Road Rules Online

Gallagher sat with Gladys in his study watching the Indians run the score up against the Yankees.  The blow-out made Gallagher smile.  He’d joined Red Sox Nation during seminary, so any pain inflicted on the Yankees counted as a win for Boston.  The Tribe only made it sweeter for him.

The phone rang.  Gladys muted the television and answered it.  “Diocese of Cleveland.  How may I direct your call?”  She then said, “Yes, Your Eminence.”  She put the caller on hold and handed Gallagher the phone.  “Bishop Hewson in Savannah.”

Gallagher took the phone and nodded to Gladys.  “Paul.  Daniel.  What can I do for you?  Take the Chest off your hands, I hope.  The Archbishop of Gdansk has been calling me hourly for news.”

After listening to Hewson for a few moments, he said, “What do you mean the transfer didn’t happen?”

Moments later, he asked, “Well, where’s Miguel?”

“No, we didn’t show,” said Mike on another pay phone.  “Someone else did, so we left.”

“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Blake,” said Bishop Hewson, a native Irishman who’d developed a slight southern drawl to his brogue.  Apparently, he’d been in Savannah since David Lee Roth was originally in Van Halen.  “As I’m sure you know, the police consider you a suspect, and your actions up to this point have given me no reason to think otherwise.”

“I understand that.  My friend and I came into this by accident.  Ever since then, my life and hers has been a living hell.  We really do want to return you the Chest.  All we want is the reward money so we can start our lives over again.”

“But don’t you work for the insurance company charged with paying this off?”

“No, I was fired.”

“That doesn’t reassure me.”

A television van whizzed by the pay phone  The station’s call letters caught Mike’s eye.  He now knew where he and Sharon would put their plan into action.  “Your Eminence, I have a way to give you the Chest back.  And it will ensure everyone gets what they want.”

“How?”

“I’ll call you when it’s set up.”  He hung up.

Loman had put Stan behind the wheel.

“You’ll live longer that way,” he said.  “But you have just as much to lose if you try anything.”

Stan performed some complicated maneuver to get the Escalade pointed back toward Savannah in as few moves as possible.  Franco ordered him out to the airport.  “We’ll finish this in Miami.”

“I’d say it’s already finished,” said Stan.  “You flew up here to see little ol’ me, and Tim Mason is still on the loose.”  How much longer he could bullshit Franco he didn’t know.  Stan had heard guys like him had ways of making people talk that would squick a Nazi.  But Stan had Tim Mason.

And if anyone deserved that kind of treatment, Mason did.

“We watch CNN, asshole,” said Franco.  “We knew you came down here with two other people.  Where are they?”

“I don’t know.  I hitchhiked.  Remember?  You said you watched the news.”

“We do.  And the news doesn’t buy the hitchhiking story anymore than the police do.  Or us.”

“Your loss.”

They came up on the Tallmadge Bridge as three Chatham cruisers and an ambulance roared by.  None them stopped to pull over the Escalade.

“Bet you’re glad Georgia doesn’t require front plates,” said Stan.  “Or that ‘officer down’ takes priority over ’suspect fleeing.’”

“Shut up,” said Franco.

Stan gunned the motor and blew past the turn-off to Hutchinson Island.

“Hey!  Where you going?”

“You were wrong about me,” said Stan as he closed on the bridge.  “Wrong when you said I have as much to lose as you if I pulled something.”  The Escalade crossed onto the old section of the bridge.  “You have power, money, and a lavish lifestyle.”

The concrete barrier ahead forced traffic to go left and up onto the newer section of the bridge.  Except there was no other traffic to force at the moment.  Stan pushed the needle up to a hundred and ten and rolled down his window.

“I got nothing to lose.”

The Escalade hit the concrete barrier at a hundred and twenty.  The barrier slowed the SUV down, forcing the airbags to deploy.

But the barrier didn’t stop the Escalade.  Forward momentum carried a chunk of the barrier and the SUV over the edge and into the Savannah River.

Stan held his breath as the mangled nose hit the water.

Back at their motel, Mike and Sharon paced their room.

“Someone called the cops,” said Sharon.  “Maybe the diocese?”

“Maybe,” said Mike, “but they specifically told us not to call.”  He dropped onto his bed.  “We need a safer way to turn this thing in, some way we can get our story out before the police take us in.”

“They’re going to take us in anyway.  No matter what we say.”

Mike flipped on the TV.  It went to WSVN, a local station, where a prefabricated blonde stood in roughly the same spot Mike and Sharon had parked in earlier.

“Again, authorities tell us the raid on St. John the Baptist this morning was triggered by a hoax.  Savannah Police and Chatham County deputies arrested a forty-three year-old Hispanic man whose name they withheld pending identification.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Mike.  “We do the hand-off in a public place.  Let the whole world see it.”

Chapter 28

“Anybody see the one that ran?” shouted one unformed officer, a Savannah sergeant.  He didn’t get a response.

Estevez watched as the uniforms escorted a big Mexican to the sheriff’s cruiser holding Mason.  The police had found him and a partner instead of Blake and Jordan’s niece when they arrived.

Crime scene technicians had already started their search of the Nissan they found waiting in the cathedral parking lot.  They had all four doors, the hood, and the trunk open.  The car’s contents came out in plastic bags.

Someone screamed.  Estevez looked and saw it’d come from the Sheriff’s cruiser holding Mason and the Mexican.

“He’ll kill me!” screamed Mason.  “He tortured me last night with cigarettes!”

Kennedy, Estevez, and Jordan ran over to the cruiser, along with the uniform sergeant running the crime scene.  Inside, Mason, handcuffed, did his best to get out of his locked door.  The Mexican sat impassively in the other seat.

Kennedy nodded to a waiting deputy, who opened the door and pulled Mason out.  Estevez and the Savannah sergeant blocked Mason from running.

“That man,” said Mason.  “He’s one of the men who carjacked me last night.”

Inside, the Mexican seemed to be asleep.  The deputy driving the cruiser got out and flanked Mason with the other deputy.  Estevez and the sergeant rounded the cruiser.

“Is this true?” said Estevez.  “Did you kidnap this man yesterday?”

“Sì,” he said.  “I was also on the grassy knoll in 1963.  I know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried.”  He began to laugh.

“Deputy,” said Estevez, “put Mason in a Savannah cruiser and ask them to take him back to the jail.”

“I’ll check with my sergeant,” said the deputy.

“What if I said pretty please?” said Estevez.  “Or Agent Kennedy here asked?”

“Deputy,” said the Savannah sergeant, “put Ronald McDonald in a city cruiser so we can take him back to the jail.”

“Yes, sir.”