Free Torque by Glenn Muller Page B

“Anything else?”
    “Uh. Yeah. He took off and we gave chase
until he cut down an alley. Brick helped him on his way with a
couple more shots, you know, over his head. We couldn't follow
anymore but you only wanted us to put a burr up his tail.
Right?”
    Now fully awake, Reis sat a little
straighter.
    “Are you telling me that you guys fired a
shotgun, three times, in downtown Hamilton in the middle of the
night? Were you both born crazy, or was that something you
contracted as kids?”
    She could almost hear the gears turning while
he fathomed an appropriate response.
    “You wanted him bounced—we bounced him. It
would have been just as easy to take the packet off the guy, you
know. You could have had it by now.”
    “If you had cornered him, he might have
damaged it or tossed it. I just wanted Svoljsak to have some
incentive to move it along before he got funny ideas of his own.
Besides, if your idea of putting a scare into him is to wake up
half the city, what would you have done to take him down—blown up a
couple of blocks? My God. You guys have all the subtlety of a
Sherman tank, and only half its brains.”
    The loss of sleep had only served to sharpen
her tongue, though deriding a moron was hardly a fair contest. The
lack of response prompted her to get on with the business at
hand.
    “All right, R. J., I asked you to pressure
him and you say you did, so we’ll move on.” She softened her voice.
“Your bull in a china shop routine might come in handy, yet.”
    “You mean you want us to find him again?”
    “No. I'll take care of that. Go home and get
some shut-eye. I'll call you later in the week.”
    A hacking cough on the other end was followed
by his nettley, “Yeah. All right.”
    The line clicked to silence.
    It was now four-thirty.
    == == ==
    The large city block was a warren of small
alleyways. Unable to follow, the big American four-door had given
up the pursuit. Svoljsak made one tight turn then another before he
sensed an element of safety and came to a stop. A prickling low
voltage charge ran under the dampened armpits of his shirt and
sweat trickled down his back. He shoved the gearshift into Park and
squirmed out from behind the wheel. With the door ajar and engine
running he walked cautiously back to the previous alley and peered
around the corner.
    All was quiet.
    The short return walk helped to slow his
heart rate and calm him down. He pulled the big flashlight from the
duffel bag and made a survey of the damage.
    All in all he’d been damned lucky not to get
a flat tire from a shotgun blast, or when he’d hit the curb, though
the latter had bent one of the rims and probably screwed up the
alignment. There was a star crack in the rear window and several
small dings in the hatch. The hood looked like it had been whipped
with a chain.
    At least the damage was less noticeable on an
old beater like this than it would be on a fancier ride. For now he
was just glad it was still drivable. It was another victory of
sorts and he looked around for his cigar. It lay beneath the brake
pedal, crushed. He flicked it down the alley, lit a cigarette, then
leaned back against the car.
    The rain had stopped but an enveloping mist
draped a phosphorous glow over the city. Daybreak was yet a couple
of hours away and he wondered how long the sedan would patrol the
block. With his option of exits from the maze of back passages, the
chance of meeting his assailants again, tonight, would require an
extreme case of bad timing.
    They had to be connected with the Simedyne
job. No one else would have known where and when to pick him up. He
took another deep drag on his cigarette and peered down the lane
into the darkness. It was actually quite a peaceful hideaway.
    Just then the car’s automatic cooling fan
kicked in. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins and he
instinctively ducked for cover.
    “Cut that out!” He lashed out with his boot
and put a dent in the fender.
    Enough of this crap. He needed