Page 12 of Velvet and Valor
“Traffic is awful thick, Mr. Moor–boss,” the driver says.
“Jimmy, I didn’t ask for notes, I said do the thing,” Moorcrock growls.
Jimmy mutters something under his breath and flips a switch on the dashboard. A hissing sound emanates from the direction of the trunk. Suddenly, the car surges forward with an astonishing burst of speed.
“It won’t last long, Boss,” Jimmy shouts, struggling to keep control of the limo. He oversteers as the road hits a slight curve. I look out my window and see the concrete barrier growing closer and closer. Graffiti featuring a prominent anarchy symbol looms in my face right before we strike in a bone-rattling collision.
I’m thrown back and forth as the limo bounces off the dividing wall and careens into another lane of traffic. We smack into another car, sending it flipping end over end. My god, those poor people! Nothing can be worth all of this mayhem.
I soon realize I need to be worrying about myself just as much as the other people on the road. Jimmy has straightened the wild limo out again, but now we have a new dilemma: Another wreck blocks the road ahead.
A really nasty one, too. A semi-truck has jackknifed, blocking all but one of the three remaining open lanes. Cars are lined up behind the wreck for half a mile.
With nowhere else to go, Jimmy steers into the lane undergoing construction. Wooden sawhorses shatter into kindling as we blast through them one by one, not slowing in the slightest. Then the limo hits a section of road where the pavement has been carved away until only gravel remains.
On the new, slippery surface, Jimmy can’t keep control. He slams on the brakes, but it’s too late. The limo rockets straight toward the trailer blocking the road.
“Down!” Moorcrock cries, tucking his head between his knees. I fold myself in half over my briefcase and whimper.
The impact isn’t nearly as hard as I expected. We slow, but don’t stop, continuing out on the other side of the wrecked trailer.
The limo’s roof, on the other hand, is no longer with us. It’s become a convertible. The highway noise and the wind are deafening, and I can’t see at all with my hair wildly whipping into my face.
“Fucking Christ, Jimmy,” Moorcrock hollers over the wind. “I’d like to be alive at the end of this.”
“We got worse problems than that, boss,” Jimmy shouts back.
The muscle car returns into sight, skidding off onto the shoulder. Its rear wheels spin ever closer to a sheer drop off a fifty-foot cliff. I watch, transfixed, as the car sort of floats through a tight turn that doesn’t seem physically possible.
“Who the Hell is that supposed to be, Evel Knievel?” Moorcrock bellows. “Maybe I should hire him as my driver.”
The muscle car pulls up beside us. Jimmy aims his gun, but the muscle car abruptly slams into us. The gun flies out of Jimmy’s hand and falls out onto the highway.
“Jimmy, you fucking moron,” Moorcrock sputters. “I’m going to–”
The black car slams us again, much harder than the last time. Moorcrock’s head bounces off a metal strut left exposed by the shorn-off roof. His eyes go glassy and his head lolls. The lights are on but nobody’s there.
The muscle car slows just enough that it’s riding next to my position in the limo. The driver peers over at me and motions toward himself.
“Jump!” he shouts.
Jump? Is he out of his fucking mind?
4
AXEL
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
I mean, I think that’s what she just said. All the galloping horsepower under my hood makes it hard to hear much of anything. Losing half its mass in that wreck sped the limo up a hell of a lot.
At least the driver stopped shooting at me. Gives me a chance to rescue the damsel in distress. Only problem is, the damsel is looking at me like I’m crazy, an idiot, or both.
Using my knees to control the wheel, I extend my arm out toward her.
“Just climb into the window,” I shout. “I’ve got you.”
The driver of the limo—her captor? —suddenly decides he doesn’t like seeing his quarry get away. He reaches out and grabs her ankle.
