What Comes Around_An Alex Hawke Novella by Ted Bell

Author:Ted Bell [Bell, Ted]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-02-11T06:00:00+00:00

HAWKE ENTERED THE dark wood, a place of blue-tinged evergreens.

The macadam road was a twisting snake, but then, he was at the wheel of the Snake. It was narrow, chock-full of inclines, switchbacks, and decreasing radius turns. It was the perfect place to see how his new prize handled. He pushed it hard, not happy unless his tyres were squealing, and the car responded beautifully, enormous torque, precision handling, wedded to splendid racing tyres. Heaven, in other words.

When he finally emerged from the wood, he charged up a rather steep hill, crested it, went fully airborne for a moment, and then sped down into the next straightaway, the engine warmed up now and responding beautifully. He redlined third and upshifted to fourth, then down again to second for the intersection, a tight right-hander into a narrow country lane.

And that’s when he heard the blare of air horns behind him.

Christ, he thought, who the hell?

He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw the familiar stately grille of an old Rolls-Royce filling the mirror. Right smack on his tail. He slowed, moved left onto the grassy verge, and gestured to the big silver Roller to overtake, for God’s sake. He couldn’t wait to get a look at the driver. What kind of a moron would even think of trying to pass on this bloody—

A woman. A beautiful woman. Bright yellow Hermès scarf wound round her neck. Silky black hair cut short, and a stunning Asian profile.

She blew the triple air horns again as she blew past, and Hawke’s shouted reply surely went unheard over the wind and the combined engine roar. He saw her right arm emerge, hand raised high, ruby red nails, the middle digit extended straight up as she tucked in front of him, almost nicking his front fender.

Fucking hell.

“Balls to the wall, you crazy bitch!” he shouted at her in vain, shaking his righteous fist in disbelieving anger.

And that’s when it happened.

He’d taken his right hand off the wheel for a split second, the steering had pulled hard right, and a stout and hardy chestnut tree leaped up out of the woods and smacked him good, pinging both his pride and his new and very shiny blue bonnet in one solid blow.

He forgot the stupid incident over time, but for some reason he never forgot the license plate number on that old silver Roller.

M-A-O.

As in Chairman Mao?

He had no idea. But, as it all turned out in the end, he’d been absolutely spot-on about that damn plate number.

It was Mao.

And the woman behind the wheel? Well, she was indeed one crazy bitch.

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