Persuader

like I didn't want to see what was behind me.
    "How far back are they?" I asked the kid.
    He didn't respond. He was slack with shock and crunched up in the corner of his seat, as far away from me as he could get. He was staring at the roof. He had his right hand braced against the door. Pale skin, long fingers.
    "How far back?" I asked again. The engine was roaring loud.
    "You killed a cop," he said. "That old guy was a cop, you know."
    "I know."
    "You shot him."
    "Accident," I said. "How far back are the others?"
    "He was showing you his badge."
    " How far back are the others?" He stirred himself and turned around and ducked his head so he could line up the view out of the small rear windows.
    "Hundred feet," he said. He sounded vague and scared. "Real close. One of them is hanging out the window with a gun." Right on cue I heard the distant pop of a handgun over the roar of the engine and the whine of the tires. I picked up the Colt from the seat beside me. Dropped it again. It was empty. I had fired six times already. A radiator, two tires, two guys. And one cop.
    "Glove compartment," I said.
    "You should stop," the kid said. "Explain to them. You were helping me. It was a mistake." He wasn't looking at me. He was staring out of the back windows.
    "I shot a cop," I said. I kept my voice completely neutral. "That's all they know. That's all they want to know. They aren't going to care about how or why." The kid said nothing.
    "Glove compartment," I said again.
    He turned again and fumbled the lid open. There was another Anaconda in there.
    Identical. Shiny stainless steel, fully loaded. I took it from the kid. Wound my window all the way down. Cold air rushed in like a gale. It carried the sound of a handgun firing right behind us, fast and steady.
    "Shit," I said.
    The kid said nothing. The shots kept coming, loud and dull and percussive. How were they missing? "Get down on the floor," I said.
    I slid sideways until my left shoulder was jammed hard against the door frame and craned my right arm all the way around until the new gun was out of the window and pointing backward. I fired once and the kid stared at me in horror and then slid forward and crouched down in the space between the front edge of his seat and the dash with his arms wrapped around his head. A second later the rear window ten feet behind where his head had been exploded.
    "Shit," I said again. Steered for the side of the road to improve my angle. Fired behind us again.
    "I need you to watch," I said. "Stay down as far as you can." The kid didn't move.
    "Get up," I said. " Now. I need you to watch." He raised himself and twisted around until his head was just high enough to see out the back. I saw him register the shattered rear window. Saw him realize that his head had been right in line with it.
    "I'm going to slow down a little," I said. "Going to pull in so they'll pull out to pass me."
    "Don't do it," the kid said. "You can still put this right." I ignored him. Dropped the speed to maybe fifty and pulled right and the college car instinctively drifted left to come up on my flank. I fired my last three chambers at it and its windshield shattered and it slewed all the way across the road like maybe the driver was hit or a tire had gone. It plowed nose-first into the opposite shoulder and smashed through a line of planted shrubs and then it was lost to sight. I dropped the empty gun on the seat beside me and wound the window up and accelerated hard. The kid said nothing.
    Just stared into the rear of the van. The broken window back there was making a weird moaning sound as the air sucked out through it.
    "OK," I said. I was out of breath. "Now we're good to go." The kid turned to face me.
    "Are you crazy?" he said.
    "You know what happens to people who shoot cops?" I said back.
    He had no reply to that. We drove on in silence for maybe thirty whole seconds, more than half a mile, blinking and panting and staring straight ahead through the windshield like we were mesmerized. The inside of the van stank of gunpowder.
    "It was an accident," I said. "I can't bring him back. So get over it."
    "Who are you?" he asked.
    "No, who are you ?" I asked back.
    He went quiet. He was breathing hard. I checked the mirror. The road was completely empty behind us. Completely empty ahead of us. We were way out in open country.
    Maybe ten minutes from a highway cloverleaf.
    "I'm a target," he said. "For abduction." It was an odd word to use.
    "They were trying to