Free Killing Red by Henry Perez Page A

him. Not the least bit shaken by any of this. It was as though the other driver had lured him into another reality, one Chapa wanted to break free of immediately.
    But Chapa remembered why he’d gone on the offensive in the first place. The threat to Annie Sykes, maybe others too. Could be the person in that car wanted to hurt Michelle Sykes’ little girl. Could be they planned to tear apart whatever was left of Roger Sykes by finishing what Grubb had started. Chapa wasn’t going to let that happen. He shifted into drive, straightened the wheel, and accelerated as the green sedan sped off.
    A few blocks ahead, the suburban neighborhood opened into large field. In the distance, Chapa could see there was more traffic and movement than what they had encountered up until now.
    Then he realized why.
    The green sedan was less then a block ahead of him when Chapa drove past the school traffic sign. Chapa immediately slowed down, then abruptly pulled over as Balenger Elementary rose out of its usually tranquil surroundings.
    If he thought putting his hands up or waving a white flag would have done any good, Chapa would not have hesitated in doing it. Anything to tell the other driver that this was over. But Chapa knew better. The green sedan wasn’t slowing down. It was accelerating.
    Chapa watched helplessly as it sped toward a crosswalk. A group of children, still buzzed about the end of their school day, was heading straight for the street. The crossing guard, an older woman whose white hair contrasted with her brightly colored uniform, was paying attention to the kids she was there to protect. Seemingly unaware that death was raging in their direction at more than sixty miles per hour, she began to lead the children into the crosswalk.
    One of the kids pointed toward the speeding car as the woman raised her stop sign and took a backward step into the street. Chapa pulled out and headed toward the school, desperate to figure out a way to make the car stop, knowing that he couldn’t.
    He punched his horn, four quick jabs.
    The woman turned as the green sedan charged through the crosswalk at full speed, then she fell down hard. Chapa sped toward her, ready to help in whatever way he could, as the sound of children screaming sliced through the afternoon calm.
    But as Chapa got closer he saw the woman sit up, then scramble to her feet like a gymnast who just took a spill. She withdrew a pencil and small notepad from her orange vest, turned toward the green sedan as it disappeared in the distance, and quickly scribbled something.
    Chapa rolled down his window as he pulled up and stopped.
    “Ma’am, are you okay?”
    “I’m fine, I’ve fallen before and I’m sure I’ll fall again. We all fall down sometimes.”
    She smiled at the kids, and Chapa could see the woman was holding it together for their sake.
    “No, really, are you hurt?” Chapa asked, lowering his voice.
    “I’m okay, thank you.” She brushed a patch of dirt off her hip, picked up her stop sign, and waved the children across.
    “I saw you writing something. Did you get the plate number?”
    She looked down at her notepad.
    “I’m afraid not, but I know it was a green Dodge, and the driver was a large man. Next time I’ll get the son—” she started to use a term that was not appropriate for young ears, and stopped herself. “The next time that careless gentleman drives by this school, I will get his license plate and I’ll report him.”
    Chapa liked the woman’s grit, and had no doubt she would spend weeks and maybe months looking out for the green sedan. But he was also certain there wouldn’t be a next time.
    As Chapa drove away, he fought to steady his breathing and pulse rate. Both were racing at speeds faster than any car he’d ever owned could reach.

CHAPTER 9
     
     
    Duane Wormley was smiling like he’d just taken a stealthy piss in Chapa’s coffee.
    “The prodigal reporter has returned.”
    Chapa ignored him, it was something he’d