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my role here. I m really more of an observer, not a participant, so 
And then the back window of the Buick blew out.
 Jesus! Lawrence said, turning so hard this time the g-forces jammed me
against my door.  Hand me the fucking gun!
I handed it over. He was still steering with both hands, but there was little
more than the thumb of his right hand around the wheel, his fingers gripped
around the gun.
 You ever hear about how to get away from a crocodile? he asked. He was
shouting now. With the back window gone, it was a lot noisier in the car,
especially with the Annihilator bearing down on us.
 No, I said.
 Well, they re bigger and stronger and faster than people, but they can t
corner worth shit. So if you ve got one coming after you, you keep running in
circles. They can t navigate the turns. Right now, we re being followed by a
crocodile, and we re coming up on the perfect place to lead him in circles.
Up ahead, a sign for the Midtown Center. The largest mall in this part of the
city. As the mall s west-end anchor store, a Sears, came into view, so did the
massive, entirely empty, parking lot.
Our Buick screeched around the entrance into the lot. Again, the black
Annihilator missed the turn, but rode right up over the curbs, its fat wheels
rolling over them like they were Kit Kat bars.  Here comes the fun part,
Lawrence said, using the wide-open spaces of the mall lot to do huge circles.
 What I m gonna do, he shouted,  is come up around behind him, and then we ll
give him a taste of his own medicine.
 What do you mean, own medicine?
 He took a few shots at us, now we ll return the favor.
 How are you going to shoot and drive at the same time?
 If you can t handle a gun, surely you can handle a fucking steering wheel.
 You gotta be kidding.
 Does steering compromise your journalistic integrity, too?
So I leaned over in the seat, ready to grip the wheel whenever Lawrence
wanted me to.
The Annihilator was trying hard to keep up with us, but the SUV was leaning
precariously. I wondered if maybe this was Lawrence s real plan, to trick our
pursuer into flipping his own vehicle over. If it was, I approved.
But the driver seemed to know what he was doing. He wasn t pushing the truck
to extremes. I glanced back and saw a leather-jacketed arm hanging out the
window. The hand was clutching a weapon that looked a lot bigger than the gun
I d handed to Lawrence.
The Buick lurched and its tires squealed. A hubcap went flying off, spinning
across the pavement toward the Sears. But Lawrence seemed to know what he was
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doing, too. We were now actually coming up around behind the Annihilator.
 Okay, he said.  Hold the wheel.
I gripped it like I was holding on for dear life, allowing Lawrence to switch
the gun to his left hand, get his arm and shoulder out the window, and start
firing.
He got off two shots, but the Annihilator was bearing to the right, so he
wrested the wheel back from me and changed course.
 Again! he said, and I grabbed the wheel as he leaned out the window, firing
the gun twice more.  Shit! he shouted, wind blowing into his face.
 Did you hit him? I asked as he took control of the steering wheel again.
 I don t think so. And even if I did, the thing s a fucking elephant.
Ahead, the Annihilator abruptly turned, but where it was headed didn t make
any sense. The SUV was speeding to the far end of the lot where the ground
sloped steeply upward to a road that was actually a ramp that led from a city
street that circled the mall, and on to the highway.
 What s he doing? I said.  He s got nowhere to go.
The Annihilator s brake lights came on only briefly, as if the driver had
lightly tapped the pedal, and then the truck drove off the end of the parking
lot and up the embankment, all four tires kicking up sod and dirt, its
headlight beams dancing in the night sky like a searchlight. The vehicle
bucked and jerked as it climbed, the embankment clearly a challenge even for
an Annihilator.
 He s going for the highway, Lawrence said.  He s creating his own shortcut,
the son of a bitch.
The Annihilator crested the embankment and hung a right onto the ramp, then,
with another roar of its massive engine, sped off in the direction of the
highway. There was no way Lawrence s old, two-wheel-drive Buick could even
begin to scale the hill. And by the time we d wound our way out of the mall
lot, onto the street, and found that ramp, our friends in the Annihilator
would be home, tucked into their beds.
Lawrence brought the car to a stop, and neither of us spoke for a moment as
we listened to the motor idle and tick, as though trying to catch its breath.
 Fuck me, said Lawrence.
 I take it that s not an actual invitation, I said.
IGOT HOMEaround three in the morning, and rather than try to sneak into our
bedroom without disturbing Sarah, I turned on the lights, plopped myself down
on the bed next to her, and said,  You won t believe what happened! We started
following them, and then they were following us, and things were getting
smashed, and then they started shooting, and we lured them into the parking
lot at Midtown, and we came up around behind them, and that s when Lawrence
tried to shoot out their tires, and then they drove right up the side of a
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hill and took off and I can t fucking believe it happened!
Sarah sat up in bed, bleary-eyed.  Huh?
I told it all to her again, more slowly this time. She asked a couple of
clarifying questions, and then, once I was finished, said,  Are you out of
your goddamn mind?
 I was fine, really, Lawrence knew what he was doing. He s a professional.
 You are. You are out of your goddamn mind.
I shrugged, then realized she might be onto something, and suddenly felt that
I was going to lose my coffee and doughnuts, because car chases laced with
gunplay are not typical activities for
former-science-fiction-authors-turned-newspaper-feature-writers. I was
breathing pretty rapidly, and Sarah let me fall into her arms. It s possible
that I was, perhaps very slightly, shaking.
 You are a stupid, stupid man, she said quietly.  You re not cut out for a
life of adventure. You re not Indiana Jones. If you tried to be, instead of
carrying a whip tucked into your belt, you d have a bottle of Maalox.
 We re going back out there tomorrow night, I whispered into her hair, and
she shoved me away abruptly.
 You really have lost your mind, she said, suddenly looking angry enough to
slug me.
I held up my hands, as much to protest as to defend myself.  We re going into [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]