Chase: Roman

Blentz. He had stepped around the front fender and was only a few feet from the driver's door when the swelling sound of an engine, close behind, caught his attention. Trained to react first and think a split second later, he did not turn to see what was behind him, but placed his hands on the fender and vaulted onto the hood of the Mustang.
        An instant later the left front fender of a red Volkswagen struck the black sports car and scraped noisily along the door, only breaking free with a lurch a foot or two from the rear bumper. Sparks hissed up like fireworks and left behind a faint smell of hot metal and scorched paint. Though the car rocked hard when it was struck, Chase held on by curling his fingers over the edge of the trough that housed the recessed windshield wipers. He felt certain that if he fell off, the Volkswagen would change direction and come back at him.
        Twenty feet away, the driver of the other car shifted gears with little finesse.
        Chase stood up on the hood of the Mustang and stared after the retreating Volkswagen, trying to see the licence number or at least a portion of it. Even if he had been close enough to read the dark numerals, nothing would have been gained, for Judge had twisted a large piece of burlap sacking over the plate. It waved at Chase, almost as if it had been meant to mock him.
        The VW reached the exit lane from the mall lot, jolted against the low, curved kerb so hard it looked as if it might shoot across the sidewalk and strike one of the mercury arc standards at the perimeter of the lawn. Then Judge regained control, accelerated, went through the flashing amber traffic light at the intersection, turned right onto the main highway toward the heart of the city. In another fifteen seconds it passed over the brow of the nearest hill and was out of sight.
        Chase looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the short, violent confrontation, and he saw that he was alone.
        He got down from the hood and walked the length of the Mustang, examining the damage. The anterior third of the fender was jammed back toward the cut of the driver's door, though it had not been crushed against the tyre and should not present any major problems. Two other grooves, as deep as the diameter of a pencil, with all or nearly all the paint peeled off in a three-inch swathe between them, ran parallel until they reached the point near the back bumper where the VW had been wrenched away. All of it was body work that could be hammered out, though the bill could easily exceed five hundred dollars.
        He didn't care.
        Money was the least of his worries.
        He opened the driver's door and found that it only protested meekly, sat down behind the wheel, closed the door, opened his notebook and reread his list. His hand trembled when he added the ninth, tenth and eleventh items:
        
        9. Third alias - Eric Blentz
        10. Given to rash action in the face of previous failures
        11. Driving damaged car, left front fender
        
        Even before Judge had made the latest murder attempt, it had been a rough day all around, and he had not got much of anywhere. He sat in the car, staring at the empty lot, until his hands had stopped shaking. Weary, he drove home, wondering where Judge would be waiting for him the next time and whether he had been using the day to practice with his pistol.
        
        The telephone woke him Saturday morning.
        He reached for it, and having placed a hand on the cold, hard plastic, realized who might be calling. Judge hadn't phoned since early Wednesday night- unless he had tried to reach Chase on Friday when he was out -but that was not necessarily indicative of any permanent change in his method of operation.
        Chase picked up the phone and said. ‘Hello?’
        ‘Ben?’
        ‘Yes?’
        ‘Dr Cauvel here.’
        It was the first time he had ever heard the psychiatrist on the phone, and he thought the man sounded too nasal, somewhat silly.
        ‘What do you want?’ Chase asked. The name had fully awakened him and had overcome the residue of his nightmares.
        ‘I wondered why you hadn't kept your Friday appointment.’
        ‘I didn't feel like it.’
        Cauvel said, ‘If it was because I talked to the police so frankly, you must understand that -’
        ‘That's only part of it,’ Chase said.
        ‘Should we get together