All the Rave by Bob DeMoss

Author:Bob DeMoss [DeMoss, Bob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-20T22:00:00+00:00

16

Saturday 11:16 AM

Carlos Martinez checked his rearview mirror. The black, hopped-up Suburban was still behind him. At first he dismissed its presence as a fluke. But five turns later, with the beastly looking SUV still dogging his tail, his thoughts raced over the possibilities.

He didn’t know anybody who owned a vehicle like it; the Huntingdon Valley police didn’t use such transportation; he doubted it was the FBI; and, this wasn’t a case of road rage, of that he was sure. He hadn’t cut anybody off. Quite the contrary. He had been driving slower, thanks to a crushed, heavily bandaged finger.

Carlos tried to ignore whoever it was. He had bigger problems at the moment, thank you very much, starting with where to find $7,000 to pay back the Russians. He had spent every last dollar on jewelry, clothes, a new triple lens iPhone and stereo equipment. There was no way he could scrape that much cash together. Certainly not by the noon deadline, which loomed on the horizon less than forty-five minutes away.

His busted finger throbbed at the thought.

Instead, Carlos was headed for the Pet Vet Wellness Center to see Reverend Bud. He had arranged the meeting figuring it was better to come clean with what he had done than to deal with two Russian barbarians. He was fairly certain Reverend Bud would cut him some slack. Even call off the Russian dogs. Or at least maybe loan him the money to keep Illya and Zhenya out of his hair.

Carlos had plenty of time as he drove to rehearse his story. Satisfied, he figured it would push all the right buttons: His sister, a lesbian, had contracted AIDS and couldn’t afford the medication. Without it, she’d die. Her health insurance, a giant HMO provider, wouldn’t cover the cost of her prescriptions. His parents had disowned her for her sexual choice. He was her only chance. How could he let down his sister?

He skimmed the drug money to help her out. Who wouldn’t?

At least that was his story.

There was one problem. It was a complete fabrication. All, except the part about his lesbian sister. That much was true. As for the rest of the story, he’d do his best to sound convincing.

Carlos slowed to a stop at a light on Old Welsh Road, a two-lane, windy strip of asphalt divided by a double yellow line. The Suburban, at least the last few times he stopped at a light, had hung back from him. This time, however, it pulled up on his tail; the bumper-mounted winch, so enormous it could double as a cattle prod on the front of a train, towered above the back of his little two-door hatchback.

His heart zoomed within his chest. He was tempted to turn around to face this clown, but he didn’t want to appear anxious. He settled for a prolonged look in his side mirror. He noticed the windows were tinted with a dark, reflective material that prevented him from seeing inside. Even the windshield was tinted.

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