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Thursday, June 25, 2015

25 Born to Make the Kill

Tony, as always, was three thoughts ahead of the cop. If Natalie made a sound from the trunk, the pig would demand it be opened. Tony didn’t mind killing a cop—that’ll be a first—but could he draw the revolver from his waistband faster than the officer could draw his? Tony had one advantage. He had played out all the potential scenarios and was prepared for any to flare. But the cop was dumb. He had no idea what or who he was dealing with. So at the hint of anything going wrong, Tony had no choice but to drop him in his tracks, no question.

The state patrolman tightened the radiator cap back in place and slammed the hood shut. “I think you’re ready to go. You’re a mile or so from the summit and it’s pretty much downhill from there into Bridgeport. You can get water there. There is one other thing, though. I am going to have to cite you.”
“For what, sir?” Tony asked.

The pressure of uncertainty had triggered that familiar churning tumult in the center of his brain. Like molten lava, it probed every crevasse for a vent. It had been building since he first met Natalie, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it would flow. But this unexpected turn almost pushed him to an expulsion he couldn’t control.
When the officer stepped back to the passenger side of the car, Tony reached under his jacket and grasped the handle of his Colt .357.His finger found the trigger.

The cop, meanwhile, stopped beside Hank’s door and pointed to the ground.
“Littering.” he said. “We don’t like littering and you’ve used the side of the road to dispose of the remains of your habit.”

As the officer began to rotate toward Tony, Tony weighed the urge to waste the pig right here, right now. If he had given the Chevy’s plate number earlier when he radioed in, this would put the Impala in Northern California, a long way from LA. Now there would be a record of their location in the system. If anyone suspected they had abducted Natalie, they could trace them at least this far. But before the officer turned enough to see Tony’s hand behind his back, several cars in a group whisked passed, and he felt too exposed. He released the gun and with a flutter of his coattail to conceal it, looked at the pile of used butts on the ground.
“How do you know they’re my butts? Anyone could have dropped them.”

“Yes, it could be coincidence they’re right outside the passenger window and your friend inside is smoking like a locomotive. I guess I could take a sample in for fingerprint and DNA analysis but I’d have to detain all of you on suspicion while we waited for the results. That would certainly ruin your weekend.
“Or I can write up a citation,” he continued, “and you can be on your way in ten minutes. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky in Reno and win enough to pay the fine.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Tony said. He shot an angry glance through the window to Hank.
“I’ll need your license and registration, sir.”

 
Meanwhile, Natalie heard the car approach. A new male voice spoke outside right behind her cramped prison cell. Tony had made it clear he didn’t want her to make a sound if someone stopped, but she had made her anger just as clear by shouting at him and pounding on the lid. If she acquiesced to the animal’s whims, she knew her chances of survival were minimal at best. But she also didn’t want to take another innocent down with her—unless one of the three who had thrust this nightmare on her became the first victim. She strained her ears as the voices faded toward the front of the vehicle.
Minutes later, the hood slammed, and the murmur of voices moved to the side of the car furthest from her head. They grew louder, and emphasized words became distinguishable. The voice she didn’t recognize said two she picked up, “littering” and “citation.”

That meant it was a police officer outside just feet away, and he would have a gun. But, if she alerted him to her presence, could he disarm Tony in time and rescue her, or would he get killed before he had a chance to draw his weapon? Since Tony had warned her to keep silent with such vehemence, she rationalized that he would think her compliant. The officer on the other hand would be well trained in just such situations. That gave her better than even odds. If there was a chance she could escape, she had to take it and hope for survival. When footfalls ground into the gravel just outside the trunk, her heart crawled into her throat and she reached to pound on the cover.

Tony had a suspicion Natalie plotted under the lid for just the right moment to get the pig’s attention. He followed the officer as he headed back toward the cruiser. When he reached the side of the trunk, he slammed his hand down on the lid.
The startled officer turned quickly and drew his service weapon.

“Damned piece of crap,” Tony shouted. He looked away from the officer at the trunk and pounded on the cover again.
The patrolman, smiled, returned his pistol to its holster, and then stepped into his patrol car.

 
The sound, so loud and sudden inside the steel cocoon, Natalie had to stifle a shriek. Tony had read her mind. His message was loud and clear, “Shut the hell up or die.” Now she saw into his head. He had more than a quick, smooth tongue. His cunning prepared him for any contingency. For now, his blitz cost her an opportunity for escape, and probably saved the officer’s life. But this was only strike one. There was plenty of game left.
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