summer air. "Can you believe... " "I know, right."
Toes turned and saw them coming from the direction he'd slowly taken. Two young women on bicycles. Both variations on the other. Summer dresses, clunky boots, flowery head pieces, devil-may-care attitudes.
Feeling threatened again, Toes put down the case and pulled out a can of spray paint from his backpack. It was then they saw him and slowed.
"Are you okay?" "He seems dazed."
Toes came to life, stomping heavily toward them and spraying each with dark blue paint.
"Nina Simone... not... my... song," he yelled at them.
They biked off, cursing. Toes was now facing the boarded-up former Lorraine Hansberry Elementary School, its periphery surrounded by ten foot tall chain link, which was topped with barbed wire. In the recesses of his bruised mind, coherence wanted to return, triggered by the abandoned building untouched by spray paint. He grunted, but it didn't become a known thought.
He dropped the can on the street, retrieved the cardboard beer case, and proceeded up to Robertson, which was now at street level. Due to the confrontation delaying his journey, a tow truck pulling a white SUV sped past seconds before he entered the roadway.
Led by the unknown, Toes continued on Clouet, beyond the church van parked on the right that would be picking up congregants for service at New Life Baptist Church in a few hours. He kept on. Across Claiborne, which was typically busy. Past the blighted house on the left with a sign indicating it was soon to be demolished. Past Derbigny. He came to a little alley on the right.
He grinned with a simple-minded mouth.
His mind didn't register then or ever that his eyes next saw the sign reading Industrial Court, didn't know that he followed it, nor that he collapsed alongside the house at the end, beer box by his side.
2
H utch yanked the steering wheel to pull the bucking jeep out of the guard rail. It all happened so quickly, whatever was in the road that he hit, launching the jeep skyward. Clint was catapulted out of it and jammed up against the guard rail. From Clint's screams, Hutch had a bad feeling his partner had just been sandwiched and smashed to death.
"Damn," he thought, "Should've got a fuckin' canvas top for the jeep."
None of the plan was going accordingly. The big white SUV was still chasing him, his getaway was going the wrong direction, and he had no partner anymore. Was the money still safe on the floor where Clint's feet had been? He was driving too fast to look down.
Hutch didn't know this area. He'd grown up in Gert Town, stayed in Marrero across the river for years, and worked in the French Quarter.
As he sped on Robertson, elevated across the train yard, he caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision. It gave him an idea, but he'd have to act quickly. The SUV was barreling forward in the left lane.
"Double back, double back," he repeated like a mantra.
This needed to work perfectly, otherwise they'd keep on following him like they had from the Quarter.
To trick them, he sped up and passed the next three blocks with the speedometer needle pushing above 75 mph. Robertson was back down to street level.
The SUV increased speed as well and pulled up alongside him. Hutch could sense they were edging over and trying to match his speed perfectly. He took a gamble they were about to ram the jeep off the road.
Between Clouet and Louisa, a long brick cemetery wall ran the entire length along the right-hand side.
Hutch thought, "Alright, just past this. Then I get up outta here."
He let off the gas and lightly tapped the brakes before reaching the next corner. Not enough to jolt him forward, but a deceleration of at least 20 mph.
As he did this, the SUV pulled hard and fast to the right, intending to strike metal with metal. Instead it met air, which yielded quicker than expected.
In a perfect crisscross, Hutch was able to turn from the right lane and make a left on Piety. He heard the boom behind him. The SUV
Toes turned and saw them coming from the direction he'd slowly taken. Two young women on bicycles. Both variations on the other. Summer dresses, clunky boots, flowery head pieces, devil-may-care attitudes.
Feeling threatened again, Toes put down the case and pulled out a can of spray paint from his backpack. It was then they saw him and slowed.
"Are you okay?" "He seems dazed."
Toes came to life, stomping heavily toward them and spraying each with dark blue paint.
"Nina Simone... not... my... song," he yelled at them.
They biked off, cursing. Toes was now facing the boarded-up former Lorraine Hansberry Elementary School, its periphery surrounded by ten foot tall chain link, which was topped with barbed wire. In the recesses of his bruised mind, coherence wanted to return, triggered by the abandoned building untouched by spray paint. He grunted, but it didn't become a known thought.
He dropped the can on the street, retrieved the cardboard beer case, and proceeded up to Robertson, which was now at street level. Due to the confrontation delaying his journey, a tow truck pulling a white SUV sped past seconds before he entered the roadway.
Led by the unknown, Toes continued on Clouet, beyond the church van parked on the right that would be picking up congregants for service at New Life Baptist Church in a few hours. He kept on. Across Claiborne, which was typically busy. Past the blighted house on the left with a sign indicating it was soon to be demolished. Past Derbigny. He came to a little alley on the right.
He grinned with a simple-minded mouth.
His mind didn't register then or ever that his eyes next saw the sign reading Industrial Court, didn't know that he followed it, nor that he collapsed alongside the house at the end, beer box by his side.
2
H utch yanked the steering wheel to pull the bucking jeep out of the guard rail. It all happened so quickly, whatever was in the road that he hit, launching the jeep skyward. Clint was catapulted out of it and jammed up against the guard rail. From Clint's screams, Hutch had a bad feeling his partner had just been sandwiched and smashed to death.
"Damn," he thought, "Should've got a fuckin' canvas top for the jeep."
None of the plan was going accordingly. The big white SUV was still chasing him, his getaway was going the wrong direction, and he had no partner anymore. Was the money still safe on the floor where Clint's feet had been? He was driving too fast to look down.
Hutch didn't know this area. He'd grown up in Gert Town, stayed in Marrero across the river for years, and worked in the French Quarter.
As he sped on Robertson, elevated across the train yard, he caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision. It gave him an idea, but he'd have to act quickly. The SUV was barreling forward in the left lane.
"Double back, double back," he repeated like a mantra.
This needed to work perfectly, otherwise they'd keep on following him like they had from the Quarter.
To trick them, he sped up and passed the next three blocks with the speedometer needle pushing above 75 mph. Robertson was back down to street level.
The SUV increased speed as well and pulled up alongside him. Hutch could sense they were edging over and trying to match his speed perfectly. He took a gamble they were about to ram the jeep off the road.
Between Clouet and Louisa, a long brick cemetery wall ran the entire length along the right-hand side.
Hutch thought, "Alright, just past this. Then I get up outta here."
He let off the gas and lightly tapped the brakes before reaching the next corner. Not enough to jolt him forward, but a deceleration of at least 20 mph.
As he did this, the SUV pulled hard and fast to the right, intending to strike metal with metal. Instead it met air, which yielded quicker than expected.
In a perfect crisscross, Hutch was able to turn from the right lane and make a left on Piety. He heard the boom behind him. The SUV
Similar Books
Ash & Bone
John Harvey
Only Mine
Elizabeth Lowell
Imre: Drago Knights MC (Mating Fever)
Saranna DeWylde
The Storm Giants
Pearce Hansen
Hunters: A Trilogy
Paul A. Rice
Her Dark Lord
Mel Teshco
Gladiators vs Zombies
Sean-Michael Argo
Lydia's Party: A Novel
Margaret Hawkins
Not Until You: Part V
Roni Loren
