The light changed and he took his foot off the brake.
“The women gotta go,” Horace said. “That’s a fact.”
The Japanese grunted, kept his eyes forward.
“Maybe even that faggot. I can see that.”
The Japanese nodded. Horace caught it out of the corner of his eye.
“But I’m here to tell you, we’re not hurting them little girls.” It was bad enough he had to throw that kid off that balcony. Little fucker’s scream was gonna be with him for the rest of his life. He wasn’t about to add any more kids to the list.
“Whatever you say,” the Japanese said.
“Just so we got that understood.” They were approaching the fork where Ocean branched off into Second Street. Horace kept to the right, stayed on Ocean.
Maggie kept her foot on the floor and threw the VW into third as she took the off ramp onto Studebaker Road. She’d had the little car up to ninety on the freeway, despite the rain. And through blind luck, the grace of God or both, she hadn’t been stopped. She flew off the ramp at seventy-five, tires squealing. In seconds she careened the car around the corner and was speeding into the Shore.
“Faster,” Gay said.
“It’s on the floor.” Maggie raced down Second Street, sliding the car through the first left past the bridge onto Bayshore Drive, downshifting through the middle of the turn.
The car rocked up on the two right wheels, sliding like a bar of soap on a wet floor.
“We’re gonna go over!” Gay screamed.
“No we’re not!” Maggie cranked the wheel into the direction of the slide, got control, but not enough to keep the car on the street. They jumped the curb and now the VW’s tires were churning sand as they shot along the beach.
“Look out!” Gay yelled.
“Holy shit!” Maggie pulled the wheel and barely avoided a couple making love on the sand. The couple rolled away, white arms and legs caught in the headlights. Maggie felt the fear in their wide eyes, sure as if she’d been right there with them.
“It’s after midnight,” Gay said. “And it’s pouring cats and dogs.”
“Maybe they’re drunk, horny and got no place to go.” Maggie aimed the car back toward the road, downshifted to second. The lovers looked like kids, barely old enough to get into a bar. A long time ago, in her other life, she and Nick had made love in the rain. A beach in the Bahamas on their honeymoon. But it wasn’t nearly so cold.
“Hang on! Maggie braced herself as the VW went over the curb. It was a miracle the tires still held air. They thudded onto the street and once again were in a slide, but Maggie got control of it in time to make the turn onto Ocean. She downshifted through the corner with her foot on the floor.
“Now you’ve got the hang of this!” Gay said.
“Yeah!” Maggie had gone around the corner without so much as a chirp from the tires.
“There’s a parking spot right across the street,” Gay said.
“Yeah.” Maggie slipped into the space, parking next to the beach sand, opposite the Whale.
Horace slowed the van for a couple of women crossing the road. He shook his head. They shouldn’t be out so late. Anything could happen.
“It’s them!” The Jap said.
“What?” Horace looked through the wet windshield and the clacking wipers. It was the two women. The Twin and the black one they’d left tied up at Ma’s. They were in the middle of the street, crossing right in front of him as if he didn’t exist, as if he was nothing. “How?”
“Get them!” Now the Jap was excited.
Horace jammed his foot to the floor. The back tires squealed on the wet pavement. The Jap screamed, an animal wail filling the van, like he was a karate guy charging an army.
The women looked up and Horace hit them with his brights. Almost on top of them now. They jumped away, one going forward, the other jumping back as he plowed down on them. Horace screamed himself as he sped past, then he was braking, looking for a spot to turn around.
“Are you okay?” Maggie called across the street. Gay had jumped back, was in front of Jonas’ battered VW.
“Yeah.”
The van’s tires screeched as its driver stomped on the brakes. No doubt in her mind as to who it was. It was the same black van Horace and Virgil had that night they’d chased her on this same beach. He was going to be coming back and fast.
“Get down, play dead!” Maggie screamed.
“What?”
“Just do it!” Maggie ran across the street as Gay dropped to the pavement. “Get closer to the car. Stick your legs under it.”
“What for?”
“So he doesn’t run over you when he comes back.”
“Swell.”
“I’m gonna take off across the beach, lead them away from the apartment. When they come after me, you go up there and get the kids away. Hide.”
“Where?”
“Climb a fence, hide in someone’s backyard.”
“This is a stupid plan.”
“No time to argue.” Maggie dropped to her knees by Gay. She bent over her, as if examining her, pulled out the gun as the van spun around at the corner where the bay joined the ocean, tires sliding and squealing through a hundred and eighty degree turn.
“Shit, he can drive,” Gay said.
“Okay, here he comes.” Maggie got up. “I’m outta here. Good luck.” She took off at a dead run toward the pier.
“There she goes.” The Japanese was hopping in his seat now, pointing toward the Twin who was running over the sand.
“Deja-fucking-vu!” Horace cranked the wheel left and the van jumped the curb as if it wasn’t there. She got away from him before on this beach. She wasn’t going to do it again.
“What are you doing?”
“Gonna run her down.” The brights nailed her sure as a laser sight. Horace pulled the van down into low, insides tingling as it kicked in, but the wheels dug into the wet sand, shooting it out from the wheel wells.
“What?” The Japanese screamed.
“Stuck!” Horace pulled the trans into reverse and the tires spun in the other direction.
“She’s getting away.” The Japanese was yelling into Horace’s ear like he was deaf or something.
“Cool your jets!” Horace put it back into first, tried to ease out of the rut the tires had dug into, but couldn’t.
“I can’t see her.” The Japanese fuck was out of Horace’s face now. He opened the door, jumped out.
Horace jammed it into reverse, floored it. The engine screamed, the tires kicked wet sand six feet into the air, but he’d only dug himself in deeper.
“Fuck!” Horace pulled it into park, pulled his door open, pulled out his gun and charged off into the rain. Anger raged through him. His head throbbed. Rain pelted him, a cold shower killing his sight. Straining, he barely saw the Japanese bastard blundering ahead. Horace could only assume he had the Twin in sight. He had no choice. He charged after him.
Rain soaked through Maggie’s clothes as she ran. The Olympic pool was between her and the street. A murky monolith cutting off the real world. She was running in a dark, alien place, where murder was the order of the day and death is king.
She’d put on a burst of speed when the screaming truck jumped the curb, sprinting away from it. But all of a sudden she realized it had stopped. Had they given up? She stopped too, turned into the rain. She was drenched now, cold. Her lungs demanded air and she sucked it in, bent over, hands on her knees, like a baseball player in the infield waiting for a line drive, the only difference, she held a gun in her left hand instead of a mitt in the right.
Then she saw him, short and squat, hulking out of the night. Scarface, a dark apparition, blurred by the sheeting rain. Ponytail’s revolver wasn’t like her Sigma automatic. It seemed too small, almost a toy. She snugged it up under curled fingers while the palm of her hand rested on a bent knee. She brought it up, fired at Scarface.
She missed.
Either it wasn’t as accurate as her Sigma or there was a trick to the revolver she didn’t know.