Chapter 32

Gas Station

Red leaped from the car. The Audi’s trunk was folded upward. The Subaru had been knocked from the roadway and was straddling a sidewalk, pinned between the Audi and a tall cinder block wall. One of the chase vehicle’s tires was canted, and its strut poked through the hood like a compound fracture. A hot mist of sweet-scented antifreeze rose from the wound. Behind a splintered windshield, the driver wrestled with his seat belt.

Red dove through the warm cloud and landed on the hood. He punched through the windshield, reached between the spokes of the steering wheel, and grabbed the driver’s collar. It was the same blond man from the supermarket. A brown mole interrupted a crease on his forehead. Young looking, but his blue eyes were wide. Not familiar with the sting of surprise. No wonder Mole-Man was backup. Red jerked him forward and slammed his face into the wheel. Time to school gen X on the pain of failure. He repeated the motion like the cycling of a rifle bolt till Mole-Man’s terror was replaced with the numb glaze of unconsciousness. The shattered safety glass fell out of its seal and lay across him like a crystal blanket. Red leaned into the vehicle and probed the floor with his fingers. They landed on the hard outline of a Glock, and he snatched it up. He patted the unconscious driver’s pockets and jerked out two spare magazines.

He scrambled away and slid off the hood. Tires chirped, and headlights turned onto the side street, aimed at the accident. An engine roared as a dark blue van raced toward them, moving too fast for neighborhood traffic. Twin orange marker lights glowed from the edge of the vehicle’s large side-view mirrors.

Red hopped into the driver’s seat, tossed the weapon into Lori’s lap, slapped the vehicle in gear, and stomped the gas. Glass and metal tinkled like wind chimes as the vehicles separated. Three bullets cracked through the rear door, coming from the direction of the gaining vehicle. The alley was narrow with cars lining both sides. He plowed through potholes as the Audi accelerated.

Options? No quick response could come from the Det. Keeping a tight lid on the investigation, Red hadn’t involved anyone besides Carter. So, no Hellfire missiles from a Reaper drone soaring forty thousand feet in the air. No response team prepositioned on the ground, either, ready to jump in and lend support. And this screwup was his own doing. He was the one who’d wanted to trail Lori like a lone wolf. It was as if they were right back among the trees of Pikes Peak National Forest, severed from support, scrambling for their lives.

He slapped the shifter into third and sped onto a dark straightaway, dimmed streetlights lining the median. “I can lose the van. But now we’re driving a car anyone can spot. Police will pull us over just because we don’t have taillights. Need to ditch this one and get another. Maybe at a parking lot.”

Lori twisted to see out the rear window, reached, and yanked on the deflated airbag. She grunted with the effort, and it tore loose. “Get clear, then find a gas station. That’s the best place to make a trade.”

But they needed to avoid cameras. “No. Most gas stations have CCTVs.”

She shoved the curtain into the floor and stomped it down. She racked the Glock’s slide, shoved it and the two mags of ammo into the waist of her jeans, then untucked her blouse as a cover. “We won’t be in-country long enough for it to make a difference.” She patted his knee. “You did well, Tony. But brute force won’t get us out of the country. We’ve got to blend in. Disappear. We’re not at Pikes Peak. This is a landscape I’m familiar with.”

* * * *

Lori gripped Tony’s hard and calloused hand as they walked along a cracked sidewalk in front of two-story stucco townhomes in muted browns and tans. Each had a Kia or Toyota sedan parked in front, end to end. Impatiens or pansies dotted window boxes. But just across the quiet street sprouted a tangle of derelict apartments with broken balcony rails and shattered windows. The sidewalk was lined with sedans clad with multicolored body panels and wheels resting on cinder blocks. The air was still and cool, though heat radiated from the pavement.

They’d ditched the Audi several blocks away at the end of another row of houses. They’d backed it up against a hedge to conceal the damage. Another few blocks’ walk and they’d be at a gas station they’d spied. Passing a deep green bush, she inhaled the honey scent of blooming camellias and gardenias. She took a deep breath, willing her strides to slow. The walk was oddly…pleasant. A chance to think and enjoy her husband’s presence. And he was finally here, in the moment, with her. So often he was present in body, but mentally off on training or planning the next op. Ever since ditching the Audi, for five whole city blocks, he’d listened to everything she said. He was depending upon her as an asset. She wasn’t just extra baggage.

She squeezed his hand. “Why’d you shave your beard?”

A streetlight glinted from the corner of his eye. “Carter said it’d be a good idea once I got here. In case I got caught on some TV doing something stupid. Like tossing steak knives at women.”

A car passed, and the headlights shimmered on his dark mop. “How’d you dye your hair so fast?”

“Black shoe polish. All I could find on short notice.”

Impressive. And it explained why his skull shone like plastic spaghetti. “You look like one of Jackson’s Lego men. Darth Vader.” She pointed to a fanny pack clipped to his waist. “What’s in your man bag?”

Red smirked and shook the oversized accessory. “Empty. Got it same place I picked up the razor and shoe polish. Wanted to blend in. Look like a fem tourist.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell Carter I wore this thing.”

They passed beneath a silver maple, and Red’s boot slammed into a section of sidewalk raised by one of the tree’s roots. He seemed to study the path a few feet ahead. “Sorry about your fa—”

“We’ll talk about that later.” Couldn’t go there right now. Her father’s death had actually seemed to lift her spirits, like an asthmatic receiving a hit from an inhaler. Was elation part of the grieving process? Or was she that screwed up?

A raven flew down the middle of the road, beneath the cones of light cast by streetlights, its shadow slicing down the twin yellow lines, bisecting suburbia from ghetto. A lifetime of pent-up frustration at her father yearned to scream, Good riddance, you womanizing cheat! At the same instant, an idyllic child just wanted to hurt at the loss of her daddy. She turned her gaze away from the run-down apartments and searched the sidewalk ahead.

They covered the rest of the distance in silence. A clear, cool summer night. They’d have to come back and visit Jerusalem again, during daylight hours, without the Jewish mafia chasing to kill them.

Turning a corner, she spied three rows of gas pumps beneath a green steel canopy. Fuel vapors stung her nose. As they stepped closer, a woman in an orange Hyundai sedan pulled up. She slipped her keys into the front pocket of blue sweatpants.

Red opened the door of the convenience store, and Lori stepped inside. She darted down an aisle of chips and soda. Two CCTVs only, both aimed at the cash register. Red studied bubble gum while she picked up a tube of kosher Pringles and glanced out the window. The woman gassed her car and returned the nozzle to the pump, then headed for the store.

Lori stepped back outside and stopped her near the door. She purposefully stumbled with her Hebrew. “Excuse you. Which road to Route 60? Toward Rock Dome?”

The lady gazed at her blankly with pink, pudgy cheeks dangling with uncertainty and fists resting on full hips. A smile broadened upon her face. “Route 60?” She spoke slowly, as if to a child. “You’ll need to drive south.”

As she relayed the directions, Red stepped out of the store, head turned away and coughing over his shoulder as if he had a nasty cold. He slammed into Lori, who fell against the woman, jolting her. She slipped one hand into the woman’s pocket, the other around her back, as if to keep her from falling.

Once steadied, Lori turned to Red. In German, she shouted, “Watch where you’re going, Aldrik! You could’ve hurt us!” She brushed the woman’s shoulders. Switching to Hebrew, “Sorry, you idiot. My instructions thank you. You injure me?”

The pudgy woman’s smile returned, though she rubbed her chest where Lori had collided with her. She fumbled through the remaining directions, explaining a few more turns, then continued on her way inside the store.

Once out of her sight, Lori sprinted to the Hyundai, pulled the stolen keys from her pocket, and started the engine. She accelerated out of the lot. “Gas stations are best because you know the car is full. Sometimes people even leave keys in the vehicle.”

She probed the side of the seat, pushed a lever, and slid it back. Woman must’ve been a pygmy. She thumbed her phone and opened the map app. Should be a fifteen-minute drive to the address of the safe house. She flipped a toggle and adjusted the side mirrors, then reached to the rearview. A dark van ten seconds behind flashed into the brilliant beam of a streetlight as it drove past the row of dilapidated apartments.