50 The Jazz
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Hannibal watched the dark blue sedan from the driver's side mirror. The U-turn the car made was a dead giveaway that someone had an interest in where the man in the Stetson and aviator sunglasses was going.
I have to assume they're following me because they recognized the van somehow. Maybe they paid a visit to Melody's cabin and picked up their buddy and he recognized the van.
It didn't matter. As long as he was still in town in the main business district, he knew they would not make a move to stop him.
He smiled. An amused twinkle came to his eyes.
But where would the fun be in that?
Feeling the surge of adrenaline from 'the jazz,' he drove slowly, thinking through his next move. If he turned east on 299 and headed away from town, they would have plenty of opportunity to run him off the road and capture him. Too many wide open fields in that direction.
But west. West of Cedarville was a different story. The Warner Mountain range formed a backdrop to the communities of Surprise Valley. He remembered passing a sign for the Warner Mountains Ranger Station.
Mountains might make a more interesting chase.
He continued north on Main Street until he came to the Cedarville Municipal Airport on his right. Swinging the van in at the gated entrance, he gunned the motor and did his own U-turn to come back the way he came.
He grinned at the surprised face of the driver of the dark blue sedan as he passed and gave him a short sharp salute. He watched the pursuing vehicle copy his move and come up behind him again.
Chuckling to himself, he increased his speed until he came to the speed limit sign on the outskirts of the town. Jamming on the brakes, he slowed to 25 miles an hour.
If I'm right, you boys aren't going to want to call any undue attention to yourselves . . . which means I can go as slowly as I want and you won't try to stop me. And if I'm wrong? But I don't think I am.
He passed by each cross street one by one . . . Wallace, Washington, Townsend, Bonner, Ann, Willow . . . none of the street names sounded promising. Now a field appeared on his left. He was leaving Cedarville and getting into wide expanses of farmland. The mountains remained an elusive view through the passenger's side window. Now in the open country, he increased his speed, watching for a promising road.
He passed a cemetery on the right and briefly wondered if he could outmaneuver the other car by dodging up and down the few roads among the tombstones. Then he thought better of it.
A cemetery is probably the last place I should press my luck in.
As he came to the end of the fence surrounding the site, he spied a small brown road sign with white lettering.
Deep Creek Road, huh? Sounds interesting. I wonder how deep Deep Creek is.
Swinging onto the gravel road, Hannibal smiled grimly. He pressed down on the gas pedal and small stones spat out from under the van's tires. The sedan turned onto the road seconds behind the Colonel.
If I'm right and this becomes something more for jeeps and four-wheel-drives, that sedan doesn't have a chance.
The road went straight for about half a mile before the lead vehicle came to the first of three long curves. Dust filled the air behind the van and made it difficult for Hannibal to see the car.
He passed what looked like a large fenced stockyard on his right with a few outbuildings. For a moment he considered ducking in there but if anyone was around, he didn't want to risk them being injured or killed in any gun fight he might have with his pursuers.
So far he had seen little sign of any creek. A couple of side roads jutted off from the one he was on but he ignored them.
Just as he was about to believe Deep Creek was simply a dried-up stream bed, he passed over the culvert that directed the creek's flow under the road and to his left. The creek paralleled the road now and the tree cover was fuller on that side.
The other vehicle had made no attempt to run him off the road . . .
. . . at least, not yet. I wonder what they're waiting for? Unless . . .
Hannibal got the sinking feeling that perhaps this road either got worse or it dead-ended somewhere up ahead and they knew it.
He glanced back in the rear view mirror but saw only the thick dust raised by the van. Directing his gaze back to the road ahead, he noted a red pickup truck coming toward him, raising its own cloud of dust.
At the same time he saw a gap in the trees on his right. As soon as the truck passed him, he maneuvered the van through the gap, turned it around and waited for his shadow. He let the van engine idle.
If they're as stupid as I think they are, they'll think the dust from that truck was from the van. Should give me a few seconds to head back the way I came. But just to be sure . . .
He reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. Keeping his eyes on the road beyond the trees, he let his hand search for any weapon he could use in the event his pursuers were not fooled.
The sedan's driver was having a difficult time on the washboard surface of the road. The vehicle crept slowly up to the gap.
Discovering nothing in the glove compartment, Hannibal found himself subconsciously holding his next breath and hoping the occupants of the sedan were blind as well as stupid.