a southbound car to pass, and headed toward the area where I expected to find a mangled body.
Someone from the bar had the same idea and nearly rammed my car when his wheels left the median grass and got a grip on the pavement. As I put on my flashers and stopped, he rushed past me, apparently heading for the SUV.
When he saw the other car hurtling toward him, the guy in the SUV put it in drive and hit the gas. Both vehicles howled away into the night as I got out of my car and looked for the woman.
I searched the embankment and ditch to the north and south, but didn't see her. To the east, across the ditch, was nothing but a three-strand barbed wire fence in front of some typical Florida pine forest and underbrush.
Other people had come running from the bar, making their way toward me between passing cars as they crossed the eight lanes of highway and the median.
Some of those people used their cars to illuminate the drowned Corvette and its surroundings, turning on their flashers to warn oncoming drivers. Good enough. I eased back onto the road and continued to the U-turn, then returned to the bar.
Someone shouted at me and came running back across US-19 as I pulled into the parking lot. I ignored him and put my car in a slot, then got out as he pantingly approached me.
He yelled, “Why the hell did you come back over here? Your lights were..."
Holding up a hand and pointing with the other, I cut in, “There are four other cars over there. You don't need mine."
"But you were already there, dammit!"
"I'd rather be here."
I looked back across the highway, where there were now seven cars. He angrily tried to knock my keys out of my hand.
As he quickly stepped back, I stunned him with a tendril and watched him collapse to the gravel, then glanced around and spotted a woman standing in the bar's doorway.
Thumbing at the guy, I said, “He fell down, ma'am. You might want to call somebody."
She nodded and went back into the bar. I leaned on the trunk of my car and gazed across the road at the small herd of people searching the area for the woman—or her body, I supposed. They'd have seen the same thing I had; the SUV apparently running her down.
Cop cars came screaming toward the scene from the north and south. One of them stopped behind the cars illuminating the dead Corvette. Another one came sliding to a stop behind my car and a sheriff's deputy quickly got out to put two fingers on the side of the downed guy's neck.
Standing up, he snapped, “Why the hell are you just standing there?! What happened to this guy?"
"He came running across the road and stopped, then he fell down. I told some woman at the door to call for help."
"Did you check him out? See if you could help him?"
Shrugging, I said, “I tried to make him more comfortable."
The deputy glared at me and said something into his shoulder mike, then held a brief conversation with someone as he looked rather carefully around the parking lot.
Returning his gaze to me, he snapped, “Did you hit this guy?"
Shaking my head, I said, “Nope. He was across the street with those people. He came running over here when I pulled in, then he just fell down."
"Will anyone else back you up on that?"
"A woman was standing in the doorway when it happened."
I thumbed over my shoulder at the bar's open doorway and the cop asked, “Did you see this guy pull in?"
Looking back, I saw the same woman nod again as she said, “Yeah, I did."
Pointing at the man on the ground, the deputy asked, “Did he hit that guy?"
The woman looked at the deputy as if he'd lost his mind and said with a heavy Alabama accent, “Hell, no, he didn't hit him! Jack was a-runnin’ and a-yellin’ and ... well, he prob'ly just up and passed out, the damned fool!"
'The damned fool’ started to wake up and moaned. The deputy turned away from the woman and me to tend him. I headed into the building past the woman.
No thrill. The place was clean and neat, but amounted to just a couple of pool tables, a short bar, a twelve-by-twenty dance floor, and a lot of chairs around tiny tables.
Behind me, the woman asked, “You wanna beer?"
Turning to her, I asked, “Do you have Ice House?"
As if I'd somehow qualified for her list of ‘damned fools', she snorted, “Sure, we got Ice House. Buck-fifty. You want one?"
Nodding, I replied, “Okay,” and watched her head for the bar. She was about forty, dirty blonde, too slender for my taste, and had a no-nonsense stride to match her general attitude.
Following her, I put two bucks down when she set the bottle on the bar, then sipped my beer as I looked around the place again. Still no thrill.
I winced as the juke box finished one whiny country song and loudly cranked up another one, apparently about two people who drank themselves to death over each other.
"You don’ like the music?” asked the woman.
Returning my gaze to her, I said, “No, I don't. I can't figure out why anyone would pay to hear something like that, either. It's not particularly conducive to having a good time."
Peering at me, she thumbed a remote and the whiny music stopped as she rather warily asked, “You a friend of Donna's?"
"Nope. Who's she?"
"The woman who started all the shit in here awhile ago."
"Ah,” I replied as if enlightened, “Nope, still don't know her,” and took a sip of beer as I studied the pool tables.
Interesting inconsistencies catch my attention. She had a thick cornpone-Alabama accent, but she'd said ‘the woman who’ instead of ‘the woman that'.
There were a few cardboard coasters on a stool and the floor near the bar. I leaned to pick them up and put them on the bar, then sat down on the stool and took another sip of beer.
After eyeing me for some moments, the woman asked, “You don't care what happened? Why that guy went chasin’ after her like a damn pit bull pup?"
I set my beer on the bar and met her gaze as I asked, “How would knowing that be of any particular benefit to me?"
She laughed, “You talk funny, but you got a point, there."
Glancing around the well-stocked bar, I asked, “I talk funny, huh? Is this really your place? I mean; your place, as opposed to your husband's place?"
Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah. My place. Nobody else's. I bought it and fixed it up with my own money."
"Then how about dropping the hillbilly act, ma'am? You're bright enough to open and run this bar, so I'd bet you can speak English as well as just about anyone else."
Instantly bristling, the woman glared at me for a moment, then a wry grin appeared. It didn't amount to much more than a tiny smile, but it was there.
"Okay,” she said, without any discernible accent at all, “Just for you and only until everyone comes back from trying to find Donna, then it's back to good ol’ down-home hootin'-holler Alabammy for me. That's what they expect to hear."
Tipping my beer to her, I said, “I'll keep your secret, milady. I promise."
She laughed, “You'd damned well better. Tell me something; why aren't you at least curious about what happened in here earlier? I saw you drive across the median to follow her."
"I might have been able to help, but she disappeared, and whether she's plastered across the grill of that SUV or hiding in the woods, I'm better off in here with a beer. Everybody else can feed the bugs and gators and wade around in high, wet grass in the dark."
Laughing again, she asked, “Do you think they'll find her?"
Sipping my beer, I said, “Nah, I kinda doubt it."
"Why?"
Grinning, I aimed my beer at her and replied, “Because you know her and you don't think they'll find her, either."
Chapter Eleven
She grinned and shifted her position to lean both elbows on the bar, then said, “Maybe I just don't like her much, don't care if they find her, and don't want her coming back in here."
I met her gaze for a moment, then shook my head. “Also doubtful, ma'am. I can't say why, but I don't think that's it. It just doesn't ring quite right."
With a short laugh, she stood straight and extended a hand across the bar. “I'm Jenny."
Taking her hand, I said, “I'm Ed."
"Well, Ed, you're interesting. I can't say that about most people, so your next beer's on the house if you stick around."
Retrieving her hand, she strode to the front door just as the deputy and the guy I'd stunned—Jack—came in.
I ignored them and headed for the juke box, but the deputy snapped, “Hey. You."
When I looked around, he was pointing at me.
"Yeah?"
"Get over here. Now."
I read his nametag and asked, “Is that how they taught you to deal with the public, Deputy Trask?"
He puffed up and snapped, “You don't wanna be givin’ me any trouble tonight, dude! None at all, y'hear?"
"That works both ways. Give me a hard time and a lawyer will tear a fat chunk out of your wallet before he goes after your whole department."
Jenny turned around and sighingly said, “Awright, now'at you two boys know where ya stand with each other, getcher bizness done an’ get out. Ah got a bar t'run here."
The deputy stared at her as if she was nuts and started to puff up again. “You'd be smart to mind your own business."
Marching over to him, Jenny produced a business card with the sheriff's office emblem on it and quietly asked, “You know my ol’ friend Dave Marks? If'n you don't, I'll be right happy to call him for you."
I didn't know who Dave Marks might be, but the deputy obviously did. While he met her tight gaze briefly, he soon backed down and turned to me.
Speaking tightly, he said, “Sir, I need your statement."
The flags were down. It was time to meet him halfway. I said, “No problem,” and walked over to take a seat at the bar.
Some of the people who'd run out to the road trickled back in as we talked. The juke box launched into a more upbeat country song that had some of the people laughing and singing along with the chorus: “Hell, yeah! All right!"
Fifteen or so minutes later, I read the deputy's notes, used my pen to draw diagonal lines through the blank space at the bottom, initialed the lines, and signed the form.
Eyeing the lines, the deputy seemed about to say something, so I said, “It's an old Army habit. Never leave empty space on anything you sign."
Once the deputy had gone outside, Jack thumbed at me and said accusingly, “Jenny, this guy just left her over there."
Sipping beer, I asked, “Did anyone find her?"
He snapped, “Well, no, but..."
Interrupting him, I asked, “Then how the hell would you know whether I left her there?"
Jenny snickered and shook her head as she went behind the bar. Jack gave her a sharp, questioning look and asked, “What the hell are you laughing about?! Blaine tried to run her down!"
Shrugging, Jenny laughed, “Yeah, an’ twenny people seen him do it, too, Jack. If'n he got her, it's murder. If'n he missed, it's attempted murder. He'll be pullin’ some jail time, no damned doubt about it."
Jack apparently thought our values were somewhat skewed. He stood up, shaking his head in amazement or disbelief, and headed for the restroom at a march step. Doing her best to contain her laughter, Jenny turned away so he couldn't see her face as he stomped past us.
I asked, “Blaine's what? A boyfriend or a hubby?"
"Her almost-ex-hubby. They got married when she still had a year to go in the Army. Things were fine while she was home on leave, but when she got out, she came home to nothin’ ‘cept him in bed with another woman. He'd sold everything they owned or put it all in his own name, and this isn't a community-property state. You finally gettin’ curious?"
"Oh, yeah, ‘fraid so. I have a feeling the events of this evening weren't all that spontaneous."
Jenny shot me a grin and set a new beer on the bar, though I still had half an inch in my old one. I downed it and gave her the bottle.
"Like I said,” she said, “This one's on the house."
"Mind if I ask why? Just being interesting doesn't usually get me free beers in bars, ma'am."
Tossing my empty bottle in the trash, she replied, “Maybe you've been goin’ to the wrong bars,” and stepped from behind the bar to check drinks at tables.
I watched a tow truck haul the Corvette out of the ditch as I waited to play pool. Sometime later, I was more than halfway through my beer and I'd won three games of pool when something caught my attention without quite making itself obvious.
As I prepared to break the new rack, I pretended to study the angle and eyed the area behind the bar for a moment. A quick flash of light splashed out from under the door, but it wasn't as bright as you'd expect from a flashlight and it didn't stay on. The space below the door remained absolutely dark until the next flash.
Jenny was making her way between tables, taking orders and picking up empties. I tapped her arm as she passed and she stopped beside me with her tray of bottles and glasses.
"There's someone in the back room,” I whispered.
Her eyes locked on mine in a narrow gaze, then she quietly asked, “How did you come to that conclusion?"
Not a hint of hayseed in her speech. No games.
I an
swered, “Someone's using retinal afterimages to navigate. A short flash of light. Take a few steps or reach for something. Another short flash and back the way you came."
Her gaze never faltered during our conversation.
She said, “You sound as if you've done that, too."
Instead of agreeing or denying, I said, “Just thought you'd like to know, ma'am. If you didn't already, of course."
Fiddling with the bottles on her tray, she said, “Yeah, I knew, but thanks, anyway,” and moved on.
A few more games of pool later, I shot too hard on the eight ball. It rattled in the pocket I'd chosen and climbed back out, then the other guy managed to dunk his last three balls and the eight. Game over and I was out of beer.
Someone else put his quarters up and I headed for the bar to save Jenny a trip for my empty bottle. As I approached, she held up a fresh one and looked at me questioningly. I nodded and put my empty on the bar.
Jenny used reaching for my empty to whisper, “Play along."
I nodded. Loudly enough to be heard above the music, she asked me to help her take the trash can marked ‘glass’ out to the back porch. I agreed and joined her by the end of the bar.
We hauled the big ‘tilt ‘n roll’ trash can to the rear door and she opened it with a key, then we hauled the can outside and set it to one side with another can like it.
My proximity bells went off while she was saying, “The recyclers come by on...” and I shoved her back into the bar as I pulled the steel door shut.
She yelped, “What the hell are you doing?!"
Holding up a hand, I said, “There's somebody out there. If it isn't Donna or a dumpster-diver, it could be a trouble."
Sighing with apparent relief, Jenny said, “It's Donna. How the hell did you know she was out there?"
"Just did. Now what?"
Snorting a chuckle, she said, “Now we go back outside,” reopened the door, and stepped onto the back porch.
Following her out, I stood beside her as she sent two low whistles into the woods behind the bar. Nothing happened and I studied the direction in which I felt a presence, then pointed at a spot and said, “Over there."
3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Page 6