Dead Edge: the gripping political thriller for fans of Lee Child. Jack Ford
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past him.
‘Coop, come on. This is me. Earl. What you trying to do? Drive me away? Because that’s never going to happen. Come on, dude. I’m your friend.’
‘If you’re my friend, you’ll get off my back.’ He opened the restroom door to go.
‘Coop!’
It took five paces along the highly polished floor of the court house corridor before Cooper turned round. Five paces and one thought…
‘Earl, I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but…’
Interrupting, Earl glanced at his inexpensive wristwatch. ‘Shut the hell up and listen. We haven’t got time. There’s many a bar in town and many a beer we can do this over, but for now we gotta put everything aside and work out how we’re going to keep you out of jail. You’ve given Judge Saunders all the ammo he needs. So we gotta have a plan when we go back in there… Coop…! Coop! What the hell are you doing?’
Cooper lurched forward and grabbed hold of the woman who’d just hurried past him in her tight cream suit and curls done up too high. ‘Ma’am, what did you say to that man?’
She looked flustered and affronted all at once. ‘What?’
‘To that man back there… I heard you say something. I need you to repeat what you’ve just said.’
Maybe it was because she heard something in Cooper’s voice, or it was the fact he was still holding onto her arm, but she answered. Real quickly. As quickly as Earl had done back in the courtroom to the judge.
‘I… I heard on the news. There’s been a bomb. Suicide bombers apparently. Several in fact. Also shootings. Lots of people dead. Memphis, Washington… Denver. Apparently they’re saying the President was there.’
‘Where? Where was he?’
‘He was in Denver when one of the blasts went off. They said on the news he was visiting an elementary school…’
Cooper shook her as if trying to shake the words right out of her rouged mouth. He said. ‘What else?’
‘I… I… I don’t know.’
‘But is he okay?’
‘I don’t know… I guess.’
‘But you don’t know? You don’t know for sure?’
‘No… No… They didn’t say.’
Cooper didn’t even bother looking at Earl. Just ran. Heard him calling after him. Didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. He needed to go. And fast. Problem was he’d forgotten how fast his friend was.
Earl caught up with a heavy pant. Holding onto Cooper as they stood under the glass dome of the Jeffco court house.
‘Coop, what’s going on? What the hell are you doing? Where are you going?’
Cooper couldn’t see for the sweat which ran down his face in rivulets. ‘Let go of me, Earl. I gotta go.’
‘Is this something to do with the President?’
‘I’ll call you. I swear.’
Earl’s words followed Cooper. Landing on nothing but the still, dry heat of the afternoon.
‘Don’t bother… You hear me, Coop…? Don’t you bother!’
Be2 e5
The hard concrete of Jefferson County Parkway pounded through Cooper’s sneakers. Pounding through his head as he sprinted along the tree-lined sidewalk. Pulled down heavy from the drugs whilst the Colorado sun scorched a pattern of fire on his back. Parked car after parked car. Empty vehicle after empty vehicle fuelling his alarm.
He stumbled as he ran, looking for a cab in the deserted streets and not realizing the loud cry for help he’d heard had come from him, until the call of panic cut at the back of his throat. The only thought making sense to Cooper was somehow he had to make the twelve mile trip to Denver.
The sound of a car, an engine, had Cooper spinning round. He squinted. Shielded his eyes from the sun. And there on the other side of the road, driving down the public highway, like water to a thirsty coyote, was a rusting grey Honda.
Cooper exhaled. Long. Hard. Tasting every second of the relief because although the driver didn’t know it yet, Cooper knew that car was going to be his one-way ticket to Denver.
Quickly he darted across the middle section. Scrabbling up and along as the Honda began to drive past him. Briefly Cooper thought about hailing, waving the guy down like he was summoning a yellow Checker taxi in NYC. But for once, sense kept his mouth shut and his hand firmly by his side. His mind was messed up, but even he wasn’t going to bet on the driver stopping for a sweat drenched, wild-eyed guy.
Cooper dug for an energy he wasn’t sure he had, trying to push himself forward, feeling the burn of his legs as he ran to get in front of the station wagon.
He dived.
Threw himself round in a one eighty.
Closed his eyes.
Heard the slamming of brakes accompanied by the noise of the horn which told him he was still alive.
He peeled his fingers off the burning hot metal of the hood, thumping his fist on top of the roof to counteract the pain, then watched as the driver’s eyes welled with terror. Three hundred and twenty pounds of fear. His stunned deliberation – as to whether to risk driving off or not – costing him, giving Cooper the chance to fling open the door.
‘Hey, sir, how’s it goin’?’
The gaping mouth full of nachos and the remains of a cheese dip on his lap made Cooper feel bad for the guy.
‘Here’s the thing, sir. I need your help. I’m not going to hurt you but I need to borrow your car.’
The guy started choking. Real hard. Guacamole-colored saliva dripped from his mouth and onto his chin. He gave no words to Cooper, just nodded like a marionette on a string, his jowls wet with drool as he cowered from the hard pat on his back from Cooper.
‘Look, it’ll be okay… My name’s Thomas J. Cooper. If you go inside the court, ask for an Earl Edwards. He’s my attorney. He’ll vouch for me… I will return your car, sir. But hey, you can always ride along with me if you’re concerned that I won’t bring it back. Or if you prefer, you can always get out here.’
Cooper didn’t blame the guy. Heck, he didn’t blame him at all, though he reckoned it was the fastest the Guacamole guy had run since high school.
O-O Nc6
Cooper put his foot down and drove. Over the mid-section of Weimer Street. Over the sidewalk of Johnson Road. Over anything that got in his path. Swerving. Weaving through traffic. Keeping his eyes out for the cops as he sped down the freeway towards Denver.
Sign read, 60.
Speedometer read, eighty-five.
Sign read, Do Not Pass.
Cooper undertook using the shoulder.
Whatever it took to get there.
Trickles of sweat bled between his fingers, causing his hand to slip as he jabbed at the radio buttons trying to listen to the news of the unfolding events. To anything which would tell him where. How. But as for why, he needed to leave that one for another day.
*
Fifteen minutes in and Cooper was gripping onto the Honda’s steering wheel as if he had