Killer Cargo. Dana Mentink
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up the slope, heading right for them.
TWO
Duke must be quite a character, Maria thought in the midst of her frantic getaway. The wobbling plastic flamingo swayed on the blue velvet dashboard. She wiped her damp palms on her pants and glanced down at the gas gauge, continuing to push the car as fast as she dared on the steep road. Three-quarters of a tank. That would be enough to get them to some kind of help, provided she wasn’t overtaken before she reached it.
The black sedan was a bigger car and she knew it wouldn’t take the grade as well as the Demon, but the men had determination stamped all over their shady mugs. The whole thing was ridiculously surreal, like a cheap dime-store novel. Did they really work for Shell, or was he an innocent in all this, too? Why were they still after her anyway? Surely they’d found their box of drugs. Did they need to kill her because she could identify them? She swallowed hard. If that was the case they would continue hunting her like a prized duck.
She gripped the wheel and pushed the car a little faster. There wasn’t any chance to turn onto a side road to lose them. She was hemmed in on both sides by dense shrubbery and massive pine trees. There was only one way out of the predicament and that was to get to the top of the mountain before they did. Hopefully there would be some sort of civilization on the other side. Or at least a working phone.
The sky was still heavy with moisture, but the rain had slowed to a trickle.
She knew they were rumbling through the foothills of the Cascades, but that was all she could be certain of. Mount Hood was the only other landmark, but the fog obscured the horizon under an impenetrable blanket.
The engine temperature gauge edged into the hot zone as they wheezed to the top of a steep grade. Maria used the wipers to clear some of the muck off the windshield. Drops of moisture made it through the bullet holes, and she wiped them away with her sleeve.
In a couple more yards she would have a good vantage point to see what lay below. There had to be a town, a gas station, something. Her excitement mounted as they crested the top. She leaned forward to get a better view of…
Nothing.
Nothing except for a vast expanse of wooded hills, a thin ribbon of dubious road and acres of spring wildflowers in a palette of pastel hues. If it hadn’t been so beautiful she would have cried. She flipped open her cell phone only to remember the battery was almost dead.
Resisting the temptation to smash her head against the steering wheel, she rolled down the window and listened, ignoring the mist that dampened her face. Maybe the men had given up. Maybe their car had died several miles back or they’d decided to return to the plane, figuring she’d head back to the airstrip.
The sound was soft but unmistakable, the faint clatter of an approaching motor. Her hands clenched the steering wheel. “This is bad, Hank. Really bad. We don’t have any choice. We’re going to have to make a break for it or we’re both going to be murdered.”
She hit the accelerator and took off down the road.
A quarter tank of gas later, they came to a turnoff. The signpost directed travelers to a series of small towns she had never heard of. One of the signs was pockmarked with bullet holes, making it practically unreadable. Her choices were few. Should she stay on the main drag or venture farther into no-man’s-land? She looked at the mucky road that led away into hills as green as cut emeralds. Gently she eased the Demon onto the turnoff.
Time ticked by in agonizing slow motion. It was pouring when the sun slowly mellowed into the horizon. Maria’s jeans were damp from the water coming in the windshield holes, her skin chilled.
“Does it ever stop raining in Oregon?” She blinked hard, trying to ward off the heavy blanket of fatigue. She longed to be back in Los Angeles, warm and completely insulated by a blanket of smog. Was it really only one day since she’d left her tiny apartment in California?
Three hours later she was…where? In backcountry Oregon during a torrential downpour, driving a car with a velvet dashboard and holes in the windshield. This whole thing had to be a bad dream, a nightmare really.
There had been no sign of the scary sedan men for the past few hours. She probably outwitted them with her “road less traveled” trick. Another bit of good fortune came when she’d found the phone charger in her backpack, the one with an adapter that fit into the cigarette lighter of Duke’s car. Hopefully she’d be able to make a phone call in a few hours as soon as she made it past the mountains, and the whole sorry nightmare would be over.
A rickety store nestled on the side of the road as they rounded a tree-lined curve. The sign read Food, Sundries and Gas. Her mood brightened. She wasn’t sure what a “sundry” was but the food part was definitely a welcome thought and she figured topping off the tank wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Who knew how far it would be to the next gas station?
“Okay, Hank. Let’s get something to eat and some gas. Plus, I’ve got to make a phone call.”
She eased out of the car and tried to unkink her back.
The man behind the battered cash register was skinny, his bald head shone in the light of the bare fluorescent bulb. He looked up at her approach, eyeing disapprovingly the water that coursed off her jacket onto the tile floor.
“Hi,” Maria said, shaking the rain from her hair and giving him a bright smile. “Quite a storm. Looks like the worst has passed.”
He bobbed a chin at her.
“Uh, do you have a phone I could use? My cell is dead.”
He jabbed a finger at the door. “Pay phone outside.”
She fished around in her damp pocket and handed him a bill. “I’m going to need some gas. Could I get some change for the phone, too?”
“Not unless you’re buying something else.” His shaggy brows knitted as he read the newspaper.
A real gem, Maria thought. She looked at the bins of vegetables and picked a plump carrot for Hank. From the crowded store shelf she grabbed a package of chocolate doughnuts and a soda.
The surly man rang up her purchase and handed her the change.
“Thank you,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
She dashed outside to the rickety gas pump and refueled.
Another foray into the rain brought her to the phone booth. She plunked a couple of coins in the slot and waited for the operator, plotting out her approach. She’d call the police in Los Angeles and tell them the whole story and then alert the authorities in Oregon to rescue her, and her plane while they were at it. Her mind was so busy planning out the conversation that it took a few moments for her to notice the lack of dial tone.
She jerked the change lever. Nothing came out and she slammed down the receiver. “Great. I didn’t even get a dial tone before it ate my money.”
Maria decided there was no point in telling the store clerk about the problem.
She sighed and slogged back to the car, water soaking her socks over the top of her sneakers. Inside she cranked the heater and gave Hank his carrot. The rabbit immediately began to munch, his slender teeth clicking a staccato rhythm. She put her own chattering teeth to work wolfing down the chocolate doughnuts.
An odd beeping noise startled her. Her cell phone was ringing.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hello, Maria. It’s Marty.”
She was so happy to hear his voice she almost cried. “Mr. Shell. I’m so glad you called. You’ll never believe what happened.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t go as planned at the airport. Again, I apologize for my guys being late. Promptness is not a cultural norm anymore. Sad. Ah, well, it’s hard to find good help.”
“No, no. It’s not that. There was a package of drugs on my plane.