In Dark Places

Chapter Twenty-two

Gray was fighting back panic, an unfamiliar feeling for himbut then he'd never been a hunted animal before. His arrest last year had come without warning, and he'd spent all his time afterward in confinement. Now he was free, but the trick was to stay free. No fuckups, or he would be back in the Reptile House, then transferred to some state hellhole like Pelican Bay, and all his good times would end.

What he had to do was put some miles between himself and the office. Easy enough, once he was driving the doc's Saab, but it was parked in the lot behind the building, and the prison van was there too, with Forrest Gump nestled behind the wheel.

Gray opened the building's rear door and scouted the parking lot, considering his options. If he left this way, he'd be directly in the driver's line of sight. The doc's jacket and the deputy's cap and pants made him less conspicuous, but the Dawg was almost sure to recognize him if he looked in Gray's direction.

Maybe he wouldn't, though. Goober seemed to be reading a newspaper or some shit. Which was surprising, since Gray hadn't realized these deputy dipshits could read. The driver might not even look up. And if he did amp;

Gray could pop him. He had the dead hick's guna nice hefty Beretta nine, a bigger piece than the deuce-deuce he used when he was snuffing cheerleaders. Maybe he could smoke the Gumpster before old Forrest had time to react. Still, he wasn't kidding himself. He wasn't exactly surgical with a piece. The odds weren't exactly on his side.

Well, whatever the motherfuck he did, he better do it fast. Doc Robin might already be shaking off the woozies and getting on the phone to 911.

He should've pulled the plug on that bitch when he had the chance. Wasn't sure why he hadn't. Could've snapped her neck while she was out cold, or raked a hole in her throat with the screwie.

Too late now. He had no time to go back and finish the job. No time to find another exit, either. His only hope was to go out the back door and get out of the hillbilly's line of sight before he was made.

He stuffed the gun into the waistband of his pants, under the jacket, then stepped outside. He resisted the instinct to keep his head down, instead looking boldly ahead like any other nine-to-five zombie who had a perfect constitutional right to be here. He never even glanced at the prison van or the brainless inbred fucker in the driver's seat.

Hands in his pockets, he crossed the parking lot, taking slow, even strides, a man in no hurry. At the other end of the lot he finally allowed himself a look at the vannot by turning his head, but by checking it out in a parked car's side-view mirror.

The Deputy Dawg was still sitting behind the wheel, head down, reading. He'd be reading his fucking termination notice soon.

"You're horse-fucked, Gomer," Gray muttered with a smile, "you dumb peckerwood piece of shit."

It had been too easy.

He remembered where Doc Robin parked her wheels. On previous occasions he'd noticed the shiny new Saab in a reserved spacea tight car, perfect for his getaway. He headed toward it at a fast walk, then slowed, shaking his head in consternation.

Shit, what the hell happened to his ride? It used to be so sweet and shiny. Now it was a fucking wreck. Windshield cracked, side window busted. He was disappointed in the doc. He'd expected her to take better care of her rig.

He turned off the car alarm with the remote control on the key ring, adjusted the driver's seat, then slipped inside and turned the key in the ignition switch. Quickly he backed out of the space. Once clear of the lot, he accelerated, speeding down a series of side streets until he felt safe.

He relaxed a little, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of the steering wheel and the responsiveness of the engine, pleasures he hadn't experienced in a year of incarceration.

The CD on the tray was some classical shit. That crap made his ears bleed. He ejected the disk and tossed it out the window, then dialed through the FM stations till he found some kick-ass rock 'n' roll. He pumped it loud, beating his hands on the steering wheel above the blare.

He was laughing. He was out of Twin Towers. He was on the loose and living large.

"Lock up your daughters, moms and dads," he said with a whoop of glee. "Justin Gray is back in town!"