The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [88]
“JACKSON KELLER,” a voice boomed over the radio. It sounded as if the person broadcasting had cranked on all the power in the world. “COME IN. I KNOW YOU’RE LISTENING.”
“Damn it,” Keller said. He made no move to pick up the mike.
“KELLER. THIS IS DETECTIVE BARNES. DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID.”
“Keller picked up the mike and keyed it. “Little late for that, Barnes.”
“WE FOUND JONES’ CAR SHOT UP. IS SHE WITH YOU?”
Keller put the mike up to the metal grating and pressed the key.
“I’m fine, Detective,” Marie said. “Mister Keller got me out of there. You get the shooter?”
“NEGATIVE. HE LEFT THE SCENE IN THE BLACK PICKUP. OFFICERS ARE IN PURSUIT.”
“He’s behind us,” Keller said into the mike.
Marie whirled around. The black pickup was looming in the back window. She could see Raymond Oxendine behind the wheel.
“Oh, shit,” she heard DeWayne say. She turned back.
There was a stoplight ahead, cars filling both travel lanes. Their way was totally blocked. Keller muscled the patrol car up on the grass median that ran down the center of the boulevard. Dirt flew from beneath the wheels as the car bucked and shuddered on the uneven ground. Again, horns blared and brakes screeched as Keller accelerated into the center of the intersection. An SUV turning left across their path slid to a stop. A terrified child pressed her white face to the glass of the passenger side. Keller yanked the wheel to the right. They cleared the front bumper of the vehicle by inches.
“God damn!” DeWayne whooped. “That was fuckin’ intense!”
“Is he still back there?” Keller demanded.
Marie turned. The black pickup followed doggedly in their path into the grass median and through the intersection. The driver of the SUV was still attempting to get through the intersection. The pickup struck it in the right front side and spun the vehicle around. It came to rest sideways, blocking the median.
“He’s still back there,” she said. “And I think we’ve lost our backup.” She could see the flashing of the patrol cars’ lights behind the snarl of traffic in the intersection.
“This day just gets better and better,” Keller muttered. He picked up the mike. “Barnes,” he said, “we’re headed south on 301 towards I-95. Raymond Oxendine is still following us, and your pursuit just got tied up in an accident in the intersection.”
“KELLER,” Barnes said. “TURN THE CAR AROUND AND COME BACK THIS WAY.”
“Forget it,” Keller replied. “You people are just as likely to shoot me as Oxendine.”
“THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, KELLER. YOUR GIRLFRIEND TURNED UP A WITNESS.”
“Girlfriend?” Marie said.
Keller grimaced. “Not exactly.”
“THE WITNESS BACKS UP YOUR STORY,” Barnes went on. “HE EVEN TURNED OVER THE GUN THAT WAS POINTED AT YOU.”
“Did you hear that, Jack?” Marie said. “You’re cleared. Now turn around. If that guy follows us--”
“Barnes could be lying,” Keller said. He keyed the mike. “How do I know you’re telling the truth, Barnes?”
There was a long pause. Then Barnes’ voice crackled back. “THE WITNESS IS A HISPANIC MALE, WITH A HEAVY ACCENT. THAT RING ANY BELLS?”
Keller remembered the touch of the gun on the back of his neck and a soft Spanish voice: I am a man with a bag of money and a gun. Soon I will have a big truck. Is that not the American dream?
“Hang on,” Keller told DeWayne and Marie. He took his foot off the gas pedal and placed it over the emergency brake while reaching beneath the dash with one hand for the brake release. He yanked the wheel a quarter turn to the left while stomping down as hard as he could on the emergency brake. The tires screamed in protest as the car went into a slide. When the car had skidded a full 180 degrees, Keller yanked the brake release and stepped hard on the gas. The car shot forward, across the grass median and into the northbound two lanes of traffic.
Raymond saw the sheriff’s car slow down slightly, then execute a perfect bootlegger turn. He picked up the submachine gun in one hand and laid it across the window frame, hoping to get off a shot as the car went past.