Parked adjacent to the highway, there could have been no way she would have missed them. There were only two paths to take after exiting the bridge on the Washington side—State Highway 401, over which she had passed after she left her desk in Vancouver, Washington, and US 101. From her vantage, she could see every vehicle as it came off the bridge and could take chase no matter which route they took. She knew there were better odds that she would lose them before she caught her first whiff of the prey as the suspects could have gone into hiding, changed direction, or switched cars. But she waited with anxious patience.
The four now lumbered along the four mile stretch of the white truss bridge and rode in a tan four-door Nissan Stanza. Tony had stolen it two hours ago just before Rudy had tried to seize the van from his control. As it stepped onto Washington State soil, it bumped over the steel union embedded in the pavement. The sudden movement stirred Hank and he groaned. A gurgle from his lungs became a cough and he opened his eyes.
Since he had been shifted from the van to the sedan, Hank’s chest had begun to bleed again. Every time they changed vehicles, the activity aggravated the bullet wound. Natalie had continued with constant pressure on his injury until her wrists ached. As tenacious as a wolverine defending its kill, it never strayed far from her mind that Hank alive was her stay of execution.
Back in the motel room, however, she had begun to feel an unexpected emotion toward Hank. After all he had done to her, without provocation, she should have wanted him dead. She had been prepared for, and would have understood fury and loathing—she had plenty of that left for Tony and Rudy—but when she felt compassion toward Hank, not just pity, her heart hadn’t been equipped to deal with it. He was despicable, filthy and mean, and he deserved everything she had given to him. But from the toil she saw on his face, she had realized the trauma in his life had brought him to this place. That, and his association with Tony, overpowered his will, and drew him into this existence like a weed bent toward the sun. Now, as she witnessed him waking up from the long, almost twenty-four hour nap, her heart leapt as she perceived a hopeful sign of recovery.
“Hank’s awake,” she said.
“Welcome back, shit face,” Tony said, and glanced over his right shoulder toward the prone figure on the back seat. “You’ve got the best seat in the house, right in the whore’s snatch.”
Natalie bristled at the last comment, but felt no stab of guilt at Tony’s reference to the bowel bomb she had smeared into Hank’s eyes. She remained silent, though, and didn’t turn her eyes away from the burden in her lap.
Hank spoke but the words came out in spits and spurts, “I … feel like … hell. Where am I?”
“Running from the law,” Tony said, and chuckled. “We just crossed into Washington State.”
Hank turned his eyes toward Natalie and said, “I remember you.”
She smiled but he didn’t see it as his eyes rolled up into this head and his lids closed again.
Tony guided the Nissan to the left and they continued to follow US 101.
Angela’s surveillance concentration was interrupted when the phone rang. The voice on the other end reported a family who had been having dinner at friends and found their car missing when the party broke up. Then, just a few minutes ago, the blue van had been found hidden nearby in a stand of trees. She had waited for the wrong vehicle all this time.
“Damn it,” she said. On a WTF ten scale, this one just hit twelve.
_____
©
Jearl Rugh 2012
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