Part 33 (2/2)
”So drive off,” Brad said.
Shane was nervous. ”Maurey's too drunk to drive.”
I pulled out the choke, pumped the gas pedal twice, and flipped the ignition switch. Moby d.i.c.k coughed to life. I yelled, ”Banzai, motherf.u.c.kers!” then I jammed the d.i.c.k into first and we got the h.e.l.l out of Dodge.
39.
G.o.d knows I tried to peel out in a wail of squealing rubber, but Moby d.i.c.k didn't have it in him. Probably for the best, his tires had no squealing rubber to spare.
We did move right along, though. Lloyd's tinkering and Brad's new spark plug wires had the engine humming, not to mention by now most of the trailer weight was long gone. Hard to say without a speedometer, but I'd estimate we hit sixty before old Bernard even stuck his key in the keyhole.
”Hope we didn't lose Lloyd out the back end,” I said, gearing down for the first turn.
”Watch out, for Christ's sake,” Shane yelled as I swerved to miss a possum. I should have splattered it. n.o.body risks death to save a possum.
Brad climbed between the seats into the pa.s.senger spot. ”Think we can outrun the pigs?”
”h.e.l.l, no. But we can get far enough ahead for them to figure one carload of beer is enough.”
”Are they following?”
I checked the side mirror. Sure enough-red, blue, red, blue. ”s.h.i.+t.”
”Coors isn't worth dying for,” Shane shouted.
”I have children back here,” Marcella called, unnecessarily since they were both howling.
”This is like being in a movie,” Brad said.
It would have been except chase scenes in movies were ch.o.r.eographed and driven by sober guys in helmets. As we blew over a hill I remembered something Shane might find interesting.
”Did you know Herbie the Love Bug Volkswagen had a Porsche engine?”
Shane yelled, ”I don't give a f.u.c.k.” I hit a mother of a chuck-hole that bounced him off his perch onto the floor. Marcella scrambled to upright him, but from the sound of things Shane and the entire junk pile were rolling out of control back there. Marcella pa.s.sed Hugo Jr. up to Brad so the baby wouldn't get killed by a flying jack.
”I never held a baby before,” Brad said.
”Hold his head so it doesn't flop.”
”This diaper's all wet.”
Bernard and A.B. caught us on a hill full of tight curves. I moved Moby d.i.c.k dead center of the blacktop, figuring anyone coming down would have the brains to get out of my way. Hunter-and-prey stalemate-they couldn't stop us and we couldn't escape.
”What are you going to do?” Brad asked.
”I don't know. Let me think.”
Their advantage was they knew the roads and we didn't. For all I knew, we could be hurtling down a dead end into a brick wall. Our advantage was they didn't want other law enforcement attention any more than we did. That's why they hadn't turned on the siren. Also, if this thing lasted all night, we had a full tank of gas. Neither one was much of an advantage.
”Look at the map and see where the h.e.l.l we are,” I said to Brad.
Instead, he peered out at the mirror on his side. ”Someone else is chasing us.”
I looked and didn't see anything, then we hit a flat spot and I saw it-behind the police car another set of headlights, closing fast.
”You think it's Hugo Sr.?” I asked.
Brad rolled down his window for a better look. ”I don't know. Maybe.”
In the middle of the flat spot we flew up and over a railroad crossing that sent Shane spinning back to the floor. The trailer jumped clear off the ground, came down, bounced, went up, and came down again.
”I bet this is real exciting for Lloyd,” Brad said.
”Hand me that bottle.”
I heard a noise and looked in the mirror just as the police car swerved to the wrong side of the road, hit the ditch, and rolled.
”Holy s.h.i.+t,” Brad said.
It rolled all the way around onto its roof, then onto its wheels, then onto its roof again. I hit the brakes hard.
Life simply stopped for about five seconds. It was kind of eerie, as if everyone froze in the moment, afraid to go on to the next moment, which might be even more bizarre than this one. I looked in back where Shane, Marcella, and Andrew were sprawled on the floor under an avalanche of magazines, used clothing, and automobile parts. They were all breathing, and I didn't see any blood. The three were alive and would stay that way, although I doubt if that fact had dawned on them yet.
”You shouldn't stop so fast,” Brad said. He'd behaved like a hero-gathered Hugo Jr. in his arms and twisted at the last instant so his shoulder, instead of the baby, banged the glove box. The jar seemed to have knocked the tears out of Hugo. He looked content.
”They flipped,” I said.
”Us going through the winds.h.i.+eld won't make them unflip.”
I jumped out and ran to the back of the trailer. Lloyd stood on the road, leaning forward so he wouldn't bleed on his overalls. He had a nasty cut across his upper lip.
”He didn't have to do that,” Lloyd said.
”What he?”
The Jesus eyes flashed like heat lightning. ”You didn't have to do that, either.”
”I was trying to save the beer.”
”You broke most of what was left.”
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