Iced (John Wads Crime Novellas Book 1) by Jerry Peterson

Author:Jerry Peterson [Peterson, Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wisconsin, winter, assassin, Iraqi interpreter, thriller, snowmobile, state capitol
Publisher: Grand Medallion Books
Published: 2014-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

WADS CHECKED HIS CELL for the time as he came out of his apartment building–four o’clock. Overcast, the feel of snow imminent. He pulled the collar of his mack up around his ears, protection from the norther whistling down the street.

He unlocked his truck, and, just before he got in, gave a wave to a rusty brown Chevrolet a half-block down the street.

Wads luxuriated in the warmth of the cab after he settled in, giving a silent thank you to the dealer who had insisted he get a remote starter on his then new truck. Fire up the engine while you’re still finishing your grapefruit, he had said.

Wads drove off. He adjusted his mirror as he did, and the brown Chev–the sheriff department’s stakeout car, he’d seen it before–was there, following. He knew who had to be at the wheel–Zigman.

Wads waited until he passed the city limits sign on the road to Lake Kandiyah before he stepped the gas pedal to the floor. The driver of the brown car had to have done the same. Wads chuckled as he watched the image in his mirror. And there was a second image further back, no more than the size of the tip of his little finger–a second car, black.

For Wads, it was all in the timing. Ahead, the lights on a railroad crossing gate began to flash. He held his speed. Wads shot across the tracks as the arms came down and watched Zigman slow and swerve between the crossing arms, falling behind in the chase.

Wads tapped his brakes. He let his speed play off as he came up on a curve, then powered through, through that one and the next. Wads hit the brakes, this time hard. He skidded his truck off onto an unplowed township road that led into a thick stand of burr oaks.

A drift. He slammed into it, and the air bags burst out of their restraints. They pinned him as the truck rocked to a stop. The moment the bags deflated, Wads threw open the door. He grabbed a coil of rope from the floor on the passenger side, slung it over his shoulder, and plunged off into the deep interior of the woods. There he found it, the Arctic Cat he’d driven in a dozen hours before. A twist of the ignition key and the engine came alive. Wads mounted up. He rode the Cat out of the woods at an easy speed, took his leisure as he drove toward the shore of Kandiyah Lake. Zigman would find his truck, Wads knew it. He would hear the snowmobile and back out to the county road and come after him. Part two of the plan.

As Wads rolled out onto the snow-covered ice, the brown Chev barrelled down toward the lake at a helluva speed. Wads saw it and twisted the throttle full wide, the Cat responding, throwing up a rooster tail of white as it tore away into the gloom, out onto ice blown free of snow.

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