The Trinity Game

terrific?”
    “Yeah…swell,” said Daniel.
    “Not sure why, considerin’ the giant egg I just laid out there,” said Trinity. “But did you hear them at the end? They loved it.”
    “Don’t worry, Reverend Tim,” Jennifer said with a Texas twang, “I thought you were wonderful. The tongues don’t happen every time, we all understand that.”
    “Thanks, honey.”
    “I had to miss it,” said Daniel.
    “Didn’t miss much.” Trinity sipped some bourbon, then chuckled, trying to shake it off. “Ah, what the hell, we’ll get ’em next time.” He turned to Jennifer. “Darlin’, do me a favor, find Samson, find out what’s holding us up. I want to get back to the Westin.”
    Jennifer smiled broadly, said, “On it, chief,” and hip-swished out of the room.
    Trinity said, “Georgia Dome’s gonna be somethin’ else, but ya know, I think I’m gonna miss this place, I’ve become rather fond of it.”
    Daniel wondered exactly what there was to miss in this place. There would be another dressing room just like it, another dressing table, another three-way mirror. Another mountain of unopened mailbags would accumulate just as this one had grown, dirty and gray, except for the new black one with the Bulldog Couriers logo and the—
    Bulldog Couriers. The autograph book…
    Oh, shit!
    Daniel flew across the room, grabbed his uncle’s arm.
    “Everybody get out!” He yanked Trinity toward the door. “Out! Everybody out!”
    Nobody moved. Trinity pulled his arm back. “The hell is wrong with you?”
    Daniel couldn’t get the words out. “Mailbag, some—I, a bomb, I think—we gotta go. NOW!”
    Trinity’s eyes went wide, a look of desperation on his face. “Where’s my Bible?” Before Daniel could stop him, he’d crossed to the dressing table, next to the tech guys setting up the computer, next to the pile of mailbags.
    As Trinity picked up his Bible, Daniel caught his arm again and yanked him into the hallway, yelling, “Run! Everybody run!” He got his arm around his uncle’s waist, forced him to pick up the pace.
    “Stairs,” Daniel shouted as they ran down the hallway. Trinity pointed to a door, and they banged through it, into the stairwell.
    A concussive blast rocked the building, and the stairwell lights flickered. Trinity stumbled, but Daniel steadied him. “Faster! C’mon!”
    Muted screams of horror and howls of pain followed as they flew down the concrete steps and into the underground garage.
    Daniel’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he could make out Chris sitting in the limousine, just thirty feet away.
    “Chris!” he shouted as they ran to the limo.
    But Chris didn’t move.
    Chris had a bullet hole in his forehead. He was duct-taped upright in the seat, and his dead eyes stared at nothing.
    Daniel jerked at the door handle. Locked. He spun to face Trinity. “Your car—”
    “Over there.”
    They ran across the garage, to Trinity’s red SUV. Trinity beeped the locks with his remote. Daniel snatched the keys from his hand.
    “I’m driving,” he said, yanking the door open and shoving Trinity forward. “Down on the floor, outta sight.” Trinity scrunched down into the foot-well, his chest on the passenger seat.
    Daniel stuck the key in the ignition, cranked it, and the engine roared to life.
    Behind them, the stairwell door banged open. Daniel turned his head. Samson came running into the garage, gun in hand.
    Thank God…
    Samson made eye contact with Daniel—a split second that seemed to last an hour—and then raised his gun and pointed it at him.
    Daniel threw it in gear, mashed the accelerator to the floor.
    Tires squealed on concrete, found purchase, and the beast shot forward.
    Samson unloaded at them from behind—
pap-pap-pap-pap-pap-pap
—and Daniel heard
thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk
as bullets hit the SUV, but he kept his eyes forward as they sped up the ramp and shot out into the blazing sun.
    The sidewalk at the end of the driveway was full of Trinity’s Pilgrims. Daniel leaned on the horn, jammed the brakes, saw a clearing, wrenched the wheel, hit the gas, and tore across a patch of grass and onto the road.
    “You hit?”
    “What?”
    “Are you hit?”
    “No,” said Trinity, “fine.” He wriggled up into the passenger seat, buckled his belt, as Daniel hung a hard right, then a left, then another right.
    Daniel didn’t let up on the gas, driving them deeper into the surrounding ghetto, no destination, just putting distance between them and