Persuader Read Free

his head had been exploded.
    “Shit,” I said again. Steered for the side of the road to improve my angle. Fired behind us again.
    “I need you to watch,” I said. “Stay down as far as you can.”
    The kid didn’t move.
    “Get up,” I said. “ Now. I need you to watch.”
    He raised himself and twisted around until his head was just high enough to see out the back. I saw him register the shattered rear window. Saw him realize that his head had been right in line with it.
    “I’m going to slow down a little,” I said. “Going to pull in so they’ll pull out to pass me.”
    “Don’t do it,” the kid said. “You can still put this right.”
    I ignored him. Dropped the speed to maybe fifty and pulled right and the college car instinctively drifted left to come up on my flank. I fired my last three chambers at it and its windshield shattered and it slewed all the way across the road like maybe the driver was hit or a tire had gone. It plowed nose-first into the opposite shoulder and smashed through a line of planted shrubs and then it was lost to sight. I dropped the empty gun on the seat beside me and wound the window up and accelerated hard. The kid said nothing.
    Just stared into the rear of the van. The broken window back there was making a weird moaning sound as the air sucked out through it.
    “OK,” I said. I was out of breath. “Now we’re good to go.”
    The kid turned to face me.
    “Are you crazy?” he said.
    “You know what happens to people who shoot cops?” I said back.
    He had no reply to that. We drove on in silence for maybe thirty whole seconds, more than half a mile, blinking and panting and staring straight ahead through the windshield like we were mesmerized. The inside of the van stank of gunpowder.
    “It was an accident,” I said. “I can’t bring him back. So get over it.”
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “No, who are you?” I asked back.
    He went quiet. He was breathing hard. I checked the mirror. The road was completely empty behind us. Completely empty ahead of us. We were way out in open country.
    Maybe ten minutes from a highway cloverleaf.
    “I’m a target,” he said. “For abduction.”
    It was an odd word to use.
    “They were trying to kidnap me,” he said.
    “You think?”
    He nodded. “It’s happened before.”
    “Why?”
    “Money,” the kid said. “Why else?”
    “You rich?”
    “My father is.”
    “Who is he?”
    “Just a guy.”
    “But a rich guy,” I said.
    “He’s a rug importer.”
    “Rugs?” I said. “What, like carpets?”
    “Oriental rugs.”
    “You can get rich importing Oriental rugs?”
    “Very,” the kid said.
    “You got a name?”
    “Richard,” he said. “Richard Beck.”
    I checked the mirror again. The road was still empty behind. Still empty ahead. I slowed a little and steadied the van in the center of my lane and tried to drive on like a normal person.
    “So who were those guys?” I asked.
    Richard Beck shook his head. “I have no idea.”
    “They knew where you were going to be. And when.”
    “I was going home for my mother’s birthday. It’s tomorrow.”
    “Who would know that?”
    “I’m not sure. Anybody who knows my family. Anybody in the rug community, I guess.
    We’re well known.”
    “There’s a community?” I said. “Rugs?”
    “We all compete,” he said. “Same sources, same market. We all know each other.”
    I said nothing. Just drove on, sixty miles an hour.
    “ You got a name?” he asked me.
    “No,” I said.
    He nodded, like he understood. Smart boy.
    “What are you going to do?” he asked.
    “I’m going to let you out near the highway,” I said. “You can hitch a ride or call a cab and then you can forget all about me.”
    He went very quiet.
    “I can’t take you to the cops,” I said. “That’s just not possible. You understand that, right? I killed one. Maybe three. You saw me do it.”
    He stayed quiet. Decision time. The highway was six minutes