Nine: It Takes A Thief
When Xanny pulled up to the bar called Harold's, she was greeting by the sight of bright yellow police tape and swarms of officers, including a few rather harrowed-looking detectives. Xanny pulled off her helmet, shaking down her hair. The blue was going to get her into trouble here, she knew that much, so she had her credentials, which weren't terribly impressive on their own, but much moreso when she had a name like Marcos Ferarre backing her up. As she approached the scene, she felt eyes look her up and down warily, wondering if she was a regular who was going to be turned away, and they were waiting for the scene it would inevitably bring.
"Excuse me?" she called, using her most polite tones. "Who is in charge, here?"
Even more odd looks were brought on as the older of the two harrowed- looking detectives turned and approached her. "That would be me," he said, "Detective Wayne."
"If your first name is Bruce, I'll buy you a beer," she said, evoking a smile from him. Even though he looked at her blue hair a little warily.
"It's Richard, and the bar is closed, unfortunately. How can I help you?"
She pulled out her credentials. "My name is Alexandra Wallace. I'm working for Marcos Ferarre, the fiancée of Augusta Baxton, the woman who was kidnapped by the Gecko brothers. I've been following a trail, and it leads here. I heard there was a shooting."
"You don't look like any kind of detective I've ever seen," he said, eyeing her credentials.
"Actually, I'm the best kind. A former criminal. It does take a thief to catch one, you know."
He seemed a little taken aback by her response.
"Detective Wayne? The shooting?"
"Yes, late yesterday," Det. Wayne said. "I'm sorry, you're working for who?"
"Marcos Ferarre. You know, the billionare?"
The name seemed to snap into his memory. "Oh. Well, this is really official police business. I'm afraid that private detectives, no matter who their employers, are not-"
"Detective Wayne, I'm carrying on me at all times a cel-phone whose #1 speed-dial number is directly to Mr. Ferarre's private line. I'm sure that if you need assuring, he would be willing to do it for you. And if that's not enough, he can speak to your superior."
The man scowled. "Now, listen. I don't like threats."
"I'm not threatening you, sir," she said plainly. "I just want to know if the Geckos were here and if Miss Baxton was with them."
The man heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, and yes, according to the witnesses we have. At least, we think it's her. A blond woman, well- dressed, wearing a thick white coat, was in the bar. She wasn't directly involved with the shooting but she did leave with the men, whose description matches the Geckos."
"Thank you. And this happened when, exactly?"
A reluctant drawing of breath preceeded, but he finally said, "At about six o'clock in the evening, yesterday."
"Good." She gave it a little thought. "Do you think they've left town already?"
"Wouldn't know. They would have had plenty of time, but it depends."
"Do you know where they're headed?"
"Tire tracks indicate they're headed west." He looked away, briefly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Wallace. I have to get back to work."
She nodded, turned, headed toward her bike. She looked down at the scattered gravel as she passed, saw a big patch of it stripped bare by a spinning tire. Seth's style, no doubt. And they were definitely headed west.
Her hunch about Texas might be right after all. But after a shooting, Seth and Ritchie would have to be total idiots to stay in town. Then suddenly, as she climbed on the bike, all hell broke loose behind her.
The policemen were scattering toward their cars, and she could hear the blast of static on their radios. The voice of the operator drifted toward her, and she caught a coherent sentence.
"Shooting in progress, Frankville police requesting urgent back-up, officers down, repeat, officers down."
She followed without hesitation.
%%%%%%%%%%
They were just cleaning up and getting ready to leave when all hell broke loose.
The screeching of tires in the parking lot was the first warning. Seth grabbed for his gun, all thoughts of his confusion about Augusta and last night banished as he made sure the gun was loaded. Ritchie was just a hair faster than him, already at the window, weapon pointed and ready.
"We got a problem, Seth," Ritchie said, dangerously close to calm.
"How many?" Seth asked.
"Two cars. Five men in each car. Looks like mafia. You don't think Teddy was working for them, do you?"
"Dunno, we haven't been in town a while. Teddy might have actually upped his connections." He peeked out through the curtains. "All this racket and they're going to attract attention."
The men-there were actually only nine of them-were forming a line like a flock of geese toward the door. One of them had a battering ram.
"Fuck!" Seth yelled as it slammed the door once. He spun on Augusta, shoved her toward the wall. He flipped the table over, making a rather flimsy shield.
"What's the plan, Seth?" Ritchie called.
"We can't get bottlenecked in here," Seth called back as he shoved Augusta down behind the table. "We're going to have to clear a path."
"Works for me!" Ritchie said with a grin, throwing open the window and firing a few shots. The sound of a man's wail and the thump of something hitting the asphault was quickly followed by a barrage of bullets through the open window. Ritchie ducked down, the bullets missing him, but causing the wall behind him to erupt into a shower of plaster. Seth grabbed the couch, which moved rather easily, and pulled it toward the kitchen, as if to reinforce their protection.
"You got enough ammo?" Seth called.
"Good enough!" Ritchie called back, firing a few more shots. Another body. Two down, seven to go.
The ram hit the door again. And again. The lock gave way and crumpled. Only the dead-bolt was left, and it wasn't giving. The door was going to have to be cracked off its hinges entirely for them to get through. It bought them time, but didn't give them an escape.
Seth leapt out from behind the couch and started firing through the door, aiming for the big hole already made. He heard the grunts of men taking shots in the belly, heard swearing, heard the big thud of the ram hitting the concrete before someone picked it up again and started slamming directly on the side of the hinges, having figured out the trick.
"That's three!" Ritchie called gleefully. "Let's make it five!" He fired again, this time more wildly. If any more bodies hit the ground, the sound was distorted by the other sound of running feet.
"They ain't running," Seth said, hesitantly approaching the door. "They're just getting reinforcements."
"Should we run?" Ritchie asked, glancing at Augusta.
"You get the briefcase. Hurry."
Ritchie dove into the other room, and there was the sound of shattering glass. "FUCK!" came Ritchie's panicked voice. Seth ran into the room, and the whole world erupted into gunfire.
%%%%%%%%%%
Augusta watched as Seth ran into the other room. She stepped out from behind the table, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but unwilling to just sit by, helpless. One of the chairs from the table set had been knocked toward the door, and she picked it up, surprised to find how lightweight it was. Just then, the door was demolished, and a man stood in front of her, gun drawn.
She didn't think. She swung.
The gun flew across the room, knocked clean from his hand.
She swung again and heard the crack of a skull. He fell backward through the door.
She turned and ran to pick up the gun that had been tossed. It still had a full round of bullets in it. She headed back toward the other room, only now realizing that she wasn't bulletproof and that it was possibly the stupidest thing she could do. She stopped herself as she hit the doorway, and ducked down beside the doorjamb, almost entirely to the floor.
There was more gunfire in the other room, the sounds of the boys swearing, Seth screaming, Ritchie laughing as if he were having the time of his life. Within seconds, it was over, although the echoes seemed to last so much longer. Then, to her relief, Seth came back into the room, followed by Ritchie.
"Let's go," he said, then stopped to find the door crashed and a body lying in his path. He turned around, saw Augusta crouched by the door, with her gun raised.
A man came flying out of the bedroom behind them, a knife drawn and raised, headed right toward Ritchie's back.
She fired.
The man fell dead.
They all stared at each other in momentary shock, but the boys were much more used to this sort of thing. Ritchie took the suitcase and hiked over the big body blocking the door, out into the parking lot. Seth took the gun from Augusta, grabbed her by the forearm and half-carried her out the door. Ritchie had just started the car and Seth was getting Augusta into the back seat when the sirens came around the corner.
"Double fuck."
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny pulled up to the hotel just in time to hear the squealing of twenty sets of tires turn a gravel lot into a sandstorm. She couldn't hear shit over the loud sirens as she followed them, so the fact that she could hear the terrible grinding, a monster from a mythical poem devouring worlds, said something. A car---tan, dirty, old, the perfect kind of piece of shit for the Geckos to drive and not give a flying fuck about---tore out of the other side of the lot. Ritchie was at the wheel.
She didn't know whether to chase them or call Carl. She pulled out the cel-phone almost without her own volition and hit the speed dial. She didn't know who said hello, it was just noise and the sense of a word over all the commotion.
"Anchor hotel. Car chase. Going to follow. Get your asses over here." She hung up. Her foot was already revving up the bike, and she felt it slide under her, heading for the road.
God, she loved letting the motor open up and chew up the concrete. It was like flying.
%%%%%%%%%%
Usually, Seth did the driving. But in situations like this, Ritchie's near-suicidal desire to never get caught worked to his advantage.
Of course, the fact that the car didn't have working seat-belts was a real problem right now. Especially for poor Augusta, who rattled around the back seat like a beach ball at a picnic. He finally felt her brace her feet against his seat and grab the one solace that the car did offer---the every- handy Oh-My-God Bar.
The invention of the Oh-My-God Bar was not completely intentional. In fact, its name was never official. It was simply a given, considering it was what you screamed as you grabbed hold of it. Conveniently situated over each door of the car, it hung down just enough when grasped to give the holder a new sense of security.
Augusta clung for dear life. But to her credit, she did not scream. It could have been due to the fact that all the windows on the car were down and flying dirt was everywhere around them, ready to fill their lungs. Only the acceleration of the car kept it at bay long enough for them to breathe.
"Oh yeah!" Ritchie screamed as he plowed through a blockade that was not put together very well. It took a second to realize it wasn't a police blockade but a construction one, clearly signaling that the road ahead was not fit for driving.
Neither one of the Geckos really cared. Seth found himself grabbing for the Oh-My-God bar as Ritchie hit a nasty turn and the back of the car temporarily slid off the road, which was made of little more than beaten down dirt and chunks of old concrete. They were repaving---lucky for them, they'd cleared enough for a car to get through without popping its tires. At the rate Ritchie was going, however, it was the axils that Seth was mainly worried about.
Ritchie hadn't broken a car yet, so the worry was probably unnecessary.
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny subconsciously counted the cars. There were twelve of them. There were several cops on motorcycles, not too unlike her own, and the colors were slightly different. There were two different police departments involved---no, wait those were Sheriff colors, the dull brown and tannish- gold.
Somebody was looking to be a hero. These poor bastards didn't have a chance.
She kept her distance just behind them. If she weaved up amongst them too much, they were going to get pissed and then she would have to deal with a charge, which wouldn't stick to a normal person in her situation, but could get her into a lot of trouble since she was still trying to keep back her criminal record.
The sounds of bullets pushed her heart-rate up. She slid off to the side of the road to get a look at what was going on. Seth was sticking up from out of the passenger's side of the car, firing a few rounds towards the police. From the looks of the back of the car, he'd been fired on first. Seth wasn't stupid enough to provoke a rather large squad of police officers, especially when he clearly had the advantage with Ritchie at the wheel. One officer was hit and fell off his bike, falling hard into the grass that made up the side of the road. Xanny winced---she'd been knocked off a bike once or twice in her time, she knew it hurt pretty bad, and she was lucky to walk away with only some broken bones. Seth was a good shot. Poor bastard was probably dead.
Ritchie swerved into an off-road, into some trees. It was a smart move, a lucky move, considering. The road was paved, though, and didn't give them too much of an advantage, but it did force the pursuers to bunch up and form a straighter line. Which meant her view was shot.
Then another turn---this one down a much less-used road, which she hoped wasn't just an extended driveway. The officers followed, but the cars were hindered by the large branches that lay in their path. The motorbikes were able to swerve and keep pursuing, but the cars, rather new and expensive, were not quite able to keep up the chase, and a few of them were stopped by popped wheels.
Now she found herself swerving through the stopped police cars. She had to keep up. No doubt Carl and Marcos would be approaching the hotel by now. There had to be some police back there, considering it was a crime scene. She had caught the smell of gunpowder in the air as she'd pulled up, which meant that Seth and Ritchie had obviously been busy before making their getaway. Whoever had been stupid enough to approach the two without the proper back-up probably deserved what they got. But then again, everyone always underestimated the white boys, she thought. Especially skinny white boys.
%%%%%%%%%%
Augusta was going to pee her pants. She had never peed her pants before, not in her life. She'd never even wet her bed when she was a baby. Only once, at Girl Scout camp, had she had the misfortune of being in a bed with a girl who couldn't hold her bladder. It was the last time Augusta had ever shared a bed with anyone. She couldn't even tolerate sleeping with Marcos after having sex, she always went back to her own room.
Her fingers were going to fall off from the grip she had on the bar over the door. Or worse, the bar was going to fall off from the constant pressure. It was bad enough that she had slammed her head a few times on the roof of the car. At this rate, she was going to at least bite off the tip of her tongue.
Ritchie turned again. He was enjoying this! Another obscure road, this one was enough to piss Seth off.
"Ritchie!" he hollered, "get back on the main road!"
"Those pigs won't follow us down here, man!" Ritchie screamed back.
"Rit-CHIE!"
"All right, all right!"
Another turn, this one outright vicious. The scream of horns. Swerving cars around them. They were back on the highway. Ritchie opened up the clutch and Augusta caught the flick of the speedometer as it rocketed toward the right.
She'd been on rollercoasters tamer than this.
The sound of sirens roared up again behind her, but they were farther back and fewer than before. Ritchie swerved through the car around them, dangerously missing a few head-on collisions. They were damn lucky they were so far out of the main city---if this had been anywhere near a bit metropolis, helicopters over head would have been following them and they would never be able to get away, no matter how many crazy turns and abandoned roads Ritchie took.
"Faster, Ritchie!" Seth said, grabbing the bar above his head.
Ritchie obeyed gladly. The needle went flat to the right, a perfect 90 degree angle. Augusta felt a scream tear itself from the back of her throat. The engine made a sound that could not have been healthy---engines were never supposed to be that loud. The walls around them trembled with the thunder.
"This exit!" Seth screamed.
Ritchie hit the brake. The car almost spun around a full 360, but somehow Ritchie managed to get on the exit. They blew through the stoplight, causing the outrage of a few innocent bystanders on their way to work, and then, without warning, Ritchie ripped through a parking lot and onto some flat land that looked like it was part of a farm. Augusta closed her eyes, expecting the car to flip over at any second. She bounced so hard her head hit the ceiling for the fourth time.
And then, they stopped.
She opened her eyes. It was dark around them---they'd landed on the other side of a dirt road, into the trees, tunneling back until they came to an abandoned shack, and pulled behind it. She heard the distant squeal of tires, knew they were being bypassed.
It was over.
Seth got out of the car. He disappeared around the corner, probably checking to make absolutely sure the coast was clear. Ritchie turned to her.
"What you did back in the room," he said, softly, just getting her attention.
She looked at him, her memory completely scrambled. "Back in the room?"
"When you shot that guy. Who was behind me," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. That was cool of you to do."
She just nodded. "No problem."
When Xanny pulled up to the bar called Harold's, she was greeting by the sight of bright yellow police tape and swarms of officers, including a few rather harrowed-looking detectives. Xanny pulled off her helmet, shaking down her hair. The blue was going to get her into trouble here, she knew that much, so she had her credentials, which weren't terribly impressive on their own, but much moreso when she had a name like Marcos Ferarre backing her up. As she approached the scene, she felt eyes look her up and down warily, wondering if she was a regular who was going to be turned away, and they were waiting for the scene it would inevitably bring.
"Excuse me?" she called, using her most polite tones. "Who is in charge, here?"
Even more odd looks were brought on as the older of the two harrowed- looking detectives turned and approached her. "That would be me," he said, "Detective Wayne."
"If your first name is Bruce, I'll buy you a beer," she said, evoking a smile from him. Even though he looked at her blue hair a little warily.
"It's Richard, and the bar is closed, unfortunately. How can I help you?"
She pulled out her credentials. "My name is Alexandra Wallace. I'm working for Marcos Ferarre, the fiancée of Augusta Baxton, the woman who was kidnapped by the Gecko brothers. I've been following a trail, and it leads here. I heard there was a shooting."
"You don't look like any kind of detective I've ever seen," he said, eyeing her credentials.
"Actually, I'm the best kind. A former criminal. It does take a thief to catch one, you know."
He seemed a little taken aback by her response.
"Detective Wayne? The shooting?"
"Yes, late yesterday," Det. Wayne said. "I'm sorry, you're working for who?"
"Marcos Ferarre. You know, the billionare?"
The name seemed to snap into his memory. "Oh. Well, this is really official police business. I'm afraid that private detectives, no matter who their employers, are not-"
"Detective Wayne, I'm carrying on me at all times a cel-phone whose #1 speed-dial number is directly to Mr. Ferarre's private line. I'm sure that if you need assuring, he would be willing to do it for you. And if that's not enough, he can speak to your superior."
The man scowled. "Now, listen. I don't like threats."
"I'm not threatening you, sir," she said plainly. "I just want to know if the Geckos were here and if Miss Baxton was with them."
The man heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, and yes, according to the witnesses we have. At least, we think it's her. A blond woman, well- dressed, wearing a thick white coat, was in the bar. She wasn't directly involved with the shooting but she did leave with the men, whose description matches the Geckos."
"Thank you. And this happened when, exactly?"
A reluctant drawing of breath preceeded, but he finally said, "At about six o'clock in the evening, yesterday."
"Good." She gave it a little thought. "Do you think they've left town already?"
"Wouldn't know. They would have had plenty of time, but it depends."
"Do you know where they're headed?"
"Tire tracks indicate they're headed west." He looked away, briefly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Wallace. I have to get back to work."
She nodded, turned, headed toward her bike. She looked down at the scattered gravel as she passed, saw a big patch of it stripped bare by a spinning tire. Seth's style, no doubt. And they were definitely headed west.
Her hunch about Texas might be right after all. But after a shooting, Seth and Ritchie would have to be total idiots to stay in town. Then suddenly, as she climbed on the bike, all hell broke loose behind her.
The policemen were scattering toward their cars, and she could hear the blast of static on their radios. The voice of the operator drifted toward her, and she caught a coherent sentence.
"Shooting in progress, Frankville police requesting urgent back-up, officers down, repeat, officers down."
She followed without hesitation.
%%%%%%%%%%
They were just cleaning up and getting ready to leave when all hell broke loose.
The screeching of tires in the parking lot was the first warning. Seth grabbed for his gun, all thoughts of his confusion about Augusta and last night banished as he made sure the gun was loaded. Ritchie was just a hair faster than him, already at the window, weapon pointed and ready.
"We got a problem, Seth," Ritchie said, dangerously close to calm.
"How many?" Seth asked.
"Two cars. Five men in each car. Looks like mafia. You don't think Teddy was working for them, do you?"
"Dunno, we haven't been in town a while. Teddy might have actually upped his connections." He peeked out through the curtains. "All this racket and they're going to attract attention."
The men-there were actually only nine of them-were forming a line like a flock of geese toward the door. One of them had a battering ram.
"Fuck!" Seth yelled as it slammed the door once. He spun on Augusta, shoved her toward the wall. He flipped the table over, making a rather flimsy shield.
"What's the plan, Seth?" Ritchie called.
"We can't get bottlenecked in here," Seth called back as he shoved Augusta down behind the table. "We're going to have to clear a path."
"Works for me!" Ritchie said with a grin, throwing open the window and firing a few shots. The sound of a man's wail and the thump of something hitting the asphault was quickly followed by a barrage of bullets through the open window. Ritchie ducked down, the bullets missing him, but causing the wall behind him to erupt into a shower of plaster. Seth grabbed the couch, which moved rather easily, and pulled it toward the kitchen, as if to reinforce their protection.
"You got enough ammo?" Seth called.
"Good enough!" Ritchie called back, firing a few more shots. Another body. Two down, seven to go.
The ram hit the door again. And again. The lock gave way and crumpled. Only the dead-bolt was left, and it wasn't giving. The door was going to have to be cracked off its hinges entirely for them to get through. It bought them time, but didn't give them an escape.
Seth leapt out from behind the couch and started firing through the door, aiming for the big hole already made. He heard the grunts of men taking shots in the belly, heard swearing, heard the big thud of the ram hitting the concrete before someone picked it up again and started slamming directly on the side of the hinges, having figured out the trick.
"That's three!" Ritchie called gleefully. "Let's make it five!" He fired again, this time more wildly. If any more bodies hit the ground, the sound was distorted by the other sound of running feet.
"They ain't running," Seth said, hesitantly approaching the door. "They're just getting reinforcements."
"Should we run?" Ritchie asked, glancing at Augusta.
"You get the briefcase. Hurry."
Ritchie dove into the other room, and there was the sound of shattering glass. "FUCK!" came Ritchie's panicked voice. Seth ran into the room, and the whole world erupted into gunfire.
%%%%%%%%%%
Augusta watched as Seth ran into the other room. She stepped out from behind the table, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but unwilling to just sit by, helpless. One of the chairs from the table set had been knocked toward the door, and she picked it up, surprised to find how lightweight it was. Just then, the door was demolished, and a man stood in front of her, gun drawn.
She didn't think. She swung.
The gun flew across the room, knocked clean from his hand.
She swung again and heard the crack of a skull. He fell backward through the door.
She turned and ran to pick up the gun that had been tossed. It still had a full round of bullets in it. She headed back toward the other room, only now realizing that she wasn't bulletproof and that it was possibly the stupidest thing she could do. She stopped herself as she hit the doorway, and ducked down beside the doorjamb, almost entirely to the floor.
There was more gunfire in the other room, the sounds of the boys swearing, Seth screaming, Ritchie laughing as if he were having the time of his life. Within seconds, it was over, although the echoes seemed to last so much longer. Then, to her relief, Seth came back into the room, followed by Ritchie.
"Let's go," he said, then stopped to find the door crashed and a body lying in his path. He turned around, saw Augusta crouched by the door, with her gun raised.
A man came flying out of the bedroom behind them, a knife drawn and raised, headed right toward Ritchie's back.
She fired.
The man fell dead.
They all stared at each other in momentary shock, but the boys were much more used to this sort of thing. Ritchie took the suitcase and hiked over the big body blocking the door, out into the parking lot. Seth took the gun from Augusta, grabbed her by the forearm and half-carried her out the door. Ritchie had just started the car and Seth was getting Augusta into the back seat when the sirens came around the corner.
"Double fuck."
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny pulled up to the hotel just in time to hear the squealing of twenty sets of tires turn a gravel lot into a sandstorm. She couldn't hear shit over the loud sirens as she followed them, so the fact that she could hear the terrible grinding, a monster from a mythical poem devouring worlds, said something. A car---tan, dirty, old, the perfect kind of piece of shit for the Geckos to drive and not give a flying fuck about---tore out of the other side of the lot. Ritchie was at the wheel.
She didn't know whether to chase them or call Carl. She pulled out the cel-phone almost without her own volition and hit the speed dial. She didn't know who said hello, it was just noise and the sense of a word over all the commotion.
"Anchor hotel. Car chase. Going to follow. Get your asses over here." She hung up. Her foot was already revving up the bike, and she felt it slide under her, heading for the road.
God, she loved letting the motor open up and chew up the concrete. It was like flying.
%%%%%%%%%%
Usually, Seth did the driving. But in situations like this, Ritchie's near-suicidal desire to never get caught worked to his advantage.
Of course, the fact that the car didn't have working seat-belts was a real problem right now. Especially for poor Augusta, who rattled around the back seat like a beach ball at a picnic. He finally felt her brace her feet against his seat and grab the one solace that the car did offer---the every- handy Oh-My-God Bar.
The invention of the Oh-My-God Bar was not completely intentional. In fact, its name was never official. It was simply a given, considering it was what you screamed as you grabbed hold of it. Conveniently situated over each door of the car, it hung down just enough when grasped to give the holder a new sense of security.
Augusta clung for dear life. But to her credit, she did not scream. It could have been due to the fact that all the windows on the car were down and flying dirt was everywhere around them, ready to fill their lungs. Only the acceleration of the car kept it at bay long enough for them to breathe.
"Oh yeah!" Ritchie screamed as he plowed through a blockade that was not put together very well. It took a second to realize it wasn't a police blockade but a construction one, clearly signaling that the road ahead was not fit for driving.
Neither one of the Geckos really cared. Seth found himself grabbing for the Oh-My-God bar as Ritchie hit a nasty turn and the back of the car temporarily slid off the road, which was made of little more than beaten down dirt and chunks of old concrete. They were repaving---lucky for them, they'd cleared enough for a car to get through without popping its tires. At the rate Ritchie was going, however, it was the axils that Seth was mainly worried about.
Ritchie hadn't broken a car yet, so the worry was probably unnecessary.
%%%%%%%%%%
Xanny subconsciously counted the cars. There were twelve of them. There were several cops on motorcycles, not too unlike her own, and the colors were slightly different. There were two different police departments involved---no, wait those were Sheriff colors, the dull brown and tannish- gold.
Somebody was looking to be a hero. These poor bastards didn't have a chance.
She kept her distance just behind them. If she weaved up amongst them too much, they were going to get pissed and then she would have to deal with a charge, which wouldn't stick to a normal person in her situation, but could get her into a lot of trouble since she was still trying to keep back her criminal record.
The sounds of bullets pushed her heart-rate up. She slid off to the side of the road to get a look at what was going on. Seth was sticking up from out of the passenger's side of the car, firing a few rounds towards the police. From the looks of the back of the car, he'd been fired on first. Seth wasn't stupid enough to provoke a rather large squad of police officers, especially when he clearly had the advantage with Ritchie at the wheel. One officer was hit and fell off his bike, falling hard into the grass that made up the side of the road. Xanny winced---she'd been knocked off a bike once or twice in her time, she knew it hurt pretty bad, and she was lucky to walk away with only some broken bones. Seth was a good shot. Poor bastard was probably dead.
Ritchie swerved into an off-road, into some trees. It was a smart move, a lucky move, considering. The road was paved, though, and didn't give them too much of an advantage, but it did force the pursuers to bunch up and form a straighter line. Which meant her view was shot.
Then another turn---this one down a much less-used road, which she hoped wasn't just an extended driveway. The officers followed, but the cars were hindered by the large branches that lay in their path. The motorbikes were able to swerve and keep pursuing, but the cars, rather new and expensive, were not quite able to keep up the chase, and a few of them were stopped by popped wheels.
Now she found herself swerving through the stopped police cars. She had to keep up. No doubt Carl and Marcos would be approaching the hotel by now. There had to be some police back there, considering it was a crime scene. She had caught the smell of gunpowder in the air as she'd pulled up, which meant that Seth and Ritchie had obviously been busy before making their getaway. Whoever had been stupid enough to approach the two without the proper back-up probably deserved what they got. But then again, everyone always underestimated the white boys, she thought. Especially skinny white boys.
%%%%%%%%%%
Augusta was going to pee her pants. She had never peed her pants before, not in her life. She'd never even wet her bed when she was a baby. Only once, at Girl Scout camp, had she had the misfortune of being in a bed with a girl who couldn't hold her bladder. It was the last time Augusta had ever shared a bed with anyone. She couldn't even tolerate sleeping with Marcos after having sex, she always went back to her own room.
Her fingers were going to fall off from the grip she had on the bar over the door. Or worse, the bar was going to fall off from the constant pressure. It was bad enough that she had slammed her head a few times on the roof of the car. At this rate, she was going to at least bite off the tip of her tongue.
Ritchie turned again. He was enjoying this! Another obscure road, this one was enough to piss Seth off.
"Ritchie!" he hollered, "get back on the main road!"
"Those pigs won't follow us down here, man!" Ritchie screamed back.
"Rit-CHIE!"
"All right, all right!"
Another turn, this one outright vicious. The scream of horns. Swerving cars around them. They were back on the highway. Ritchie opened up the clutch and Augusta caught the flick of the speedometer as it rocketed toward the right.
She'd been on rollercoasters tamer than this.
The sound of sirens roared up again behind her, but they were farther back and fewer than before. Ritchie swerved through the car around them, dangerously missing a few head-on collisions. They were damn lucky they were so far out of the main city---if this had been anywhere near a bit metropolis, helicopters over head would have been following them and they would never be able to get away, no matter how many crazy turns and abandoned roads Ritchie took.
"Faster, Ritchie!" Seth said, grabbing the bar above his head.
Ritchie obeyed gladly. The needle went flat to the right, a perfect 90 degree angle. Augusta felt a scream tear itself from the back of her throat. The engine made a sound that could not have been healthy---engines were never supposed to be that loud. The walls around them trembled with the thunder.
"This exit!" Seth screamed.
Ritchie hit the brake. The car almost spun around a full 360, but somehow Ritchie managed to get on the exit. They blew through the stoplight, causing the outrage of a few innocent bystanders on their way to work, and then, without warning, Ritchie ripped through a parking lot and onto some flat land that looked like it was part of a farm. Augusta closed her eyes, expecting the car to flip over at any second. She bounced so hard her head hit the ceiling for the fourth time.
And then, they stopped.
She opened her eyes. It was dark around them---they'd landed on the other side of a dirt road, into the trees, tunneling back until they came to an abandoned shack, and pulled behind it. She heard the distant squeal of tires, knew they were being bypassed.
It was over.
Seth got out of the car. He disappeared around the corner, probably checking to make absolutely sure the coast was clear. Ritchie turned to her.
"What you did back in the room," he said, softly, just getting her attention.
She looked at him, her memory completely scrambled. "Back in the room?"
"When you shot that guy. Who was behind me," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. That was cool of you to do."
She just nodded. "No problem."