The trophy heads stared glassy-eyed down at him from the walls - deer, elk, what looked like a grizzly bear in a particularly bad mood. The temperature was low, not as cool as it was outside, but Jerry still figured there hadn't been anyone there that day. He walked over to a heavy oak desk and tried the drawers. Locked. Jerry took a couple of deep breaths and put the end of his first finger against the keyhole in the top drawer. He softened the tip of his finger and pushed it inside, tearing his skin. Jerry hardened his finger and turned carefully. It hurt like hell, but he felt the metal give and swivel. Jerry pulled his damaged finger out. He'd have to learn how to pick locks the old-fashioned way someday.
Jerry rifled through the desk quickly. His fingertips were smooth to avoid prints. He pushed aside the bank statements and appliance warranties, and pulled out a file marked "October Surprise." He opened it, then took out a pocket camera and carefully photographed each page. There were three unmarked blueprints. Jerry had no idea what they belonged to. He could worry about that later. He put the file back into the drawer and checked out the rest of the desk, but didn't find anything of interest.
Jerry stepped carefully out into the interior hallway. He saw a motion detector at ceiling level, but its lights were obligingly dark. If the system had a backup battery it was dead. Jerry stopped at the phone stand and popped open the answering machine. He lifted out the minicassette and dropped in a blank one he'd brought along. He'd planned more than usual, ultimately wanting to impress Jay.
He reached the end of the hallway and stepped into the living room. More trophies. There was a thick-legged table in the center of the room surrounded by several uncomfortable looking high-backed chairs. Jerry decided to head upstairs. He'd only taken a couple of steps when something caught his ankle and he pitched forward, smacking his forearm onto the hardwood stair. He crawled back down and fingered the ankle-height wire. It had pulled out several inches.
Jerry heard loud barking from alongside the house. He bounced up off the stairs and ran to the living room window. The two mastiffs saw him and bared their teeth. The wire must have triggered a physical mechanism to set them loose. Battle had a military mind, and was nobody's fool. He planned for every contingency.
He backed away from the window. He'd been feeling lucky and hadn't brought a gun on this trip. Next time he'd ignore his instincts and pack something. There was no choice but to run for it. Jerry crossed into the front of the house and unbolted the door, then opened it and sprinted toward the wall.
The dogs were on his heels before he made it twenty yards. Jerry fashioned his fingertips into claws and turned to face them. The first mastiff was already in the air, jaws open, going for this throat. Jerry brought his arm around as fast as he could and tore into its neck. It yelped and fell. The second animal hurled itself at him before he could get his arm back around. The mastiff slammed into his chest and knocked him to the ground. Jerry grabbed the dog's throat with a clawed hand and dug in. The animal shook its head violently, trying to break free. Saliva fell on Jerry's face, then blood. The mastiff collapsed on top of him, snapped its jaws, and was still. Jerry dragged himself from under the dog, fighting for breath. The other animal was still alive, lying in a pool of blood. Its eyes were peaceful, almost sad. Jerry looked at the blood on his clawed hand and gritted his teeth. The wound was fatal. There was nothing he could do.
He returned his hands to normal and staggered to the wall. It took him two tries to grab the top, and all his remaining strength to haul himself up. He checked his pockets to make sure the camera and mini-cassette were still there, then dropped heavily to the ground on the far side.
His silver Ford reflected golden in the sunset. Jerry jumped inside and power locked the doors, then took time for a few deep breaths. He started the car and did a quick U-turn. It was getting cold and he flipped on the heater. The main highway was clear, and he pulled out and sped away.
He noticed the car about a mile and a half later. It was black or dark blue, Jerry couldn't tell which in the fading light. There were two men in the front seat. Jerry changed lanes to let them around, but they stayed right behind him. Jerry didn't panic, but he wasn't calm either. Maybe they worked for Battle and had heard the dogs. Maybe they'd driven by the place earlier and seen his car. Maybe they just liked tailgating. It didn't particularly matter, Jerry wanted them gone. A high speed chase was out of the question. His driving skills were only adequate at best. He would drive until he found a restaurant or something, pull in, and change into someone else in the bathroom. He'd done it before.
It was like they read his mind. The dark car pulled up alongside. Now Jerry had them on one side and a nasty incline into the trees on the other.
"Shit," he said.
The car veered over and slammed into the side of the Taurus. Sparks flew and the tires squealed and smoked. The impact knocked him onto the shoulder. Jerry hit the brakes, hoping they would sail by him, but the other car moved over again and caught his front fender. There was nothing but big trees in front, and Jerry threw up his hands.
There was a noise like styrofoam being cut, only a hundred times louder. The air bag hit him like a heavyweight with a grudge. His wrist crashed into his lip, splitting it. Jerry smelled fuel. He clutched for the clasp on the safety belt and ripped it loose. The passenger side of the car was facing down, so he opened it and dropped out onto the ground.
Jerry knew they might be watching from the road, so he limped away from the wreck in the opposite direction as fast as he could. There was a flash of heat and a concussion from behind. He was knocked further down the hill, tumbling until he landed against the bole of a tree. Jerry felt around behind him. The back of his shirt was in tatters. The pain wasn't that bad yet. He knew with a burn it sometimes took awhile before you could really tell. Something to look forward to, if he managed to get through the night alive.
He heard tires squeal above him. Jerry looked up and saw taillights twinkling in and out as they receded through the trees. He was suddenly very cold. Jerry clambered up the hill, pulling himself along on bushes and low hanging branches. He could see a fair distance down the road. There was a single headlight approaching. Jerry took a breath and thought Austrian. His jaw went square and his hair shortened. He bulked up his entire body and lost a few inches of height in the process. He took a few steps to the center of the road and held up his right hand, motioning the approaching vehicle to stop.
The motorcycle slowed from a thrum to a putter. Jerry couldn't see anything of the driver, because of the glare from the headlights.
"I need your jacket, your boots, and your motorcycle." The accent was perfect. Jerry had been practicing it for months.
"Jesus, Mr. Schwarzenegger?" said the cyclist. His voice was shaky.
Jerry walked around and looked the driver in the eyes. The man looked to be in his early twenties, and was on the thin side. "Wrong, osshole."
"Uh." The man unbuckled his helmet and handed it over. "No boots." He looked down the hill at the burning Taurus. "Emergency, huh?"
"Get off the bike, dickweed," Jerry said. The cyclist dismounted. Jerry caught the bike before it fell over. "The chacket."
The man tugged the leather bomber jacket off and handed it over. Jerry slipped it on. It was wonderfully warm, but tight. He could fix that in a few moments.
The man put his hand on Jerry's shoulder. "It's only a Honda."
Jerry smiled thinly. "Hasta la vista, baby." The first phone he saw, he'd call the cops. That would take care of the motorcycle's owner. He accelerated off into the night, feeling more like something from Pee Wee's Big Adventure than The Wild One.