The sun ends its pendulum swing across the sky quickly. I try to savor every fleeting moment of light, uncertain how long of an eternity the night will be.
The city rushes towards me at 70 miles an hour, a cluster of dark spires growing out of a dark mass of urban decay. From this distance, as the sun set behind me, it looks like some other, alien world.
I was coming home.
Woden was a puppet master to the Nth degree, and I had just cut his precious strings with a gun blast. But this Gepetto was going to wish on a star that I become a real corpse, and soon, once he realized his private ski team wasn't returning.
Already knowing I was heading into a trap gave me a slight advantage, but I had to proceed as if Woden was already wise to my escape. I didn't trust Ski-Boy that much.
Following the map the Ski Boys had conveniently marked out and left in the glove compartment, I soon found the industrial park where the Njord Shipping corporation kept its warehouses. I keep the van's lights off, and cruise as quietly as I can through the shadowed alleys, keeping my attention to rooftops and dark spaces, anywhere someone might be trying to get a drop on intruders. But either there's no one there, or they're that good, because I spot nothing.
Counting off building numbers, I finally spot #3 two warehouses away: it's a dilapidated, beige hulk, looking more like a big cardboard box left too long in the rain. The faint glow of lights from within tell me something is up, though.
I crawl the van into position in the shadows, aiming it straight at the big loading doors. I already know what's behind them. I've done this too many times before.
Hopping out of the van with as little noise as possible, I set to converting the Chevy into a cruise missile, weighing the gas pedal down with a rock, tying the steering wheel steady, and puncturing the fuel line with a utility knife. Putting the van in neutral, I start the engine, let it rev, and move the stick to D, launching myself backwards out of the van as it peels off, gas spouting behind it.
It knocks on the loading doors with a big hello of ripping metal and shattering glass. It comes to a stop about fifteen feet inside, jammed up against piles of shipping crates. For a moment inside the warehouse, the impact seems to have frozen time. Then the rats start creeping from their holes.
I see the familiar shapes of goons in suits, packing the kind of firepower that would make Saddam whine in envy. Four of them emerge at angles, two on either side of the van, and begin filling the driver's compartment with lead. The noise is enough to cover my own gunshot as the 9mm sparks off the line of gasoline that connects from my feet to the van. A ribbon of fire races towards the warehouse, reflecting light off the goons' cheap sunglasses as the gape at their own demise.
Gun drawn, I creep around the perimeter of what's left of the warehouse. I get around the far side just in time to see a black Mercedes peeling away, dark shapes visible inside. I take a couple of pot shots at the rear window, but get only the spider-web cracks on bulletproof glass for my trouble. Turning back to the warehouse, I sidestep burning boxes and crisped body parts, looking for anything, or anyone, that can give me a clue as to my next step.
As I search, I find a crumpled but unburned body lying in a corner of the place. I push it over with my foot. Except for the fresh bullet hole in his forehead, Ski Boy #1 looks just as I left him: dumb. In his lifeless hand rests a cell phone. As I look at it, it starts to ring.
I gave myself three guesses as to who it would be, and two didn't count.
"Decided not to stay for the fireworks, Al?"
Woden was as cool as iced cucumber: "I prefer watching the 4th of July on television. Saves from having to deal with the crowds."
I flash my gaze to the inside corners of the building, and there, staring at me, is a security camera. I stare right back at it. "Look at my face, Woden, and remember it, because aside from the bullet I'm going to use to pluck out your good eye, it's the last thing you're ever going to see."
The lizard just chuckled. "Oh, I am thoroughly frightened now, Mr. Payne. But, let me tell you what I see in your future: a lifetime of being on the run, and hiding from the law, and never knowing who you can trust. Between the two of us, I think I'll take my chances. Goodbye, Mr. Payne."
He clicks off, and I stand, mind blank, amongst the carnage. And as if to prove Woden's curse, I hear the blaring of sirens in the distance.
I pick up a new bad habit. I start running.