Free Torque by Glenn Muller Page A

sedan’s passenger door. Svoljsak
watched the heel hit the ground then cranked his steering wheel
hard to the right and stomped on the accelerator.
    Burning as much oil as rubber the little
Korean compact scrabbled for traction on the asphalt. The shooter’s
leg retracted and the sedan’s tires, spinning in reverse, turned
the rain on the pavement to steam. Hunched low over the wheel
Svoljsak kept his foot to the mat and willed the gerbils to greater
efforts. Knowing the more powerful car would catch up in a matter
of seconds he looked desperately for a way to escape.
    The buildings on either side appeared endless
and the lights of the next intersection seemed as far away as
distant suns. The sedan had pulled within fifty metres when, like
the dark gap of a missing tooth, an alleyway appeared in the solid
brickwork.
    Svoljsak waited until the last possible
second then wrenched the steering wheel hard once more and jumped
on the brakes. With too much momentum and not enough traction from
the worn tires the car kept sliding forward. He was going to
overshoot. As a last resort he came off the binders and the front
wheels, now released, turned the hood toward the narrow
entrance.
    Svoljsak yanked up the handbrake. The rear
wheels locked and the back end skidded and hopped in a semi-circle.
Both left-side wheels slammed into the curb together nearly tipping
the car over. It rocked back onto its shocks just as the sedan slid
past with smoking tires. The import’s dash lights dimmed. The
sudden stop and shock of the impact had stalled its engine.
Svoljsak cursed and reached for the screwdriver. It was no longer
in the ignition.
    “Shit!”
    The sedan had come to a stop a few car
lengths away. He felt around the floor mat and his hand found the
screwdriver. He jammed it back into the cylinder and the motor
cranked reluctantly.
    “Come on, damn you. Start!”
    Holding his breath, as if straining lungs
could help the engine turn over, he looked toward the inviting hole
in the wall and then at the sedan’s flaring back-up lights as it
reversed toward him. He could just about read the sedan’s trunk
emblem when the gerbils came back to life.
    The sedan showed a clear intent to ram.
Svoljsak slammed the stick into first gear and his car jumped
forward. He aimed for the gap in the wall and got an unexpected
boost when the sedan clipped his bumper. He corrected the steering
and shot into the alley as a sparking flash of chrome and glass
swept past his mirror.
    Fear seemed to warp time. A terrifying
montage of streaking bolts of light and booming thunderclaps chased
him down the narrow corridor. Picking up speed, Svoljsak cut the
lights and willed the darkness to draw in behind him. More flashes
of deadly steel ricocheted off a fire escape to his right, then
another batch chipped graffiti off the bricks to his left.
    With the side mirrors of the compact car
nearly scraping the walls he hurtled along the unknown path until
the sheltering darkness of the brick gully mercifully cloaked him
from sight.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER
14
     
    The chirping cell phone was all the more
irritating for being over on the vanity and not by the bed. Even
the alarm clock had the grace not to ring at this hour. Reis
squinted at the soft red time display. Beyond the heavy draperies,
drawn tight against unwanted light, rain tip-tapped against the
window. Grumbling, she pushed the comforter off and lurched toward
the insistent sound.
    “This better be good.”
    “Just thought you should know; we tailed him
from the lab and goosed him around Barton Street.” The voice had a
smoker's nettle to it.
    Back in the bed, Reis pulled the pillows up
behind her.
    “And just what did you do to ‘goose’ him, R.
J.?” The flatness of her tone made the caller pause.
    “We followed him around town for a bit, then
I drove up beside his car and Brick put a shotgun blast across the
bow. Man, was he spooked!”
    “So you goosed him and you spooked him,” she
said dryly.