Road Rules Online

Mason could just scream.  He hadn’t even reached Statesville, North Carolina, when the damn wheel went flying across the interstate.  When Franco paid him off, he would hire someone to choke the living shit out of Stan Yarazelski.  Myron Blake, too.  He managed to get the car over to the side.

The wheel ended up over a mile back and across three lanes of traffic.  Mason thought he’d end up roadkill trying to cross with cars flying by at eighty, sometimes eighty-five, miles an hour.  As he crossed back with the wheel, a station wagon missed him by inches.

It took him twenty minutes to pick up the wheel, and another half an hour to bring it back.  When he reached the Cadillac, he realized he’d made Yarazelski toss the jack and the tire iron aside.  Why?  Because he feared Myron Blake would beat him to a pulp with it. (continue reading…)

Alfred Havelcek did not want to see Robert Jordan.  The short, stocky man of about forty-five screamed threats of lawsuits and bodily harm at Jordan.  Right about then, Estevez appeared.

“Mr. Havelcek,” said Estevez, “I’m with the Cleveland Police.  Mr. Jordan is here at my request.”  He gestured behind him.  “And this is Special Agent Kennedy of the FBI.  Mr. Jordan is with us because we have a few questions we’d like to ask you about the car you lost this week.”

Havelcek looked at Estevez, then Jordan, then Kennedy, who was coming up the walk from her government car.  “You guys know something?”

“We think so,” said Jordan.

(continue reading…)

“We’ve passed three Virginia State Police cruisers,” said Stan as they passed the North Carolina border around three that afternoon.  “And there’s a North Carolina trooper.  Not one of them batted an eyelash at us.”

“That means Mason hasn’t reported his car as stolen,” said Mike.

“Of course not,” said Sharon.  “Like I told you, if he implicates us, he implicates himself.  Even if he doesn’t have the Chest, he’s going to have to explain that car.”

“We left him with it?” said Stan.  “And why would he still have his keys?”

“Remember, too,” said Sharon, “if he did call it in, Virginia might not have told North Carolina about it.  And even then, if they did, this car looks like a hundred other cars on the highway, half of them with out-of-state plates.  Unless we killed somebody, we’re not going to be too high on some bored trooper’s agenda.”

“We still need to ditch the car,” said Mike.

“Punch it to eighty,” said Sharon.  “The sooner we get to Charlotte, the sooner we can get into something anonymous.”

Mike pushed the needle up another five miles an hour.  The trooper long in their rearview showed no sign of pursuit.  Mike hoped they could keep it up until Charlotte.

Chapter 13

Bishop Gallagher found Father Petrelli waiting for him as Saturday confessions ended.  The priest smiled as Gallagher entered from the sanctuary.

“Good news, I suppose,” said Gallagher.

“Very good news, Your Eminence,” said Petrelli.  “If I could have a moment alone with you.”

He hung up his vestments.  “What do you have for me?”

“Estevez has learned the Chest is being carried by someone driving a 1962 Cadillac DeVille.  They think the DeVille might be on I-77, probably in North Carolina now.”

“Why North Carolina?”

Petrelli recapped his briefing with Estevez and Agent Kennedy.

“So why do they think the car is on I-77?” asked Gallagher.

“Among the records the FBI pulled were Koradovich’s cellular bill,” said Petrelli.  “They were able to subpoena his most recent call records from the service provider based on that.  On top of that, Estevez was able to use the federal warrants to convince a judge to issue a state warrant for his land line records.  There have been several phone calls between Koradovich and a number in Miami.  There have also been a number of phone calls between Koradovich and our insurance man, Mr. Mason.”

“Well, Mason did set up this fiasco.  I’m amazed he still has a job.”

“The last call was around eleven this morning.  Kennedy had the call retraced.  Mason’s cell phone was in Charleston, West Virginia, early this afternoon.  We believe he’s following the Cadillac.”

“I see.”  Gallagher led Petrelli down the long corridor that led to the priory.  In his office, he booted his laptop and waited for Windows to load.  “North Carolina, you say.”

“That’s right.”

Gallagher logged in and pulled up a spreadsheet.  “Charlotte…  Charlotte…  Good.  They have men there.”

“What men?”

Gallagher looked up at Petrelli with the most beatific smile.  “The Church has ways of dealing with people who would attack it like this.  Normally, we’ve been using them to deal with pedophile priests and people making false accusations about them.  They’re quite effective.”  He dialed his phone.  “Tell Father Czechinski we will have the Chest back to him by Monday, Tuesday at the latest.”  Someone answered on the other end.

“Is this Miguel?”  He waited.  “This is Bishop Gallagher in Cleveland.  I have a job for you.  You’ll have to hurry…”