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Duck, Duck, Dead Duck; chapter sixteen, part two

I wondered why she was so mad at me as we had been getting along so famously before I made my move.  Most likely she was starting to think that we were bonding or some ridiculous shit like that and took my escape as a rejection.  Which was ridiculous, really, considering that she was going to kill me.  Talk about the ultimate rejection.  Then again, I didn’t think she was wrapped too tightly right now as evidenced by the high-speed chase.  I had a feeling that the only thing on her mind was removing me from this earth, and it didn’t matter whom else she hurt while attempting to do so.  I had a hunch she wouldn’t even care if she died as long as she took me with her.  I pressed on the gas and sped up to ninety miles an hour.  I was thankful that I was in my mother’s car and not mine because mine would never had withstood the pressure.

“Where are the fucking cops when you need them?”  I screamed in frustration.  I would take any cops right about now, not just Bradley and Sands.  Hell, I would kiss whatever cop came to my rescue, but the problem was that I couldn’t stop.  If I did, Antoinette would shoot me for sure.  So how would I get the message across to my would-be saviors?  I pushed the thought away and concentrated on driving.  “Please get the fuck out of my way,” I pleaded with the other drivers.  Most of them moved willingly as I careened by them, but a few refused to budge.  I didn’t know if it was stubbornness or ignorance, but I had to get by.  Sometimes I would weave through cars, nicking one here and there.  “Sorry!”  I yelled at the top of my lungs as I passed them.  I was sure they were cursing me as they should, but I had to get by.  I only prayed that some of them were whipping out their cell phones and indignantly calling the cops.

A thought struck me.  What was I supposed to do once I reached home?  I couldn’t lead Antoinette back to my parents’ house, and I couldn’t shake her.  I glanced at the gas tank and saw that I had half a tank.  To my great relief, I heard sirens behind me.  Antoinette must have heard them, too, but she didn’t care.  By this time, we were going well over ninety miles an hour, and she was still on my tail.  Now I had a dilemma.  What to do?  I had to exit.  694 was coming up, but I had to slow down to exit.  If I did that, Antoinette would catch me for sure.  Not to mention I had to move over two lanes as I was in the left lane again.  Shit.  I had to risk it.

“I’m exiting 694 west,” I shouted.  I still heard noises from my phone, so I assumed the operator was still there.  “There are cops behind us, but I don’t know how they can help since this bitch is trying to run me off the road.  If you hear a big boom, then I’ve crashed.”  More squawking which I ignored.  I had more important things on my mind, damn it!

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Trip on This: Chapter Sixteen (Part Two)

Chapter Sixteen (Part Two)

“Where the hell is he?”  Mowgli grumbles, his right leg bouncing up and down as he sits on the bed.

“He’s got ten minutes,” Trip reminds him, looking pointedly at her watch.  “Chill, Mowgli.  I’m going to check on our friend next door.”  She slips out of the room and enters next door where she left O’Reilly.  He is apparently sleeping or resting or dead.  “Hey, Caleb,” Trip says, poking O’Reilly’s bloodied temple with her finger.  “You still with us?”  His eyes fly open and dilate in terror.  There is a strong smell of urine and shit, and the skin around the makeshift gag in his mouth is chafed.  “Still with us, I see.”  Trip prods his temple again, and he flinches away from her.  “I’ll be back, big guy.”  Trip salutes O’Reilly, turns off the lights, and leave the room.  She isn’t worried about him being found because she’s left explicit instructions that the room not be entered during her stay.  A crisp hundred dollar bill had ensured that her request would be honored.  She goes back into the room where she’s to meet the mayor.

“Well?”  Mowgli is puffing on a cigarette, even though it’s a non-smoking room.  He ashes on the floor, not seeming to notice or care.

“He’s still with us,” Trip says, holding out her hand.  Mowgli hands over the cigarettes with reluctance.  “You don’t smoke,” Trip states, sliding a Camel out of the pack.

“I do now,” Mowgli says simply, sucking on his cigarette as if it were an oxygen tube.  Five minutes later, there is a knock on the door.

“Show time,” Trip says, stubbing out her cigarette in a glass.  She opens the door cautiously, making sure it’s just the mayor and Andretti; it is.  “Welcome, Mr. Mayor,” Trip says, gesturing the mayor to enter.  “DiCalvo,” she adds, staring hard at the man who is the cause of her misery.

“Andretti,” he corrects her nervously, his face already sweating.  “Lucien Andretti.”

“I believe you have something of mine,” Davies says coolly, looking at her in disdain.  He is taller and skinnier than he appears on television, well over six-feet with no spare fat to be seen.  His skin is the color of mahogany, and his black hair is streaked with gray, but neatly clipped.  It’s hard to see his eyes behind the Ray-Bans he’s wearing, but the best bet would be that they’re not smiling.  He is wearing a suit, and he looks around him in contempt as he steps into the room.

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