Hostage

Outside at the second pump island, Margaret Hammond heard a car backfire as she climbed from her Lexus.

Margaret, who lived across the street in a tile-roofed home that looked exactly like a hundred others in her development, saw three young white males run out of the minimart and get into a red Nissan pickup truck, which lurched away with the jumpy acceleration that tells you the clutch is shot. It headed west toward the freeway.

Margaret locked the pump nozzle to fill her tank, then went into the minimart to buy a Nestle's Crunch chocolate bar, which she intended to eat before she got home.

Less than ten seconds later, by her own estimation, Margaret Hammond ran back into the parking lot. The red Nissan had disappeared. Margaret used her cell phone to call 911, who patched her through to the Bristo Camino Police Department.

DENNIS

Their voices overlapped, Kevin grabbing Dennis's arm, making the truck swerve. Dennis punched him away.

'You killed that guy! You shot him!'

'I don't know if he's dead or what!'

'There was fucking blood everywhere! It's all over you!'

'Stop it, Kevin! He had a fuckin' gun! I didn't know he would have a gun! It just went off!'

Kevin pounded the dash, bouncing between Dennis and Mars like he was going to erupt through the roof.

'We're fucked, Dennis, fucked! What if he's dead?!'

'SHUT UP!'

Dennis licked his lips, tasting copper and salt. He glanced in the rearview. His face was splattered with red dew. Dennis lost it then, certifiably freaked out because he'd eaten human blood. He swiped at his face, wiping the blood on his jeans.

Mars touched him.

'Dude. Take it easy.'

'We've gotta get away!'

'We're getting away. No one saw us. No one caught us. We're fine.'

Mars sat quietly in the shotgun seat. Kevin and Dennis were wild, but Mars was as calm as if he had just awakened from a trance. He was holding the Chinaman's gun.

'Fuck! Throw it out, dude! We might get stopped.'

Mars pushed the gun into his waistband, then left his hand there, holding it the way some men hold their crotch.

'We might need it.'

Dennis upshifted hard, ignoring the clash of gears as he threw the Nissan toward the freeway two miles ahead. At least four people had seen the truck. Even these dumb Bristo cops would be able to put two and two together if they had witnesses who could tie them to the truck.

'Listen, we gotta think. We gotta figure out what to do.'

Kevin's eyes were like dinner plates.

'Jesus, Dennis, we gotta turn ourselves in.'

Dennis felt so much pressure in his head that he thought his eyes were swelling.

'No one's turning themselves in! We can get outta this! We just gotta figure out what to do!'

Mars touched him again.

'Listen.'

Mars was smiling at nothing. Not even looking at them.

'We're just three guys in a red truck. There's a million red trucks.'

Dennis desperately wanted to believe that.

'You think?'

'They've got to find witnesses. If they find those two kids or the woman, then those people have to describe us. Maybe they can, but maybe they can't. When the cops get all that sorted out, then they have to start looking for three white guys in a red truck. You know how many red trucks there are?'

'A million.'

'That's right. And how long does all that take? The rest of the day? Tomorrow? We can be across the border in four hours. Let's go down to Mexico.'

The vacant smile was absolutely sure of itself. Mars was so calm that Dennis found himself convinced; it was as if Mars had run this path before and knew the turns.

'That's a fucking plan, Mars. That's a plan. We can kick back for a few days, then come back when everything blows over. It always blows over.'

'That's right.'

Dennis pushed harder on the accelerator, felt the transmission lag, and then a loud BANG came from under the truck. The transmission let go. Six hundred dollars. Cash. What did he expect?

'MotherFUCKing piece of SHIT!'

The truck lost power, bucking as Dennis guided it off the road. Even before it lurched to a stop, Dennis shoved open the door, desperate to run. Kevin caught his arm, holding him back.

'There's nothing we can do, Dennis. We're only making it worse.'

'Shut up!'

Dennis shook off his brother's hand and slid out of the truck. He searched up and down the road, half expecting to see a highway patrol car, but the cars were few and far between and those were mostly soccer moms. Flanders Road from here to the freeway cut through an area of affluent housing developments. Some of the communities were gated, but most weren't, though most were hidden from the road by hedges that masked heavy stone walls. Dennis looked at the hedges, and the walls that they hid. He wondered if escape lay beyond them.

It was like Mars read his mind.

'Let's steal a car.'

Dennis looked at the wall again. On the other side of it would be a housing development filled with cars. They could crash into a house, tie up the soccer mom to buy some time, and drive.

Dennis didn't think about it any more than that.

'Let's go.'

'Dennis, please.'

Dennis pulled his brother out of the truck.