The Eyes of Darkness

pocket again. "It was just the shock."
    They embraced, and then she said, "If they knew we were flying to Reno, why didn't they follow us from the airport? Then they would have known we weren't going to walk in the front door of Bellicosti's place."
    "Maybe they figured I'd spot a tail and be spooked by it. And I guess they were so sure of where we were headed, they didn't think it was necessary to keep a close watch on us. They figured there wasn't anywhere else we could go but Bellicosti's funeral home."
    "Let's get back to the car. I'm freezing."
    "Me too. And we better get out of the neighborhood before they find that guy in the snow."
    They followed their own footprints out of the cemetery, to the quiet residential street where the rented Chevrolet was parked in the wan light of the street lamp.
    As Elliot was opening the driver's door, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up, already sure of what he would see. A white Ford sedan had just turned the corner, moving slowly. It drifted to the curb and braked abruptly. Two doors opened, and a pair of tall, darkly dressed men climbed out.
    Elliot recognized them for what they were. He got intc the Chevy, slammed the door, and jammed the key into the ignition.
    "We have been followed," Tina said.
    "Yeah." He switched on the engine and threw the car in gear. "A transponder. They must have just now homed in on it."
    He didn't hear a shot, but a bullet shattered the rear side window behind his head and slammed into the back of the front seat, spraying gummy bits of safety glass through the car.
    "Head down!" Elliot shouted.
    He glanced back.
    The two men were approaching at a run, slipping on the snow-spotted pavement.
    Elliot stamped on the accelerator. Tires squealing, he pulled the Chevy away from the curb, into the street.
    Two slugs ricocheted off the body of the car, each trailing away with a brief, high-pitched whine.
    Elliot hunched low over the wheel, expecting a bullet through the rear window. At the corner, he ignored the stop sign and swung the car hard to the left, only tapping the brakes once, severely testing the Chevy's suspension.
    Tina raised her head, glanced at the empty street behind them, then looked at Elliot. "Transponder. What's that? You mean we're bugged? Then we'll have to abandon the car, won't we?"
    "Not until we've gotten rid of those clowns on our tail," he said. "If we abandon the car with them so close, they'll run us down fast. We can't get away on foot."
    "Then what?"
    They arrived at another intersection, and he whipped the car to the right. "After I turn the next corner, I'll stop and get out. You be ready to slide over and take the wheel."
    "Where are you going?"
    "I'll fade back into the shrubbery and wait for them to come around the corner after us. You drive on down the street, but not too fast. Give them a chance to see you when they turn into the street. They'll be looking at you, and they won't see me."
    "We shouldn't split up."
    "It's the only way."
    "But what if they get you?"
    "They won't."
    "I'd be alone then."
    "They won't get me. But you have to move fast. If we stop for more than a couple of seconds, it'll show up on their receiver, and they might get suspicious."
    He swung right at the intersection and stopped in the middle of the new street.
    "Elliot, don't—"
    "No choice." He flung open the door and scrambled out of the car. "Hurry, Tina!"
    He slammed the car door and ran to a row of evergreen shrubs that bordered the front lawn of a low, brick, ranch-style house. Crouching beside one of those bushes, huddling in the shadows just beyond the circle of frosty light from a nearby street lamp, he pulled the pistol out of his coat pocket while Tina drove away.
    As the sound of the Chevy faded, he could discern the roar of another vehicle, approaching fast. A few seconds later the white sedan raced into the intersection.
    Elliot stood, extending the pistol in both hands, and snapped off three quick rounds. The first two clanged through sheet metal, but the third punctured the right front tire.
    The Ford had rounded the corner too fast. Jolted by the blowout, the car careened out of control. It spun across the street, jumped the curb, crashed through a hedge, destroyed a plaster birdbath, and came to rest in the middle of a snow-blanketed lawn.
    Elliot ran toward the Chevy, which Tina had brought to a stop a hundred yards away. It seemed more like a hundred miles. His pounding footsteps were as