Alpha Kill - 03 by Tim Stevens

Author:Tim Stevens [Stevens, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller
Published: 2014-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The road signs were starting to feature New York City prominently, and Gene Drake knew they were on the home stretch.

Behind them the sun dipped ever nearer the horizon, sending its slanting light into their rearview mirrors. They rode as before, the twins up front, followed by Drake and Walusz the Pole, with Rosenbloom and Skeet bringing up the rear.

But the tension was there now, communicated as if by some invisible field between the three cars.

Drake regarded himself as a responsible man. If something went wrong, he generally analyzed what he himself had done, or failed to do, to make it happen. He wasn’t one for blaming others. That was the kind of thing snot-nosed kids did.

But this time, there was only one person to blame. And it wasn’t Drake.

It was Rosenbloom. That fat asshole.

Rosenbloom, who didn’t take care of his car properly.

Rosenbloom, who’d allowed the brake pads to get worn so low they became useless. Not just at any time, but on this of all journeys.

Rosenbloom, who deserved to be lying in a ditch by the side of the road right now, his brains blown out of his head.

The only reason Drake hadn’t yet killed him was that Rosenbloom was necessary. He had skills none of the others could quite match. Sooner or later - Drake sincerely hoped sooner - Rosenbloom would outlive his usefulness. Then he could be tossed in the garbage. But right now, he had to stay alive. More than that, he had to be fully functional. Which meant Drake couldn’t even hurt him all that badly.

When the Hyundai that Rosenbloom was driving had veered toward the edge of the road, hundreds of miles back there in western Pennsylvania, Drake said immediately to Walusz: “Pull over.” The driver had done so, and up ahead the twins’ station wagon braked.

Fortunately they were off the interstate at that time, and traveling along a stretch of road that was almost devoid of traffic. By the time Drake reached the Hyundai, with the twins trotting along behind him, he saw Rosenbloom cringing in the driver’s seat while Skeet screamed abuse at him.

He opened the door. “What happened?”

“Fuckin’ brakes failed,” snarled Skeet. His eyes were wild. Oh God, thought Drake, don’t let him have one of his... attacks. Not now.

To Rosenbloom, Drake said, “Get out the car.”

Rosenbloom began to protest, but Drake muttered, “Now,” and grabbed the guy by the shoulder, half-tipping him out the seat.

He got in, hit the ignition, rolled the car forward. Pressed the brake pedal.

“Yep,” he said. “Pads are gone.”

While Skeet screeched and got in Rosenbloom’s face, Drake gazed around, at the road stretching in either direction, the miles and miles of fields all around.

“Anybody got a spare set of pads?” he asked. Nobody bothered to reply.

Herman Schroeder peered at his cell phone. “There’s a repair shop three miles from here,” he said. “Otherwise, the nearest place is a gas station off the interstate.”

“Okay,” said Drake. “We head for the shop.”

“What?” stuttered Rosenbloom, still recoiling from Skeet’s furious rantings.

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