Easy Prey

restarted The Mummy halfway through a street riot; it resembled the media scrum outside City Hall.
    Lucas went halfway up the stairs, called, “Jael?”
    She came to the top of the stairs and said, “Hey—Davenport. What’s going on?”
    “What’re you doing?” Lucas asked.
    “I’m down to reading a book called Natural Ash Glazes. What’d you have in mind?”
    “I don’t know. I thought I’d check you out, we could roll around town for a while,” he said.
    Her face brightened. “That’s the best offer I’ve had in weeks. If I have to sit around here anymore, I’ll scream.”
    Lucas told the other cops that they’d be gone for a while. One of them said, “Hang on,” and pulled on a pair of camo coveralls. “I’m going to sneak out through the garage. Give me two minutes. Give us a chance to see if anything moves after you leave.”
    So they sat watching The Mummy for a couple of minutes, and then Lucas said, “Let’s go.” Outside the door, Jael took his arm, and the bush said, “Wish I could go.” Jael jumped. Lucas laughed and said, “Got me coming in.”
    Down the sidewalk, she asked, “See anybody?”
    “No. Don’t look around.”
    “What if the guy follows us?” she asked.
    “Then we follow him. ”
    “But what if he’s watching from farther away, and we don’t see him, but he follows us anyway.”
    Lucas loaded her into the Porsche. “Not possible,” he said.
    They pulled away from the curb, Lucas watching ahead and in the rearview mirror, Jael craning left and right, looking for headlights. “Lots of cars, but I didn’t see any headlights come on,” she said.
    “So he’s probably not around.”
    “But what if--”
    “Reach behind your seat there, there’s like a black plastic bag. . . .”
    She got the bag, opened it, took out the little bubble light, and looked at it.
    “Gimme it,” Lucas said. He look the light, licked the suction cup, and stuck it on the dash; the cord plugged into the cigarette lighter. A minute later, they rolled down the ramp on I-35W and Lucas dropped the hammer.
    The Porsche took off, running through moderate traffic, and a half-mile down, he flipped the switch on the flasher and Jael laughed and the speed went up and Jael braced herself against the dashboard and said, “Now you’re showing off,” as they went past the 100 mark. They flew along the interstate, cars ahead of them scattering like chickens. At an open spot, Lucas killed the flasher and said, “No point in advertising,” and backed off the speed a notch, bringing it down to ninety-five.
    A minute later, they burned past a highway patrol car that had been hidden behind a Ryder truck.
    “Aw, shit,” Lucas said.
    “Highway patrol,” she said.
    “Yeah, I know. Stop or go?”
    “Go,” she said.
    He went, and the needle pushed past 100 to 108, and Jael said, “He turned his flashing lights on. . . . I think he’s coming. . . . He’s coming, but you’re still gaining.”
    Exit coming up. Diamond Lake Road. One car at the top of the ramp. Lucas pushed it until the last second, then cut right, took the ramp. The car at the top was turning left, so Lucas went right, around the corner, down a long block, and turned left: He accelerated to the end of the block, turned left again, and rolled down the window. They could hear the siren from the Highway Patrol car, but it was north and then west of them—going the wrong way.
    “They usually turn right if they lose a guy,” Lucas grunted. “We gotta get south.”
    They zigzagged south and west, past Oak Hill cemetery, under another limited-access road, Jael teasing Lucas as he lurked through residential neighborhoods, avoiding headlights. “Shut up, shut up,” he said, and she laughed and said, “Mr. Speed-o.”
    They finally made I-694, and Lucas took the car onto the highway, two exits, off, into a bookstore parking lot, part of a shopping complex. “Now what?” Jael asked.
    “We go to the bookstore for an hour, then walk over and get something to eat, and maybe go shopping for a while. Gotta stay off the road for a couple of hours. There aren’t that many black Porsches around.”
    “What if they stop us anyway?” she asked.
    “Then I lie like a motherfucker,” Lucas said.
    “I thought cops got free passes.”
    “Not if they’re showing off for a girl,” Lucas said. “I hope you like books.”
     
 
SHE DID LIKE books, and disappeared into the Art section. Lucas browsed through Literature, slowed down