“Oh man, she’s behind us.” Phil then ducked his head down while waiting for the hail of gunfire. Bob grabbed the rear view mirror but he couldn’t quite see her. He didn’t want to take any chances.
“Stay down man.”
Bob slammed down the gas pedal. The Grand Prix shot through the intersection, much to the dismay of the oncoming traffic. Somehow Bob had guessed just right, and the car was through without a scratch, or at least without any new scratches. Horns blared all around them, and people in nearby cars stared, swore, or both. Bob looked in the mirror again. He could just barely see a figure in black on a motorcycle, but she was fading back as they zoomed towards the overpass. Now he had to decide whether or not to stay on 41st or take I-29. “Talk to me. Interstate or 41st?”
Phil looked up, then put his head back down. “Interstate! Let’s get out of town!”
“I’ll take 29 to 229, then zip around the other side of town. If we’re lucky maybe we can zip by our place, and see if that door met a similar fate.” Bob slid over to the turn lane, and soon they were on the on ramp. Bob reached into his coat pocket and put on his lucky sunglasses. “See, I told you these were lucky.” Phil looked in the mirror, but there was no motorcycle to be seen. Yet. He didn’t take his eyes off the mirror for a second.
“Seriously, you want to drive by our apartment?”
“Why not? We can be inconspicuous.’
“Except for the fact they know you drive a red Pontiac Grand Prix. Four door, license plate 1A 3693?”
“How on earth do you remember my plate number?”
“It’s a gift. A really, really useless gift.” Phil said, as he almost smiled. That smile soon started to fade. “Shit! There she is.”
Bob looked in the rear view mirror. He saw the motorcycle and the rider in black, and she was gaining on them. He accelerated and took the 229 on ramp. “Hang on, this one is going to be a bit sharp.” Bob pushed the car as hard as he could through the turn, and soon found himself on the bypass to the other side of town. Their pursuer didn’t seem to be impressed, as she kept up through the turn and was gaining once again. Bob could see her pull something out of her jacket, and he had a sinking suspicion he knew what it was. Bob floored the gas.
Mokoto slowly removed her Glock as her motorcycle accelerated past 100 MPH. She knew that opening fire in the open like this was a major no-no, but loose ends sometimes called for a quick trim. The decision was now between shooting out a tire, or capping the driver, which seemed to be Bob. That’s a shame she thought to herself. The thought caught her off guard for a moment, but soon she was back on task. That was short lived, as she suddenly heard sirens behind her. She turned her head around, only to see a Highway Patrol car gesturing her to pull over.
