Free City of Heretics by Heath Lowrance Page A

Chester and D followed in their giant gas waster/status symbol.
    The tension had been rising steadily in their vehicle. Chester kept fingering the revolver he carried in a shoulder rig, tapping his foot rhythmically on the floorboard and grimacing. D-Lux drove stiffly, huffing and sighing every few seconds. Finally, D-Lux said, “Sure would make this drive a little nicer if a man could listen to his rhymes.”
    Chester glared at him. “You want a rhyme, D?  Try this one: Roses are red, violets are blue, shut the fuck up. You like that one?”
    D gritted his teeth. “Once more. Talk to me like that just once more.”
    Chester said, “Your job, D, is to keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told.”
    “Aw, hell no. My job, motherfucker, is to drive you two lily-white asses and look good doing it.”
    Chester said, “Well, you’re halfway there.”
    D huffed again. “Just my goddamn luck,” he said. “Stuck in a goddamn moving vehicle with two goddamn crackers.”
    Chester said, “Crackers?  Did you just say crackers?”
    D said, “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
    “No, but it just reminded me I haven’t had breakfast. Some crackers sound pretty good right now.”
    They eyed each other for a moment and then Chester grinned and D grinned and they started cooling off. D shook his head and said, “I changed my mind. Our man Crowe back there is the cracker. You, Paine, are the cheese.”
    That got both of them laughing. Crowe leaned back again and gazed out the window. They were giving him a headache.
    Twenty minutes later, well and truly out in the boonies, the transport van left the freeway.
    “There,” Crowe said. “They’re taking the scenic route.”
    As the deputies got further into the rural areas between Memphis and Jackson, the possibility of ambush became greater, so they had chosen this particular exit onto a state road that didn’t see much traffic. It was one of about ten choices as a route to Jackson, and not a very direct one, either—it wound and twisted through heavily forested areas, simple two-lane blacktop that would add another hour, at least, to the trip.
    Not a bad plan, unless the ambushers happened to know in advance which road the deputies had chosen.
    They followed them off the exit. Crowe said, “Fall back a little more, D. We know where they’re going, we’re not gonna lose them. Chester, call the boys in the other car and make sure they know which exit to take.”
    “They know which exit.”
    “Remind them.”
    Grumbling, he pulled out his cell phone again and punched them in. He spat the exit number at them and snapped the phone shut again. “Happy?” he said.
    Crowe wasn’t, not really, but he didn’t say anything. The closer they got to doing this, the less secure he felt about it. He wasn’t scared, exactly—if getting killed is the worst thing that can happen to you, well, big deal, right?—but he didn’t want the plan to fall apart. He didn’t want to get taken out before he’d finished what he’d come back to Memphis to do.
    They slowed down, deliberately losing sight of the transport van. The road was a lonely stretch of black, weaving through dense icy woods. They weren’t far from the state park, deemed a wildlife sanctuary, but Crowe didn’t see any wildlife other than the small mammal variety littered along the sides of the road. There’s not much sanctuary against a ton of speeding metal on wheels.
    No one in the Hummer said anything for a long time. They drove on through the woods, always just out of sight of the transport van. Crowe kept checking his watch.
    When they’d been on the state road for exactly ten minutes, he said, “Okay. It’s time. Chester—“
    “Yeah,” he said. “Calling.”  He dialed again, said, “Move it,” and tossed the cell phone on the seat next to him.
    “D,” Crowe said, “Give this ugly thing some speed.”
    D slammed his foot down hard on the gas and they rocketed forward hard enough to push