(Angel Island, one hour ago)

We were driving along the Memorial Expressway when it happened. We were both in the cab of the truck, smoking like chimneys, when out of the blue came five cars full of flunkeys like Walter Peyton on crack.

The dull roar of a sawed-off shotgun rebounded off the walls of the truck with a clunking sound, knocking in the right window against Rouge's head. Had they been any closer, Rouge would have been perforated, but the glass smashed against her head so forcefully that she was out without a sound.

I looked in my rear-view a second before the shotgun ripped it off. They were closing in.

One guy pulled alongside me with a pistol and started putting lead into my engine like you wouldn't believe. I ducked, and as I did, I saw beneath the curtain that separated the truck from the trailer.

Oh, baby.

I was looking at some of the most impressive stuff on the globe. Laser-guided missiles, GPS systems, guns to go on for days. If illegal merchandise were food, I would have developed an obesity problem right then and there.

I grabbed what looked like an M-16, and rose from the floor, slamming on the gas to bring the truck closer to the car on my left.

The guy with the pistol was still putting bullets in my truck. He stopped to reload, and that's when I kicked open the door and leaned out of a moving truck, the rifle in hand.

"Hey there, fucker!" I yelled, cutting the guy in half with 5.56. He slumped forward over the window he was leaning out of, the glass covered in a red mist.

The driver saw that his gunner was gone, and pulled back, probably loading up his own gun.

A car was behind me to the right, pouring that shotgun into the back of the trailer still. I snapped on the cruise control, and headed into the back, looking for one particular object.

There. A STS handheld rocket launcher.

I grabbed it, heading for the back of the trailer. I flung open the double doors of the rear of the truck, looking out at all five of them behind the semi.

The hedgehog with the shotgun was still pummeling the trailer with round after round. He looked at me for a second, and then leveled the sawed-off at me.

"Wrong, bitch!" I cried, pressing the trigger on the barrel of the launcher.

The firebomb rushed from the nose of the STS with a whistle. A plume of smoke followed it as it streaked towards the car, still whistling the tune of death. As it struck the hood, the metal crumpled beneath it before the whole vehicle was engulfed in flame. I could see the surprised look on the hedgie's face before the concentrated napalm baked it down to a grinning skull.

Toasted hedgehog. Wonder if I could interest Emeril.

It occurred to me that the truck was still barreling down the freeway at fifty miles an hour, so I slammed the tailgate shut and ran back to the cab, keeping a very nice AutoMag pistol with me as I did so. I was sitting there, plunking back shots without any real effect.

When an evil thought came to me.

I reached back into the trailer and grabbed one of the smaller detonators. I set up the remote and threw the charge back into the trailer, pressing the gas down as far as it went.

When I was far enough ahead, I flicked the switch that detached the trailer from the cab. With a loud click and a bump, the cargo was away, slowing down as the four other cars caught up to it.

I snapped my thumb down on the button of the detonator remote.

With a huge column of orange flame, the charge ignited every piece of hard merchandise in the trailer. Two of the cars were wiped out instantly, their engines exploding shrapnel every which way. A third car simply took a mouthful of that shrapnel through the glass, killing everyone inside.

Whoever was driving the fourth car was good. He'd swerved, avoiding the truck bomb and even clearing the shrapnel, too. As he pulled alongside on my left I saw it was Mighty behind the wheel.

Mighty had a revolver in his hand, with which he was taking potshots at me. None hit. Mighty yanked the wheel, bringing his sedan crashing into me.

He was trying to ram me. I couldn't believe it. He was nuts.

He came at me again, but this time I slammed on the brakes just enough for him to end up in front of me. I hit the gas, and Mighty's car was down for the count.

But I wasn't finished. I swiveled the wheel, bringing the truck around, facing the wreck. I pushed the pedal to the floor.

Mighty looked up at me, his eyes wide in surprise.

I leaned out of the window, still clocking 70 mph. "Mine's bigger, pal!"

The last thing he saw was a laughing echidna with red spines that were gray at the tips pushing a semi on top of him.

The car flew backwards, swishing through the ring of fire formed by the flaming trailer, like a basketball through the net.

Two points.

The semi, however, was out. It had taken too much. No danger of it exploding, but it was gone.

I looked at the unconscious Rouge. One splits better than two.

I left her, headed for the third car, which was working save for a couple nails through the windows.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. I wish I could say the same for what happened when I arrived…