Dirty Martini

The car accelerates. The driver either doesn’t see him or doesn’t care. Herb yells, but his voice isn’t audible above all of the honking. He realizes the car is going to hit him, and he tries to step to the side.

At the last possible moment, the car swerves right, but it isn’t fast enough, and the back end clips Herb and sends him spi

CHAPTER 40

5 MINUTES

“PUT IT IN GEAR!” McGlade screamed, an octave higher than his normal voice. I helped him tug the shifter into second, and the cab shook and then jolted forward. Behind us, the trailer rocked from side to side, but quickly straightened out. This saved us from jackknifing, but didn’t save us from the line of cars fifty yards ahead and closing.

He tugged the wheel to the right, forcing the truck up onto the carefully maintained lawn of an office complex. Harry continued to turn, winding up behind the building in the back parking lot, heading straight for a fence.

“McGlade…”

“Don’t worry. I do this all the time in Grand Theft Auto.”

“That’s a video game.”

“Pac-Man is a video game. GTA is a way of life.”

The semi plowed through the fence with almost no resistance, and then we were in a factory loading area.

“Gear down on three. One… two… three.”

I helped him shift into first, and the truck slowed down, allowing McGlade to navigate a sharp turn. We bounced over a curb and wound up on Morse going east. I looked at the countdown clock and felt ill. We were still over a mile away from the treatment plant and heading in the wrong direction.

“Train tracks ahead,” Harry said. “I have an idea.”

McGlade swung the truck left, and we ran parallel to the tracks on the gravel. There was a slight grade, maybe five percent, but the truck didn’t tip.

“Let’s go to second… now.”

The truck picked up speed, and I listened to the RPMs and was able to gauge when to put it into third, and then fourth. The ride was bumpy, and tilted, but we were making good time, and there were no cars blocking our way. McGlade hummed the song “Convoy,” off-key. I once again turned my attention to the latent on the mirror.

“Gimme your phone,” I told him.

“My new one? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“It’s in my right pants pocket. Help yourself.”

I reached for his lap, then hesitated. It was like willfully sticking your hand into a mousetrap. Not having any other choice, I slipped a finger in, shuddering.

“It’s at the bottom. Reach around for it.”

I was about to go deeper when I realized the obvious.

“How could you put anything in your right pocket with a mechanical hand?”

He smiled, sheepish.

“Caught me. It’s in my jacket.”

I muttered asshole under my breath and quickly found the high-tech phone in his jacket.

“How do I use the camera?”

“Go to the menu first.”

I stared at the device, which looked slightly more complicated than the helm of a nuclear submarine.

“Is this a touch screen?”

“There’s a menu button in the center of the keypad.”

“What’s it look like?”

“It looks like the menu button. It says menu on it.”

“There are six thousand buttons.”

“Give it to me.”

“Harry, keep your eyes on the-”

The wheels caught on the tracks and hopped them, jerking the whole truck to the right. We hit one railroad tie after another in rapid succession, each feeling like it would rip us apart.

“Downshift!” McGlade screamed, while he reached lefty for the hand brake. I fought the ball knob into neutral, then tried to steady the wheel as we slowed down, and finally stalled.

I checked my mirror, and miraculously the trailer was still attached.

“Look.” Harry tore the phone from my hand and pressed something. “There’s the damn menu button. Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if we got moving. We’ve only got-”

A whistle cut me off. It was followed by a familiar ding ding ding sound, coming from the intersection up ahead.

“No way,” Harry said. “No fucking way.”

I squinted into the distance and saw the small black dot of a train.

CHAPTER 41

4 MINUTES

“START THE TRUCK, MCGLADE.”

“You think?”

I cursed myself for not telling Jim to also stop all train traffic, but hindsight is always 20/20. Harry stuck his butt in my face and bent under the steering column, fussing with the wires.

“It was brown, right?”

“Yeah, touch the brown to the red.”

“It’s too dark. They’re all brown. Hold on.”

He dug into his pocket-his left one-and removed a set of keys.

“Damn. My key chain light is out.”

“Open the door, McGlade. Get some sunlight in here.”

“This thing had a five-year warranty.”

“McGlade!”

He opened his door and climbed onto the foot stand. I chanced a look at the oncoming train. I’m not a good judge of distance, but I estimated that we had roughly thirty seconds before impact. I had an irrational urge to jump out of the cab and run for it. Or maybe it wasn’t irrational. It was, however, pointless. Frightened as I was, I wouldn’t be able to run a mile in thirty seconds.

I wondered if anything poignant should be playing through my head, about my life or my past or my dreams, but the only thing I could focus on was the fingerprint. If I died, I wanted the Chemist caught. I fumbled with the phone menu until I found the camera selection, and then I held it up to latent, using the WYSIWYG screen to make sure I framed it well.

“I’m touching the wires. Nothing is happening.”

Another train whistle, louder and deeper.

“Are we in second gear?” McGlade asked.

I clicked the picture, then hit menu to access e-mail.

“Jackie! Put it in second!”

I looked up at the train. Real close now. I could see it was Metra-a commuter-probably loaded with people. I grabbed the shifter, but it didn’t move.

“The clutch, McGlade!”

He hit the clutch with his hand, I popped it into second gear, and the truck roared to life. We had maybe ten seconds before the big bang. I heard a painful screeching of the train hitting the brakes, McGlade pulled himself up behind the wheel and revved the engine, and we shifted into first. The truck jerked forward, Harry hit the gas, and he muscled it over the tracks and down the incline, toward the street. The train squealed past.

“No problem,” he said, turning onto St. Louis Drive. “That missed us by at least six seconds.”

I tasted copper. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood.

St. Louis was free of cars, and it was a straight shot to the treatment plant, only a few blocks ahead.

“Your fat partner better be there.”

“He’ll be there.”

I finished typing in Hajek’s e-mail address, which I remembered from the other day, and sent him the fingerprint picture with a note saying Chemist. Then I called Herb. A recording answered.

“The cellular customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try your call again later.”

I tried again. Same result. Third time wasn’t any different. I checked the clock. A little over two minutes left.

Not enough time for us to get away.

If Harry left now, maybe he could find another car to escape the blast in time, or some kind of shelter like a basement.

“You need to get out, McGlade.”

“Get out of what?”

“The truck. I can’t get in touch with Herb. If all the streets are as backed up as Hamlin, he’s not going to be there on time.”

Harry looked at me.

“So we just leave the truck here, in the street?”

“No.” I swallowed. “I’m taking it to the plant by myself.”