Chapter 43

 

Ron peeled through the apartment parking lot, making a wide turn that put us in the same direction as our quarry, but the white van was out of sight.

“He turned left at the corner,” I said.

Ron followed, and I could see his vehicle ahead at the intersection with Central. Traffic on the major street was backed up solid.

Bad move, Jay.

We caught up. With only two cars between us, surely Livingston already knew we were behind him. Livingston edged forward until a kindly soul held back and let him turn right into the traffic stream. With two more vehicles waiting their turns, we knew Jay could be miles away before we ever moved.

“There’s a light at Girard,” Ron said, making a tight U-turn back to the last intersection we’d passed.

He zipped, way above the speed limit for these residential streets, three blocks east before turning left. We came to the traffic signal and saw it was green in our favor.

“He’s back there,” I said, staring to the left, my heart racing a little. “He’s about four cars back, waiting in the left-turn lane.”

Livingston would turn exactly into our path if he didn’t pull some quick maneuver to do otherwise. I couldn’t tell whether he’d seen us. My guess was he would be watching his rearview mirror.

Ron crossed the intersection. “Okay, this is a different wrinkle. We’re tailing someone that’s about to end up behind us.”

“He’s sure to spot this car. Red doesn’t exactly blend into the background.” I thought fast and hard.

“Grab my Stetson from the back seat,” Ron said.

I handed him the wide-brimmed hat and he swapped his ball cap for it.

“Duck down. With any luck, he won’t realize it’s the same Mustang.”

I slid my seat back and did my best to tuck into the scanty legroom below. “You watch the road,” I said. A collision in this position would definitely maim or kill me.

Ron slowed his speed and hung to the right-hand lane. “I’m letting cars pass me while we still have two lanes here. If he continues past Lomas it’ll narrow down to one and I’m stuck with whatever the traffic pattern is at that point.”

I concentrated on breathing in my bunched-up position.

“Okay, he made the turn and he’s tailgating the guy in front of him. I think he has his eye on me.” He draped his arm over the steering wheel, a casual gesture Livingston wouldn’t expect from a driver chasing him.

I heard a car pass on our left. As the next one approached, Ron yawned and brought his left hand up to cover it.

“He passed me. Kind of gave me a look but didn’t react. I’m going to let one car get between us, then I’ll edge over into his lane.”

“Let me know when I can sit up again. Feeling a little vulnerable here with no seatbelt.”

Ron was probably thinking of the pricey ticket he’d get if a cop stopped him and found me in this position.

“Approaching Lomas …. Looks like he’s going to turn left.”

“Maybe he’s making a big loop, planning to head back home now that he thinks he’s lost us.”

“Let’s hope so. It would simplify things.” I felt the car ease into the left lane and make the turn. The motion, along with stopping and coasting, gave my stomach a rolling sensation.

“What’s happening, Ron?”

“Traffic’s moving better here than on Central,” he said.

“Can I get up?”

“Uh … yeah, you’d better. Looks like he’s gonna get on the freeway.”

Great. I unfolded myself from my tiny compartment and planted my butt on the seat, reaching for my seatbelt. My eyes refocused just in time to see Livingston’s van get into the lane for southbound I-25.

“This is looking like quite the loop,” I said. If he stuck with it long enough, Livingston could make the trip all the way back to El Paso by going this way.

Ron glanced at his instruments and back at the road. He’d allowed three vehicles between ours and the white one. Jay ignored the Gibson exit, the last one which would have conveniently taken him back to the apartment.

“What do you think he’s up to?”

“No idea, Charlie. All I can do is follow.”

A lot of the traffic dropped away at the Broadway exit; now, no one blocked our view of Livingston’s vehicle. Or his view of us. I had a feeling he knew we were there—may have known all along—and was set on creating a long chase.

Ron sighed. Aside from a casino coming up soon, it would be fifteen miles or so before another chance to get off the interstate.

Livingston passed the casino, even though the billboards said Ringo Starr and his group were appearing tonight. Who could not want to see that show? Ron actually let out a chuckle when I questioned it aloud.

“You don’t even remember him, kid.”

I was searching for a response when we suddenly noticed we were catching up with Livingston—rapidly. Ron slowed, but the white van was definitely coming to a stop. Our man had edged to the side and was pulling off the highway. Ron tapped his brakes to alert the drivers behind, then he followed Livingston’s moves as he came to a complete stop. We halted less than ten feet behind his vehicle.

“Surely, he doesn’t think speeding up now will gain him any advantage,” I said.

“I think his engine shut down.” Ron left the Mustang running and waggled his fingers toward me. “Hand me the Colt.”

I did as instructed, holding my breath in hopes this whole scenario wasn’t about to go horribly wrong.

“Stay in the car,” he said. “If he takes off again, I don’t want to have to wait for you.”

He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me his cell phone. “Scroll through my phone contacts and get the number for Tom McPeel. He’s with Major Crimes at APD, the contact the El Paso police gave me. Call and tell him what’s going on. Ask him to dispatch some state troopers to our location.”

Ron waited until two cars whizzed by before opening his door. With the Colt tucked into his waistband, he edged toward Livingston. I couldn’t help it. I had to find out what was going on. I opened my door and stood behind it, listening as Ron approached.

“Hey, man. Why’d you stop?” Ron asked.

I couldn’t catch the words, only the fact of a short, mumbled response.

“Wait right here.” Ron turned to me and called out with a huge grin on his face, “He’s out of gas.”

“Tell him I’m calling roadside assistance,” I shouted back. I hit the button for Detective McPeel.