A Blind Eye Read Free Page B

came out.
    Her face said she should have known. “How quick they forget.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Whatever you want it to.”
    “Isn’t this conversation just a joy to be part of on a wintry night?”
    “I can remember a time when you thought so.”
    “That was then.” He took a hand off the steering wheel. “We were…you know…then.” Waved it. “You know what I mean. It was different then.”
    She put on her astonished face. “I most certainly don’t know any such thing. Why doesn’t the famous on-the-lam crime writer enlighten me.”
    “When you’re…you know…”
    “Doing the nasty.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Go on.”
    “When you’re…you know…involved like that…the rules are different. You put up with a little more shit than you otherwise might.”
    She sat in silence for a moment and then emitted a dry laugh. “So what you’re saying is that when you’re getting laid, you’ll listen to a lot more bullshit than you will when you’re not.”
    He thought it over. “Makes complete sense to me,” he said finally.
    She looked at him for a long moment. “Amazing,” she said. “Guys are absolutely amazing.” When he didn’t respond, she folded her arms across her chest, sat back in the seat, and said, “You’ll be sure to let me know when I’m allowed to speak again, won’t you?”
    The muscles along the side of Corso’s jaw tightened. Ahead, a bright yellow sign announced a 20 percent grade. Corso worked the brakes. Gritting his teeth as the Ford slid around a corner, Corso turned his head toward Dougherty.
    She sat stiffly in the seat, staring through the wind-shield, wearing her most disinterested gaze.
    “Why don’t we just…”he began.
    He watched as her eyes opened wide. “Corso!” she bellowed.
    He snapped his eyes back to the road. It took a moment before his brain was able to register and categorize what his eyes were seeing.
    Ahead, a snow-encrusted pickup truck lay on its side, blocking both lanes, passenger door open and pointing at the sky. When he tapped the brakes, the Ford surrendered the last of its traction and began to accelerate down the steep incline.
    “Do something!” Dougherty screamed as the hill pulled them faster and faster toward the wreck. Corso stood on the brakes, but the Ford was out of control now, gaining speed, turning a lazy circle before plowing headfirst into the wreck.
    Inside the Ford, Dougherty’s face was a mask of fear. The last image she processed was the bottom half of Corso’s face covered with blood. And then the Ford began to pinwheel along the undercarriage of the pickup truck, the scream of tearing metal filling the air, in the instant before they bounced over the guardrail and became airborne.

3
    C orso…damn it…get off me.”
    She grunted as she tried to push him off, but Corso’s unconscious bulk remained welded to her left shoulder. The scratch of the wipers was slower now, the heater a mere whisper at her feet. Her right ear, pressed against the window, was beginning to freeze. She grabbed him by the ears, lifted his head, and looked into his face. His nose was squashed nearly flat. In the eerie moonlight, the twin rivulets of blood running down over his lips and chin shone obsidian black. Using his ears as handles, she gently shook his head. Called his name. Nothing. She shook him again, and he coughed. Groaned. Suddenly his eyes fluttered, rolled several times in his head, and then popped open. He moved a shoulder and brought a tentative hand to his face. She watched as he blinked several times, trying to focus on his bloodied fingers.
    “Corso,” she said again. He looked her way with nothing in his eyes. “I think you busted your nose,” she said.
    His lips blew bubbles in the blood as he touched his face and winced.
    “Nose.” He said it as if he’d never before heard the word.
    Without warning, the car began to slide, the sickening sound of ripping metal again filling the air. A silent