Sam struggled with the paperback A to
Z, trying to prop it on the steering wheel as he scanned the index pages
without dropping his speed on the dual carriageway. He found the name of Jack’s
road in Hounslow and flicked the pages back frantically to find it on the map.
The road was level, tall railings
running down the centre to delineate the two carriageways. Crude London housing
came up close to the road, only a pavement away. He shot past a speed camera.
It flashed as it took a picture of his licence plate. He almost laughed.
The traffic was too thick. It was
slowing him down, veering in and out of each lane and he couldn’t risk being
stopped for speeding. He whipped the wheel round and dropped into the slow lane
then accelerated past the jeep that had been hogging the road. They drummed
their horn but he ignored it, twisting the wheel clockwise again to drift
around another car up ahead.
Then he jerked on the brake.
There was a police car fifty yards
down-carriageway in the slow lane, cruising along on the button of the speed
limit. Sam checked the speedometer automatically: sixty; twenty miles over the
limit. He pressed the brake and slowed. The jeep he’d undertaken swelled in his
rear view and banged the horn again, they hadn’t seen the police car, but he
didn’t accelerate.
He checked the speed gauge: forty. Up
ahead the police car was keeping exactly the same pace, forming a moving wall;
daring other drivers to go faster. Sam looked at the dash clock and cursed.
There was no actual deadline here as such but there was no telling what Jack’s
moves would be. He was guilty of murder. Catching him at his home address was
unlikely and every moment that passed decreased the probability factor.
Sam gently pressed down on the
accelerator with his eyes on the police car. The speedometer slid up to forty
two. He started to pull forward. He pushed down another few millimetres. The
distance between him and the police car started to narrow.
No sign they had noticed but he was
risking everything. He was a wanted man. If they pulled him over he was in
trouble. He raised his foot off the gas and the car dropped back. The gap
between him and the police car widened.
But getting there quickly was
crucial. It could be vital for all he knew. He gave the engine more fuel. The
distance started to close: thirty yards now; twenty.
He kept his eyes on the car. The
driver silhouette was becoming clear: only one man. Did that make it any better?
Fifteen yards. Twelve. Ten.
The road tilted downwards, the left
hand side becoming low rent red brick factory units.
Five yards ahead now. The nose of
Sam’s car came level with the rear end of the police car and he started to
coast past.
The speedometer said forty eight.
He’d crept up more than he realised. They were going to notice. He went to
release the pressure on the foot pedal then realised the police were speeding
too. They had to have been going forty five at least. That didn’t help him
though. Speeding was speeding, even if the police were doing it too.
He came level with the driver, trying
not to look across. In his peripheral vision the policeman turned to look at
him, his blurred head becoming pale.
One second passed. Two. Three. Did he
recognise Sam? Another second passed; then another.
Sam still didn’t turn, didn’t give
him a chance for a frontal view for definite identification; then he looked
ahead and smiled.
The policeman was still looking
across at him. The strobe lights on the roof of the car came on, flashing blue.
Sam let himself turn to look the cop in the eye; and winked.
The police car rammed hard into the
back of a line of cars stopped at a feeder traffic light. The bonnet collapsed
in on itself. The back wheels left the ground. The glass in every window
shattered. The policeman crumpled up against the wheel, folding over on
himself.
Sam’s car shot past down the open
road in front of him with nothing to stop him reaching his destination. And now
he did allow himself to laugh.
7
Jack sat on the back step of his
lodging house in a rectangle of sunshine, scratching the little ginger cat
behind its ears. His eyes were only half cracked. His eyelashes formed a misty
veil over the grimy back alley that imbued the same kind of glow he tried to
impart to his paintings.
Tick tock, time edged on toward the
moment he could leave this trap behind and start his quest for real. He waited
for the taxi to arrive, stroking this little cat and trying to feel at peace,
however much the mounting tension of imagined forces closing in tried to imbue
a sense of terror.
No comments:
Post a Comment