Derek figured bringing in the police was pretty unlikely. Did the Promise Falls cops really want to be bothered with someone sneaking into the drive-in for free?
At this point, Derek didn’t much care. Right now, he’d happily endure a full body-cavity search if it meant getting the hell out of here.
Canton said, “Uh, I don’t think you have the right to do that.”
“Yeah?” the man said.
“Yeah. I don’t think you have the authority. You’re just some dick selling tickets.”
“Really. Well, my name is Lionel Grayson, and I’m the owner and manager of this place, and if you don’t pop that trunk, I’m calling the cops.”
Maybe it was more likely than Derek thought. Fine, so be it.
“Okay, then,” Canton said.
Derek heard the driver’s door open. But then another door, on the other side of the car. Tyler had been sitting behind Canton. Which meant George was getting out.
Tyler said, “Jesus, George, what are you—”
Derek didn’t hear the rest as both doors slammed shut.
Canton was saying, “You know, this being the last night you guys are open, we were just wanting to have a little fun and—”
The man, this Mr. Grayson, sounding closer now, “Just open it up.”
“Okay, I hear ya, I hear ya.”
Then, George. “You know, man, this is America. You think being a fucking ticket seller gives you the right to violate our constitutional rights?”
“George, just let it go.”
All three voices at the back of the car now. Derek was still pretty sure Lionel Grayson wouldn’t call the cops. He’d just tell them to piss off. Turn their car around and send them on their way. Derek already had a plan. They’d go back to his place, download a Transformers movie to the flat-screen, and get drunk on his couch.
No need for him to be the designated driver any—
Bang.
No, it was more than that it. So much more than just a bang. In the trunk, it sounded to Derek like a sonic boom. The whole car seemed to shake.
It couldn’t have been something on the screen. One of the Transformer robots blowing up, say. You had to be in the car, have the radio tuned to the right frequency, to hear the movie.
And even if this had been a regular movie, in a theater, the bang was too loud.
It sounded very close.
George.
Could he really have been that dumb? Had he gotten out of the car with the gun? Had he started waving it at the manager? Had he pulled the trigger?
That stupid, stupid, stupid son of a bitch. Surely to God he didn’t think getting caught over something like this was cause to shoot a guy.
There were screams. Lots of screams. But they sounded off in the distance.
“Jesus!” someone shouted. Derek was pretty sure that was Canton.
Then: “Oh my God!” That sounded a lot like George.
Derek frantically padded the back wall of the trunk, looking for the emergency release. His heart was pounding. He’d broken out in an instant sweat. He found the lever, grabbed hold, yanked.
The trunk lid swung open.
Canton was there, and George was there, so was a third man. A black man Derek figured was Lionel Grayson, the manager. Not one of them was looking into the trunk. In fact, all three had their backs to Derek, their collective attention focused elsewhere.
Derek sat up so quickly, he banged his head on the edge of the opening. He instinctively put his hand on the injury, but he was too spellbound to feel any pain.
He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
The Constellation Drive-in Theater’s four-story screen was coming down.
Dark smoke billowed from the width of its base as it slowly pitched forward, in the direction of the parking lot, as though being blown over by a mighty wind.
Except there was no wind.
The immense wall came down with a great whomping crash that shook the ground beneath them. Clouds of smoke and dust billowed skyward from beyond the fence.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Barely a second. Then, a strangled symphony of car alarms, whooping and screeching in a discordant chorus of panic.
And more screams. Many, many more screams.
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Broken Promise: A Thriller Page 41