Page 62 of Agency
No. Not buddy.
Combatant.
And not just a driver, either.
“Hold still, Jericho,” I growled.
Jericho leaned back to give me room, and my weapon was up before I’d even registered what my hands were doing. My finger was on the trigger. The driver might have been unarmed in that moment, but he wouldn’t be if I gave him a chance. Even if I passed over him in that moment, he’d be coming for me down the line and I’d just have to kill him then.
Not taking the shot would just delay the inevitable.
I fired through the hostile vehicle’s rear windshield.
Crack crack crack!
Three rounds. Glass fell in a sheet and bullet holes appeared in the back of the driver’s seat. The driver slumped to the side, disappearing from view as if by magic.
But magic wasn’t real.
Jericho gunned the gas again. Pressure on my chest from acceleration, and then we were rocketing down the bright, glaring streets of downtown St. Louis as Morgan fired again through the rear window.
Hands shaking, I took deep, cleansing breaths. Heart racing, I closed my eyes, let the acrid smell of propellant wash over me as my eyes frantically checked the road ahead for any more combatants.
No more.
Best strategy after escaping an ambush is to evade, evade, evade in as random a fashion as possible. Our boss was following that to a T.
“We clear?” Jericho called as he took the next left onto another one-way.
“We’re clear,” Morgan shouted back. “Need to get off the road. We look like we’re coming out of a war zone.”
He was right. The warble of sirens was already beginning to fill the night air as the first responders began to descend. Wouldn’t be much longer before cops were going to be on the lookout for any suspicious vehicles.
“Pull in up there,” I said, nodding to a parking garage up on our right. “We can find something decent inside.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“How?”
“That’s the parking garage for the St. Louis Symphony.”
“How do you even know that?” Jericho asked as pulled into the parking garage.
“Did you not know that I’m a man of culture?” I asked with a weary grin.
“Nope,” he and Morgan both replied.
He stopped and grabbed a ticket from the automatic dispenser, then continued driving for the upper levels. We cruised for a few rows till we found a suitably old luxury SUV, a second-generation Lexus LX.
“Lexus?” Ambyr asked as Morgan went around to the back of our Tahoe. “Seriously?”
“They’re reliable, and they’re going to have insurance to cover the theft,” I said as I approached the car. Morgan already had the lock-pop kit and tossed me the bag. “Plus, these earlier models still use keys.” Pulling everything out, I glanced to her: “I’m not going to fuck over someone who’s too poor to replace their main transportation.” I used the wedge and airbag from the kit, then the telescoping rod to unlock the car. Yanking open the door, I used the automatic locks before giving up my spot to Jericho and going around to the passenger’s side.
“See?” I called as the rest of my party climbed in. I’d already dug into the glove box and found the owner’s insurance papers, and now I held them up for everyone to see. “They’re covered.”
Jericho reached under the steering column, felt around for a moment, grimaced as he began to pull at something. A second later, he was dropping the old-school LoJack system out of the window and ramming a flat-head screwdriver into the ignition.
