Road Kill (16 page)

“Well, Charlie, you’re hearing it now,” William said evenly.

“Oh really?” I shifted my gaze briefly between the three of them. “I’ve had to put up with the cops raiding Jacob’s place this afternoon looking for the carcass of Slick’s bike,” I said, wondering if MacMillan’s polite search quite qualified as a raid. “I told them jack shit – to borrow a phrase – about what he might have been up to and where else they might care to look. And you tell me that’s not the action of a mate?”

Gleet raised his eyebrows. “She’s got a point,” he allowed. “If she’s come to pay her respects, why not let her stay?”

“No!” Paxo said, vehement. “She’s just come to snoop.”

Gleet regarded me solemnly for a moment although there might have been more than that going on under the surface. “Well at least she’s not brought that tame thug of hers with her,” he said. “Who is he, by the way?”

“His name’s Sean Meyer and he’s a real nasty piece of work,” said a new voice from my left. Jamie stepped into view and faced me with barely concealed glee at this unexpected opportunity to put the boot in.

“Sean Meyer?” William repeated slowly. “I remember that name now – from years back. Racist bastard, wasn’t he? Went down for it.”

“No,” I said flatly. “He wasn’t. And he didn’t.”

“I know Mum was down at Dad’s place this morning and Sean beat the shit out of her boyfriend,” Jamie said. “Splatted his nose all over his face.”

“Considering Eamonn was attempting to break both my ankles at the time,” I snapped, “I’d say he had it coming, wouldn’t you?”

I glanced back at the others. Gleet’s heavy features might even have been looking amused. William and Paxo exchanged silent glances I didn’t catch the meaning of.

“I think you should leave now,” William said then, his voice almost indifferent. “Either of your own accord or not. Makes no odds to us.”

I shrugged, tossed my three-quarter empty bottle of beer into the fire and turned away, starting to walk down the hill towards where the bikes were parked. Gleet and the others walked with me in silence. I could feel them behind me all the way and it was tempting to break into a run but I kept my pace steady. By the time I reached the Suzuki my shoulder blades were twitching with the effort.

They watched me retrieve my helmet from the bar end, kick the RGV into life and wheel it out of the line. All the while I was expecting one of them to reinforce the threat with something more physical. I knew I didn’t stand a chance if they decided to make their displeasure more actively felt and I concentrated on keeping my face blank, my stance passive. But they said nothing. Did nothing. Just standing there glaring was more than enough.

As I rode away carefully along the potholed farm track leading to the main road I could feel the nervous sweat sticking my shirt to my back under my leathers. I hadn’t learned much, that was true, but at least I’d escaped unscathed from the encounter.

I only hoped that Sam would be able to do the same.

The first spots of rain began to fall just as I hit the main road and turned the Suzuki’s head back towards Lancaster.

I cursed under my breath as I felt the rain splash onto my visor. It wouldn’t be long before the water was down the back of my neck. I reached up and pulled the collar of my jacket tighter, like that was really going to make a difference.

We hadn’t had any significant rain for weeks and the Wray road was out in farm country, bordered by tall hedges and dry stone walls. Constant agricultural traffic meant the tarmac was coated with dust and muck and diesel. Just add water and it quickly turned to a lethally slippery film on the surface. Until the rainfall was heavy enough to wash the road clean, it was like riding on black ice.

The light was dropping, too. That halfway stage between day and evening when you need your headlights on but they don’t actually seem to do much. I slowed right down.

Which was how they managed to catch me quite so easily.

I don’t know precisely where they came from. One moment my mirrors were empty, and the next there was the sudden flare of main beam headlights behind me.

My first thought was that some stupid car driver had only just cottoned on to the fact that the approaching gloom meant it might be a good idea to put his lights on.

As soon as I’d finished that thought, the suspicious part of my mind took over. When I first took to two wheels I learned very quickly how vulnerable you are to other road users. I was knocked off the first time before I’d even passed my test.

Looks like someone was aiming for a rematch.

The lights had closed up fast on my rear end, blazing. I edged slightly over to the left, hoping the driver would take the hint and just go past me.

The lights moved up closer still. I couldn’t see anything of the vehicle or the driver because of the glare of them. I held my position and speed. As I approached a left-hander the driver following me put on a burst of speed and swung out to the right. As he drew level with my knee I realised that the lights were too big and too widely spaced to belong to a car. More like a van.

Transit van
, Clare had said when I’d asked what had hit her.
Determined sod.

Instinctively, I whacked the throttle wide open just as the van lurched sideways into my airspace.

The bike’s engine screamed as the tacho needle bounced into the red line at 12,000rpm. I backed off before the rev limiter cut in, just long enough to kick a fast clutchless change, and threw my weight over the forks to try to keep the front wheel on the ground.

I wasn’t fast enough. The van hit the back end of the Suzuki, jolting it sideways and nearly bucking me head first into the dry stone wall by the edge of the road. That was probably the idea. I swear I heard the crack of splintering plastic as my back mudguard and numberplate shattered.

The van’s headlights shrank abruptly as I pulled away from him. The needle on the bike’s speedo rushed upwards as the outskirts of the little village of Wray leapt towards me. Just before the speed restriction signs the road curved sharp left. To remind you to slow down the planners had helpfully placed a series of vicious ridges in the tarmac which were right across the apex to the bend. Maybe the van driver was just hanging back waiting for me to crash. I tried hard to disappoint him.

I held my breath as I chucked the Suzuki into the turn faster than I normally would have dared if it had been smooth, and daylight, and dry.

The tyres, already scrabbling for grip on the slick surface, hit the ridges and let go altogether. The bike leapt and twisted like a terrified horse. All I could do was sit tight and try to control it when we came down again.

Any moment I expected the front end to wash out completely and send me barrelling into the far kerb. Not good at the best of times. Particularly not good when I had a Transit van on my tail who had no chance of stopping before he ran me down.

Even if he’d wanted to.

I had a horrifying flash vision of the pins holding Clare’s bones together.
If whatever vehicle that hit them had run over her torso instead of her legs,
the young doctor had told me
, she’d be dead right now.

I was still completely out of shape when the left-hander snapped into a right-hander. Praying, I flung my bodyweight across the bike to flick it into the next corner and hit the gas, feeling the back end start to shimmy as the rear wheel spun up. In the dry the Suzuki didn’t have enough brute horsepower to rip the fat back tyre loose, but in these greasy conditions it let go in a heartbeat.

And all at once, everything slowed around me. Peripherally, I could see the continuous splatter of the rain hitting my visor, the water beading up and being instantly shed by the Rain-X dispersant I always used.

But most of all I could feel the tenuous contact between the two palm-sized areas of rubber and the glassy tarmac under them. The front end was still clinging on, teetering on the limit of adhesion so that every trembling vibration was transmitted up through the forks and into my hands.

The back end had let go like it was slowly tearing, the revs ripping up as the engine gouted power through the broken grip like blood. The bike was starting to skate and I had fractions of a second to do something about it or become another one of Superintendent MacMillan’s much-vaunted statistics.

I rolled the throttle off just a fraction, an infinitesimal amount. Enough to control the slide and use the rear-wheel-steer effect to get me through the bend.

I catapulted out the other side, amazed to find myself still attached to the bike, and the bike still attached to the road. Reality righted itself and resumed its pace. I snapped upright and sent the Suzuki hurtling into the village main street, the exhaust howling its triumph and rage in equal measure.

Behind me, the Transit’s lights suddenly began to thrash wildly from side to side. It took me a moment to work out that the erratic movement was caused by a monumental slide of its own. The driver had pushed too far in his efforts to pursue me and the van responded violently to the abuse.

The fact that the driver was prepared to try so hard scared me badly. Not that I wasn’t fairly well scared already. The rain was falling more strongly now and I knew I hadn’t a hope in hell of outrunning him in this.

A side turning opened up seemingly almost alongside me. I grabbed for the brakes, locking up the rear wheel, and just made the turn in. The side street was lined with semi-detached houses, mostly with cars in the driveway. I picked the first one that looked empty and threw the bike up onto the pavement, diving down the side of the house right up to the gate into the back garden. I’d flicked the lights off and killed the engine before I’d even come to a stop.

I struggled to turn the bike round so it was facing outwards again, just in case they spotted the damaged back end, and jumped off, crouching down in its shadow. My breath was a harsh rasp in my throat. I was hard up against the fence, my feet in a flower border. All I could smell was creosote and honeysuckle and hot rubber and rain.

The Suzuki nearly rolled on top of me and I realised belatedly that I hadn’t put the side-stand down. I shoved it down and wedged it in place with my fist, aware of the blood pounding in my ears and beating against the inside of my ribs until I thought they’d crack.

The van wasn’t far behind me. It fishtailed into the end of the road, engine wailing, and slowed to a crawl. I peered round the Suzuki’s fairing and saw it creep past the end of the driveway, the slanting rain coming and going in the headlights.

There were at least two people inside. I caught outlines but no detail as they passed in front of the light from the house opposite. They were both leaning forwards, hunting, and despite the cloudburst they had the windows wound down to catch the slightest trace of me. Professionals.

The van seemed to pause for a long time in front of the driveway where I was hiding but it could only have been a second or two, then they were moving on to the next one. I shut my eyes briefly, sagging against the bike.

I should have known it wouldn’t last.

A bright light flared in my eyes, making me jerk back, blinded. The light over the back door to the house had come on. There was the rattle of a key turning in a lock and the door opened. An elderly woman ventured out onto the step. She was in her slippers, with a fire iron gripped in her bony fist.

“Oi,” she yelled. “What d’you think you’re doing in my bloody garden?”

My eyes skated to the van. All I could see of it over the front hedge was the roof but that was enough. It jerked to a stop fiercely enough to make the nose dip.

I glanced back. Persuading the old lady to let me in to her house was going to take too long. Besides, the men who were after me seemed determined enough that they might choose to follow regardless. I couldn’t take the risk.

Ignoring the irate householder, I vaulted back onto the bike, hitting the run switch and the kick start at the same time. The Suzuki, bless it, fired up first time. Out on the street came the graunch of gears and the harsh whine of the van’s differential spinning up in reverse.

I rammed the bike into gear and launched along the drive, feet trailing. The van reached the mouth of the driveway at almost the same moment I did and I had to swerve across the pavement to evade him. I thumped down off the kerb, taking the wing mirror off a parked car with my elbow as I went. Its alarm started shrieking.

The back of the Transit bore down like a wall as it came storming after me, still locked in reverse. There were cars approaching on the main road and I dived fleetingly on the brakes at the junction. My choice of direction was made entirely on the first gap in traffic that presented itself. Unfortunately, it meant I turned back the way I’d come, away from the safety of home.

As it was, I just made it out in front of a car that had to veer violently to avoid me, braking hard enough to skid. Shit! I ducked my head and risked a quick look in my mirrors as I caned the bike away, thinking at least that should slow the van down a bit.