Road Rules Online

Someone, probably a drunk, stumbled up against the car.  The movement woke Mike up once more.  Sleep was not an option now.  Maybe he’d try again when they were back on the freeway.  He climbed out of the car to get a drink at the fountain.

As he rounded the corner of the building, he stopped.  Two sheriff’s deputies flanked a handcuffed Stan as they marched him out the door to an awaiting police cruiser.

“You know,” he heard Stan mutter, “it’s really fortunate you picked this place to get a cup of coffee.  I might have started my serial killing career here in Savannah.  Can you get me The Lady Chablis’s autograph?”

Stan had barely made eye contact with Mike as he passed by.  When he did, he gave Mike a brief shake of the head.

As the cruiser pulled away, lights flashing, coffee cups flying out the window, Cinnamon came up behind Mike and put her hand on his shoulder.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know yet.  All I know is I came around the building, and they’d arrested Stan.”

Cinnamon watched the cruiser disappear toward Savannah.  “That means someone gave him up.”  She looked up at Mike.  “They might know about you, too.”

“Stan seems to have thought of that.  He acted like he didn’t know anything about either of us.”

“We can’t go to Miami without him.  He’s our only link to the thieves.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t stay in Savannah, either.”

“Maybe we have to.”  She leaned against the building and closed her eyes.  When she opened them again, she said, “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“Let’s have a one-night stand in a cheap motel.”

Mike did a double take.  “Are you crazy?  The police might be after us.”

“Yes, and if you and I register as ‘Mr. and Mrs. Smith’ at some off-chain dump, the police aren’t as likely to find us, are they?”

Mike stared at her for a moment, then started to smile.  “Hey, baby, how about a little hot abstinence action?”

“You smooth talker, you.”

Sleeping in the car put a kink in Stan’s neck.  It throbbed every time he turned his head to the right.  This wouldn’t do.  There was no way he could drive to Jacksonville like this.  Maybe he could get Cinnamon to rub his neck.

He washed up and checked out his options along the wall.  Cinnamon hated him; he knew that.  She was no truckstop hooker.  He wasn’t sure at what point he figured that out, but the girl was too smart to be turning tricks in the sleeper cabs of strange eighteen-wheelers.  Still, Miami lay another six to eight hours ahead of them.  Had to be prepared, just in case she changed her mind.  He selected ribbed for her pleasure from the condom dispenser.

Seventy-five cents poorer and in need of caffeine, he headed into the store for a couple of bottles of Mountain Dew and some aspirin.

As he walked into the food mart, someone said, “Hey, that’s that guy they showed on CNN.”

Stan looked around, wondering who they were talking about.  A pair of sheriff’s deputies walked up to him, one a squat muscular white guy, the other a lanky black man.

“Stan Yarazelski?” asked the squat one. (continue reading…)

Estevez had no sooner settled in with his favorite brand of Scotch than one of the assistant prosecutors called.  Andre the Giant wanted to make a deal.  He called Kennedy and Jordan and told them to meet him at the jail around 9:30.  By ten, they had Koradovich in an interrogation room along with a ragged-looking Prezbor.

“My client will speak contingent only upon his immunity from prosecution,” said Prezbor.  “He is, after all, merely an agent.”

“He stole the goddamn Chest of St. Jakob,” said Estevez.

Koradovich grinned at Estevez.  “Interesting choice of words for a missing holy relic.” (continue reading…)

Chapter 18

Stan snorted twice and woke up as soon as Sharon pulled into the Texaco.  “Where are we?”

She guided the Camry into a slot alongside the station.  “We’re about ten miles west of Savannah, Georgia.”

Stan stretched and yawned.  “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” she said.  “And before you ask, it’s your turn to drive.”

“I gotta take a dump.”  He got out of the car and shook each leg as he tried to work out the kinks from sitting in the front seat for four hours.

“Thanks for sharing,” Sharon said under her breath.  She turned around to see that Mike had fallen asleep.  Gently, she nudged his shoulder.  “Hey.  We’re in Georgia now.”

Mike sat up and looked around him.  “Savannah?”

“Yeah.”

“Somehow I was expecting live oaks and Civil War monuments.”

“We’re ten miles outside of downtown.”  She got out of the car and took the keys.  “Girl’s gotta tinkle.  You need anything?”

Mike leaned back and folded his arms, closing his eyes once more.  “Nope.  I’ll nap until Jacksonville.  Stan’s next, right?”

“Yeah.”  Sharon closed the door and made her way to the ladies room.