BIKE RACE
It’s six in the evening when Wren and Norman pull back into the driveway and see the horrible sight that neither of them are prepared for. Sitting before them is the still smoldering, burned out hulk of Wren’s house. A Springdale fire department truck sitting in the driveway keeping an eye on the pile of ashes and cinders. A sign in the front yard reads “We know where you are and we will get you!” They pull up in front of the fire truck as a fireman walks up to them.
“Are you familiar with the owners of this house?”
“I am the owner.”
“Well I hate to say we did the best we could but this was a definite case of arson and it just spread too fast. We were able to push out the bike but I’m afraid the truck is a total loss. Now if you two could just wait here the sheriff and fire marshal will need to talk to you.”
He walks away without them saying a word. The two of them get out of the car with Norman walking around the debris field and Wren walking up to her bike. Some of the plastic fairing is scorched and distorted from the heat but otherwise it seems fine. Norman is standing on what was left of the front porch looking through the remains of the living room window at the charred debris field beyond.
“Hey you guys got a long hooked pole?”
“Yea why?”
“There’s something I’d like to try to get.”
One of the firemen comes over and looks in the window with Norman as Wren and the other fireman come up beside them.
“Over there kind of in the corner near the remains of the chair you can just see a handle.”
The fireman extends the pole and carefully hooks the handle and starts pulling it toward him as a sheriff's patrol car followed by the fire marshals red car pull into the driveway. The case out of the house and safely in Norman's hands they all head over to the cars.
“What’s in the case sir.”
“Wren’s portfolio if it survived.”
He opens the case and with a slight sigh of relief all seems to have survived with little or no damage. The rest of the evening is spent answering questions and providing alibis as to their whereabouts during the time of the fire. When all is said and done Wren is left feeling hot and angry.
“Come on honey let's find some dinner and a place to stay.”
“What about my bike?”
“Well I guess we need to have it towed in and looked over before you try to drive it.”
After a couple of phone calls they sit in the car and wait for the tow truck.
“I’m glad I didn’t leave the Predator or the laptop in the house while we were gone.”
“I am too, though I assume this means your work has to pick up its pace.”
“Yes, it does.”
They sit in relative silence for the next half hour waiting for the tow truck to arrive. After a short quiet dinner they find a room and unload some of their gear and clothes. Wren almost immediately sits down at the desk with the laptop scanning the remaining people on the list.
“Find anything honey?”
“John Gristmond, number twenty Mockingbird hill, laborer for JH Berra construction. Don’t wait for me.”
“Oh no, not again this time you know I won't do that.”
“No Norman not this time I’ve already risked you enough, you're already an accessory to the last hit because you drove me there and away. Uncle Jacob helped you with your sins, let's not add mine to yours. I promise to be careful and to hurry back.”
“You know I’m already an accessory simply by keeping my mouth shut.”
“No Norman I can’t let you.”
“As long as we both keep our mouths shut we are in this together and there is no stopping that or turning back now. So let's get you changed.”
Once changed Norman checks the lot and heads to the car. The Predator emerges from their hotel room shortly after and quickly hops into the car next to Norman clutching a small bag.
“What’s with the bag?”
“Clothes, just in case.”
Soon they are heading down Highway thirty in the dark. Just after ten they enter an unfinished subdivision. The skeletal framework of incomplete houses looming up in the thin light of the quarter moon. Complete houses scattered about the cleared field, sprinklers watering new sown sod, light shining through naked windows or from behind drawn curtains. Partially finished houses with their shiny foil skin glisten with the reflections of the moon. Down the dark quiet streets Norman drives as Wren watches for Mockingbird Hill.
“This is it Norman let me out here.”
He stops the car and Wren pops the trunk as she gets out. Reaching in the trunk she pulls out her rifle and backpack slips the rifle’s sling over her shoulder then clutching the pack’s straps, she heads down the street after her quarry. Out of sight of the road she stops and opens her pack to put on her goggles and continues on down the lane. Carefully she threads her way through the tangled mess that is a construction site. Past the open pits that eventually will be basements, carefully crossing trenches for sewers and water until she finally stands before number twenty. Looking around the house the only lights are on the second floor in the back of the house and there seems no way of reaching them. Then a plan presents itself and she heads over two more streets where she can see several unfinished houses. Searching around these she finds one with several ladders still set in place by the roofers. Scaling the ladder she ascends to the peak. Scanning the terrain around her she quickly locates number twenty once again and removing the gun slung to her back she lays down on the black tar paper of the roof still hot from the sun. Slipping off her goggles and pulling the gun tight to her shoulder she peers through the scope and turns the zoom to get a better image of what’s inside his house.
“The lights are on but nobody's home.”
Her statement seems to be completely true for a very long time. As her eyes start to ache from the constant peering through the scope and her head starts to nod she spots a vehicle pulling into the driveway and turns her scope on it. What should be a dark blue Dodge truck appears instantly in her scope and she watches the truck until she is sure it's him. As he gets out there is no doubt in her mind that she has the right man as he looks around with a very bright flashlight scanning everywhere as far as the beam will reach. Almost instinctively she pulls the butt of the gun tight to her shoulder as she squeezes the trigger. Suddenly the flashlight falls to the ground along with the head of its one time owner and the Predator is climbing back down the ladder and heading back toward highway thirty. As she nears Meadowlark lane she takes her phone from her pack and calls Norman to pick her up.
She sits in the dark skeleton of a house at the corner of Hummingbird Lane and Meadowlark waiting for Norman as she hides behind the sheeting on its corner. A few paper wrappers blow about upon the floor of the house in the occasional gust of wind. Every sound makes her jump, the scrape of the papers, the moaning and creaking of the skeleton as the wind pushes and twists the building. It takes several minutes for a car to appear on the road in front of her. She waits for it to get closer before she approaches and just as she starts to head toward it she sees the lights on its top. It goes by slowly as it turns down Hummingbird. She quickly pulls out her phone and calls Norman.
“Norman, where are you?”
“Almost there.”
“DON’T just head on into High Ridge I’ll call you again later.”
“What’s up?”
“There’s a cop that just headed down the road over here. I’ll cross overland and meet back up with you.”
“Be careful and hurry out of there I just got passed by two more cops apparently in a hurry.”
Wren watches intently for the other cop cars knowing that all too soon there will be way too many to allow movement around the area. The two cars go zooming past and she starts making her way in the direction that she knows the highway to lie in. She slips her night vision goggles back out of her pack and slips the pack onto her shoulders. Carrying the rifle in her hands she begins to dog trot through the woods. The going is slowed by the thick growth of early summer vines and brush but she moves steadily toward her goal. Coming to the highway she turns right and heads North along the side staying hidden within the woods and brush as she crosses the bluffs and valleys, with the occasional siren of a police cruiser making her freeze in her tracks. Her fears soon have her on the phone once again.
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