Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,37

got behind me. Nevertheless, I did get a few more glimpses, enough to put together my own little ‘artist’s rendering’ in my mind. His hair was light brown, almost blonde. Thick features. A strong jaw. Kind of a pug nose. Big hands on the Nova’s steering wheel.

We dodged each other for a few more minutes until finally, Randy made his big move and jumped the shoulder onto an exit ramp. I’d anticipated his move and was already in the exit ramp. So after his poor man’s Evel Knievel routine, he ended up right in front of me.

Randy led the way into Detroit proper. I soon found myself in not-so-pleasant neighborhoods. Streets with the requisite cars up on blocks, garbage lying around the street. Lots of Detroit citizens standing around on the sidewalks, hands in their oversized shorts. Looking around, waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen.

I started to worry about what Mr. Watkins’s plans might be. It was certainly easier to kill someone in Detroit than it was in Grosse Pointe. And if his behavior was telling me anything, it was telling me that Randy had played a part in the murder of Nevada Hornsby and his deckhand. This was not good news. He may have killed before, which meant he may kill again. And here I was cornering him like a rat in a cage.

As if reading my thoughts, the Nova pinwheeled into a narrow alley, yours truly a second or two behind him. I flew down the narrow passageway. I could see a big truck maneuvering a garbage dumpster into place.

But no Nova.

I started to brake just as I passed a small opening on my left. I quickly realized I’d made a bad tactical mistake as the rear end of the Nova shot out of the narrow alley I’d just passed. The Nova clipped my rear end and the Taurus careened into the brick wall. All I heard was screeching metal and the sound of glass breaking. The car rocked to a stop and I tried to get my bearings. The Taurus had slid around and I was now facing the way I’d come.

And there, in the middle of the road, was Randy Watkins. Lifting a gun and pointing it at the most obvious direction possible.

I dove for the floor just as the sound of shots ripped through the alley. The shots came fast, one right after another. More glass broke. I heard a ricochet that sounded exactly like it does in the movies. I scrambled along the floor, trying to get to the passenger door. If Randy was coming, I didn’t want to get trapped in the car. I found the passenger side door handle and pulled, but nothing happened. I reached up but it was unlocked. I pulled the release and threw my weight against the door. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. I panicked, hurling myself against it, over and over again, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder, my mind screaming at the idea of any moment seeing the pug face of Randy at my window shooting me like a fish in a barrel. I kept pounding uselessly at the door, felt it give and then I tumbled out onto the pavement.

At the same time, I heard the most beautiful sound of all. Tires squealed and I nearly wept with joy. I saw the Nova roar out the end of the alley and around the corner.

My heart was racing and I suddenly wanted to be sick. I staggered around the car, my legs weak, my shoulder sagging as if I’d knocked it out of alignment.

Steam poured out from underneath the Taurus’s hood and the engine made a bunch of strange popping sounds that could only be the automotive equivalent of a death rattle.

Lights had come on in the alley and only after a moment or two did I realize they were colored lights. Blue and red. A Detroit cop car nosed its way into the mouth of the alley.

Now I knew why Randy had taken off instead of staying around to finish the job. He’d been able to hear sirens. I hadn’t.

I couldn’t stand anymore. My legs kind of gave out and I sat down on the pavement. Another Detroit cop car slid to a stop behind the first one. The driver’s door of the first squad car opened and a big guy got out. He held his gun up and pointed at me. Boy, that was the second gun pointed at me in a