Fat Tuesday(58)

She lunged for the handle of the sliding-panel door on the right side of the backseat."Stop her," Burke yelled.

Gregory was in bad shape, but too afraid of Burke not to do as he was told. He plunged between the seats and threw himself on top of Remy, grabbing a handful of her hair."U'm thorry, U'm thorry." His lips were already grotesquely swollen, and his nose was a bleeding, pulpy mess.

"He's mean. I don't want to hurt you. But if I don't do what he says, I'm afraid he'll kill me."

"I understand," she said with amazing composure."Just please let go of my hair."

Burke addressed her over his shoulder."Nobody's going to hurt you if you cooperate. Okay?" She gave him a terse nod, but he doubted her sincerity."At this speed, you'd kill yourself," he said, warning her of the danger if she tried to leap from the van.

"I understand."

"Good. Gregory, let her go and get back in your seat. You," he said to her, "sit here between us on the floor."

Gregory clambered back into his seat. Burke was tense until she was safely between the captain's chairs."Who are you?" she asked.

Her eyes were teary and wide with fear. Her face had been leached of color. To further emphasize her paleness, there was a trickle of blood in the corner of her lips. Had she bitten them? Or had he accidentally hit her during their scuffle?

Uncomfortable with the thought, Burke returned his eyes to the road, and it was a good thing he did, because in the rearview mirror he saw a pickup truck racing toward them.

"Damn it!" What else could possibly go wrong? Both Gregory and Mrs. Duvall were bleeding, and he had a pickup full of pissed-off rednecks about to climb up the van's exhaust pipe."Gregory, take the gun."

"Huh? Why?"

"Look behind us."

Gregory glanced at the side mirror on the door and shrieked when he saw the pickup barreling toward them. The man from the rest room was standing up in the bed of the pickup, leaning forward against the cab.

He was using the roof of it to support a shotgun, which was aimed at the van. He warbled a blood-curdling yell. Several cronies were riding in the back of the pickup with him, and the cab was packed full of fire-breathing fag-bashers.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh, God," Gregory wailed."I'm going to die."

"I'm going to kill you myself if you don't pull yourself together," Burke shouted."Take the gun!" He stretched his arm across Mrs. Duvall and pushed the pistol into Gregory's trembling hands.

"I've never fired a gun before."

"All you have to do is point it and pull the trigger." Burke was hoping this ridiculous chase wouldn't result in an exchange of gunfire.

He was hoping he could stay far enough ahead of the pickup to avoid that. The van was no speed machine, and at any minute the hasty patch job on the radiator hose could become a critical factor. But the pickup was heavy. With its extra load, it wouldn't be performing at maximum capacity, either.

Eventually the angry mob might grow tired of the chase and figure that their time was better spent back at the cafe drinking another round of beers. Or Burke might be able to elude them once it got dark.

Or they might chase them until they caught them and kill them all.

The pickup continued to gain until it seemed it was riding on their rear bumper. Burke swerved in front of it to keep it from pulling up alongside. Then he swerved to the other side of the road when they approached from that direction. It soon became a contest to see which driver could outmaneuver the other. Burke concentrated on staying ahead of the pickup while keeping the van on the narrow road. One mistake and they would plunge into the foreboding swamp that extended away from the road on either side.

He was concentrating so hard on his driving that he didn't notice Mrs. Duvall's outstretched hand until it was almost too late to stop her from pulling the key from the ignition. His hand shot out and covered hers.

She yelped in surprise and pain as the key ring dug into her palm.

"Let it go," Burke ordered. He was now driving with only one hand, and the van veered onto the shoulder, sending up a shower of gravel and almost making him lose control. Gregory screamed in fright.

"You're going to get us killed!" Mrs. Duvall shouted."Stop the van.

I'm sure they'll reason with us."

"Are you crazy, lady? Him and me they'll kill and feed to the alligators. You they won't kill until they've all taken a turn. Now let go of the goddamn key, and we might just stand a " A blast from the shotgun shattered the rear window. Gregory screamed again and dove to the floor, although the shot was widely scattered and the high backs on the seats served as protection from flying glass. To Mrs. Duvall's credit, she didn't scream, but she immediately released the ignition key and ducked to the floor.

Burke ground his foot against the accelerator, although it was already on the floor. The van wouldn't go any faster, so it surprised him to see the pickup receding in his mirror. It took a moment for him to realize that it was slowing down. Firing the shotgun had been their last parry.

The rednecks were calling it quits.

The truck shrank to a pencil dot in his mirrors, but Burke didn't let up on the accelerator. When he reached his turnoff, he took it on two wheels. His eyes stayed on the mirrors for another few minutes, but when it became apparent that the pursuit was over, he said, "You can get up now. They've decided we're not worth the effort."