A Bullet for My Driver (Aerials)

(Continues from Fed Up)

The seat belt crushed my chest as the car whipped around another bend on two wheels, giving me an eyeful of snowy pavement. I would die on this road, and it would be Reckless Ro’s fault. My elderly driver had forgotten to queue up when they handed out wisdom. All she’d received were wrinkles and a lead foot instead of age’s promise of enlightenment.

“This isn’t the Indy 500. There’s no cash prize for killing us in a spectacular crash.”

Ro spun the wheel, and a grin cleaved her lips so a laugh could exit. Oh my lord, she was enjoying this!

“Have I mentioned I’d like to live to see tomorrow?”

“I think you said something about it back in town.”

“And? Will you help me by slowing down?”

“So Phil and FBI Barbie can catch us? No way.” Ro took a hand off the wheel and tapped the rearview mirror to indicate our erstwhile pursuers.

A bullet shattered the glass just missing her. Gunpowder burned Ro’s hand, and she screamed as a second shot followed the first.

Since this was an old car, it took two more well-placed shots to shatter the rear windshield completely. I had already done the sensible thing and ducked down as far as I could go.  I am quite petite, so I managed to stuff myself into the foot well.

“Stop Ro. It’s over. They’ve got guns, and we don’t.”

“No, we’ve got something better.”

“We do?” Hope picked my head up enough to squint at my crazy neighbor.

“We’ve got moxie and determination.” Ro spun the wheel, and I groaned. The car turned 180-degress to face our pursuers and Ro floored it.

Oh God, she intended to play chicken with the Feds. Lord, I haven’t been the best sheep in your flock but could you do your shepherd thing and pluck me out of danger? Just in case the Almighty failed to come through, I hunkered down and assumed the crash position.

But Meredith, aka FBI Barbie, did the honorable thing. She jerked her rental out of the way, but she over corrected. Her car tumbled off the narrow road into a gulch. Westchester County believes in natural shoulders, i.e., grassy, uneven areas where the pavement never goes. This deep in winter, a hid-deep snowbank had swallowed the shoulder.

Meredith must have rented the compact car from an airport in NYC, which explained the shallow tread depth. In the city, those tires would be okay. But out here in the wilds of northern Westchester, they’d only work if you stayed on pavement. With three wheels in the snow bank, our Government friends were going nowhere without a tow.

Ro cackled as she passed Phil and his FBI driver. She had the nerve to roll down her window and wave at the duo. I shook my head and climbed out of the foot well as we passed them. Retaking my seat, I belted myself in and hugged my upset stomach. Ro stayed on Mount Airy Road East and meandered through the back streets to Yorktown.

“Where are we going?”

The flashing lights ahead answered my question: nowhere. The local cops had blocked the way. Meredith had radioed the Croton cops for back-up, and they had responded.

I slump down in my seat. I’d gone from unemployed to a wanted woman in less than three days. What would next week bring? Maybe I needed to keep better company. Hanging with a retiree might have damaged my legal status.


To be continued…

Previous scenes: Part 1Part 2Part 3UFOsCountdownSideswipedLive & Die in StarlightFalling FireEscapeAlien Sundae?Death RaysArtful Aliens?Enter the Cover-Up, Fed Up

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