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Dropping into the driver’s seat, Carla turned the key to bring the car to life.
"Go! Go! Go!" Falau yelled.
The car screeched from the curb and raced up the street, taking a hard-right turn without slowing down. Falau was pleased to have Carla behind the wheel. She was the one who had far more skill when it came to this kind of driving.
Pulling the .45 caliber pistol from his waistband he checked the magazine to make sure it was full. "Hand me your 9mm," demanded Falau
"It's on my ankle. Just grab it."
Reaching down, Falau lifted the young woman's pant leg and spotted the gun. Taking it from its holster his hand accidentally rubbed against her skin, reminding him how long it'd been since he felt the softness of a woman.
Opening the magazine, he saw it was filled. He popped it back in and loaded one round in the chamber. Going to the glove compartment he pulled out another magazine, quickly packing one for the 9mm and one for the 45.
"Shit, Carla!" squawked Falau as the car screeched to a harsh stop, but then noticed her eyes were locked on the car in front of them.
"It's him,” she said in a calm, soft voice. "He's looking at me in the rearview mirror."
"Change the radio station. Play cool. Look natural."
Carla reached for the radio as the stop light turned green. The Butcher’s car pulled away with his eyes still locked on her in the rearview mirror.
"I don’t like this."
"The gas. Pump it a little. Like you’re drunk."
The car lurched forward, then settled down as they followed their target from a safe distance. "It's not like he's even looking at the road,” she said, a trace of fear in her voice for the first time since she and Falau had met. "His eyes are locked on the mirror, looking right at us. He must know."
"He’s on high alert but he has no idea we’re after him. Unless the two guys in the office called him." Falau punched the dashboard in frustration for not taking more time and care to deal with the office men.
The Butcher’s car slowed at a stop light as they pulled up behind. Carla ran her hand through her hair and attempted to look like she was joking with her friend, but all the while she could see the madman looking back examining her. The hum of the motors was the only thing breaking the silence in the crisp air of the night.
The light changed to green and The Butcher pulled away slowly, still looking back at their car.
Carla followed. "He knows. I can see it in his eyes. He’s checking out everything I do."
"Calm down. No need to jump the gun with a guy like this. Let him make the first move,” replied Falau. Falau could feel himself starting to work off instinct. His skills with this kind of work were coming back to life, and for the first time in years he felt sure of himself and sure of what he was doing.
The Butcher slowly pulled away from them again.
"Hold steady on his speed. Let him pull away."
10, 15, 25, and now 30-feet ahead, The Butcher edged his car up to the next stop light that turned from green to yellow. He hit the intersection when it turned red and punched the gas, jerking the car forward. The sound of the engine kicking in ripped back to the couple, who saw the taillights suddenly racing into the distance as a red light stared them in the face.
"Fuck it! Go!" screamed Falau.
Pounding the gas Carla pushed the car into high gear, bursting through the traffic coming from the left and the right. Seeing The Butcher two blocks ahead and turning right, she saw the chance to make up time, pushing the car up to 80 miles an hour on the narrow side streets. Stomping on the clutch she dropped the car into third gear and took the corner, hard trying not to fishtail. Tires screeching hard, she had gained on The Butcher.
The sheer power of Carla’s Mustang made up the ground and she was suddenly within two car lengths of the madman, who was again looking in his rearview mirror at her.
Falau pulled the .45 from his waistband and opened his window.
"Don't kill him!" Carla demanded looking at Falau and reaching out her arm to grab his shirt.
With her attention on Falau and off from the car in front of her The Butcher saw his opportunity and jammed on his brakes, causing his car to skid.
Carla's eyes darted back to the killer to see the blinding red tail lights shining in her face. Both her feet jammed the brakes hard into the floor, causing her own car to skid, but the momentum was too much and the car crashed into the back of The Butcher’s vehicle with a horrendous crunch. Carla spun the wheel looking for any way to control their car, that had totally spun out, pushing them from the road and up onto the sidewalk.
Falau's hand moved his head after banging it hard against the dashboard, cracking the .45 handgun into his skull. Blood dripped from a cut above his hairline and he felt an immediate headache coming on. He was sure it was a concussion, but he had no time to worry about that now.
A sharp pounding sensation hit his mind hard. It’s your fault. You killed me, echoed through his mind with flashes of his old love covered in blood and looking up at him from the well of the passenger seat.
The Butcher’s car lurched to life again after bouncing off a tree and he raced up another block and drove through a gate and up a driveway. The sound of the engine roaring up the long driveway could be heard in the distance and the two pursuers tried to pull themselves together.
"It's now or never. Our cover is blown,” said Falau as Carla pulled the car to the side of the road.
Wiping her hand against her mouth she inspected the blood from the now missing tooth. "I can't promise you I won't kill the son of a bitch."
"I know,” replied big man, "and I understand. But if I get him I am going to bring him back."
The beautiful woman nodded her head in agreement. "Fair enough. Let's get him."