Chapter Fifty — Four: The Hunters

16 Nov
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Lonnie barreled along the dirt road as fast as he dared without getting stuck or jammed up. He cussed when he realized it led him right back to the asphalt again. Somehow in his haste he had missed the turn that would have taken him up and over the mountain to the safe house on the other side.
Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter. He knew where he was at. There was another road just north of here. If he could just reach it before the cops spotted him.
Luck was not Lonnie’s lady. He no more turned onto the dirt road than a cop car sped past. He saw it in his rearview mirror. He hoped it had not seen him. That hope was dashed as soon as he thought it. He could hear the squad car squealing to a stop and the brakes complaining.

Still he had a head start. By the time the cops turned around, found the road he entered, and started after him, precious minutes would have been lost for them and gained for him.

In addition he had been up this road before. They probably had not.

So he sped. Confident he was gaining.

The problem was the car. The gas was low. It was overheating. A bumper was dragging against a tire, and every time he went over a bump the oil pan threatened to rip off. This thing he had stolen was a chick mobile. What he needed was a tank. No car was built to take the punishment he had given it, and this car was designed to run only on paved roads.
He whipped into a clearing. Two men and a dog were there. They were standing away from their pickup.

The rifles were leaning against the pickup. Not even close to their reach.

Lonnie spun the car around in circles, bringing it to a sliding sidewise stop. The two men, and the german shepherd, stared at him as though he were crazy. Lonnie opened the door. Grabbed the rifle he had used to shoot at the helicopter, and pointed it at the men.

“Hands up. In plain sight.” Lonnie cussed at himself that his voice, instead of having the strong masculine tones of authority he wanted, betrayed him by sounding high and squeaky. Had he realized his voice was so nervous, so out of his control, so high pitched, that the two men thought he was a nervous young woman he might have been somewhat relieved. What he wanted at the minute, even more than an image of calm masculinity, was to remain unidentified.

The german shepherd started toward him. Its owner ordered it to stop.

Lonnie told them to lay down on the ground. They did. The german shepherd stretching out next to his owner, keeping an eye on Lonnie’s every move.

Lonnie grabbed all the drugs and guns out of the car. That was when he noticed the rip in his gloves. “Dammit.” He hoped to hell he hadn’t left a finger print in there somewhere. No time now. He ran over to the pickup. Threw everything in it.

Praise Jesus the key was in the ignition.

As soon as he disappeared out of sight the german shepherd ran after the pickup. “Harry,” screamed Dick at the top of his lungs, but it had no effect. The two men ran to their guns laying in the dirt, picking them up.

As they did so half a dozen police cars pulled into view. Surrounding them and the wreckage of a car.

Doors opened.

Rifles pointed at the two men.

A bullhorn announced, “Move slowly. Drop your weapons immediately or we will shoot.”

Tom glared at his brother-in-law. “I swear to God every since my sister married you and that damned dog there has been nothing but trouble.”
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