The Player, The Thief and The Broken Heart - Chapter Eighty-Four - Witness to a Fiery Crash
Steve slowed at the sight of the blazing pile of wreckage up ahead. An SUV, he guessed by the skeletal frame, black against the orange flames. He swore the vehicle Benson or Le Bon--or whatever his name was--had hijacked had been further ahead when that fireball erupted. Guess not. He braced himself on the wheel, unsettled by the thought that someone he's been speaking to maybe ten minutes ago, and had been sitting across from all evening, was dead. "Holy fuck," he whispered.
He pulled to a stop and rolled down the window. Even from here he could feel a hot blast of air on his face. The stench of burning fuel filled his nostrils. He pinched himself. Yep, not dreaming all this. What a fucking crazy night. Squeezed into the rear passenger seat while that Lotus had fishtailed out of the parking garage, bullets pinging off of the windows and doors, he'd almost forgotten about the poker game. He felt an adrenaline-fueled thrill better than any roller-coaster as tires squealed and the engine roared.
Hypnotized by the flickering orange light, memories from earlier came back to him fragmented like in a dream. He wasn't sure who had spotted Rebecca's Lexus first, only that before he knew it, Le Bon had stopped at the mouth of an alleyway and was climbing out. He then threw open the door on the passenger side and hauled out the woman he was with. Steve's biggest shock came when the man tossed him the set of car keys. "Your turn to drive."
Steve, suddenly afraid of the prospect of being in charge of that much horsepower, slid over the gearbox and sat behind the wheel. Good thing he'd learned to drive on a standard. "Follow us, but don't keep too close. Just enough not to lose sight." Le Bon then lay his pistol on the vacated seat. "You might need this as well. Oh, and if you see anyone firing at us, try shooting out one of their tires. But do keep back from them otherwise."
"I've never handled a gun before," Steve had said, gulping nervously.
"It's not hard," the man assured him, "Just be certain the end with the hole is aimed away from yourself when you go to fire it."
"Thanks," he said faintly while the passenger door slammed shut. He started the car and shifted into gear. So far, so good. No stalling out, no abrupt lurch forward. This thing practically drove itself. He'd waited until they'd turned around the corner to follow them. They hadn't gone far before a black Mercedes peeled out of some strip mall parking lot and began giving chase. Some deep-rooted hunting instinct took over and he pressed hard on the gas. Driving through that desert at top speed was the most amazing rush, even better than that morning last fall when he'd watched the DOW futures come to a ticker-halting crash.
He'd nearly passed the car chasing him when he remembered Le Bon's warning to hang back. He'd slowed at the exact same moment the Mercedes picked up speed. A real-time lesson in the theory of relativity as he felt himself drifting to a stop as the other vehicle zoomed off. He'd barely had time to process that thought when a muzzle flash erupted from some bushes at the side of the road. Too close to be actual bushes, and then the car he'd been following had exploded into a fireball. He was right, he realized now that the shock had worn off, Le Bon's vehicle had been way ahead of his.
His legs nearly gave out from under him as he climbed out of the Lotus. Smoke shrouded the moon and the stars. Flames crackled orange. Earlier he'd been seeing things; this was definitely a car that had caught fire, not an SUV. He squinted and beyond, a pale-faced figure was jogging towards him. Benson, probably. Steve figured it would be wise to stay put and wait.
The man must have jogged half a mile and yet he barely broke into a sweat. He sounded only a little out of breath as he said to Steve, "It appears some of our enemy's men were tipped off about a certain retreat in the desert. I believe you're familiar with it."
He gave Steve an accusatory glare and yet there was an odd twinkle in his grey-blue eyes. Or maybe that was just a reflection from the car's headlights. Fucking Brits, man, it was impossible to tell whether they were being serious. No wonder the guy was so good at poker. Steve raised his hands defensively.
"I'm driving again." Le Bon jerked his head in the direction of the passenger side of the car. "Get in." Steve got in.
They drove wide of the metal and fibreglass bonfire, upwind from the billowing smoke. "Thank you for bringing this out here, by the way. I wasn't wanting to leave it where it was."
"No problem." Steve said, doing his best not to grin. He'd never felt such a rush in his life as he had driving this car. "Are we heading out to that warehouse?"
"We are."
Only one thing could cap off this insane night, he thought, that would make it absolute perfection. If Jeannie happened to be there at that warehouse, waiting for him. He'd find some other suite to take her to now that he had a working credit card again, and fuck her brains out.