As he approaches a sharp curve on Rutherford Road, he catches sight of Kershaw’s car traveling in the opposite direction and raises a hand just in time to acknowledge the detective’s spontaneous greeting. He also notes that Faye isn’t in the car and assumes that Kershaw must have decided to leave for work a few minutes early knowing that Dieter, who had called before he left the house, was on his way.
The prospect of spending a lazy day out on Lake Baylor with Faye pleases him. He doesn’t consider himself a protector—he’s never been able to protect anyone in his life, particularly Jen—but he does take pride in his loyalty, and if Faye feels safer with him around, then so be it. He’ll do anything in his power to bolster her courage in this hour of need. Until the crisis ends—until, that is, Chance is brought in for questioning or it’s determined that he’s fled back to Mexico—he, or Kershaw, will remain by her side.
Crossing a bridge over the murky trickle of a stream, he hears a sudden thump under the car, followed by a loud pop, and the next thing he knows the Capri is skidding out of control, one of the back tires blown out and the front right already slipping off the pavement. He slams his foot on the brake pedal and jerks the steering wheel violently to the left, but this only makes matters worse. Spinning backwards, the Capri careens off the road and shudders to a stop in a grassy swale, the blown tire hissing like a snake in the sudden silence.
Fuck!
He slams the side of his fist against the steering wheel, his heart drumming against his ribs. Creaking open the door, he climbs out to inspect the damage.
Punctured, the back tire hangs limp off the wheel. And even though there’s a spare in the trunk, the Capri, facing forward, facing upward toward the road, has come to rest half in and half out of the ditch, the ground too steep, too uneven to secure a jack. He curses again. Why now? Why did this have to happen now?
Too anxious to wait for someone to stop and assist him, he struggles up the embankment and starts to hike east toward the lake. Wincing from a sudden prick of pain, he raises a hand to his forehead and it comes away bloody. But that’s the least of his concerns. He’s not exactly sure how far he has to go, but he knows that Faye is waiting for him and that she’s all alone and probably frightened. If he has to walk the entire way, then that’s what he’ll do.
After pounding the pavement for ten minutes, he hears a distant sound, a distant hum, and quickly wheels around. The sunlight flames against the pavement but when he squints his eyes, he’s able to see through the heat haze a battered pickup painted in a coat of grey primer roaring toward him. Finally! He raises his arms and waves them over his head. The driver can let him off at the entrance to Lake Baylor or maybe even at Kershaw’s front door, and he can call a tow truck from there. Then he notices that the truck isn’t slowing down but appears, in fact, to be accelerating. In disbelief he watches it zoom past him, horn blaring as a sudden gust of wind in the pickup’s violent wake nearly blows him off his feet. Standing on the shoulder of the road with his eyebrow dripping blood and the sun pounding down on the pavement, he has no other choice, no other option but to start walking again.