The Man Who Cheated Death

Chapter 17 The Rollercoaster Escape

When Jan awoke the next morning, a single rose lay in the crease of her husband’s pillow. It was barely light outside, too early for him to be back at the theater. Union hands loved working overtime, yet were impossible to make come in earlier than nine.

She found Vince’s note taped to the bathroom mirror. “A stagehand broke the Spirit Cabinet right after you left. Called Les Griffey and he agreed to fix post haste. Will be with him all morning. See you soon. XXX Vince”

She filled an empty bottle with water and slipped the rose down its neck, then got dressed, wondering when their problems would end, and their lives would go back to being normal.

She spent the morning on her laptop. At noon, she and Crystal took a cab to the theatre, stopping on the way to pick up dry cleaning from a local laundry. Their cabby, a blue-eyed Iranian who politely inquired if they were movie stars, double-parked on the quiet side street and left the meter running.

“I talked to Dad last night,” Crystal said. “I told him that you were worried about him doing an escape to help promote the show.”

“What time was this?” Jan asked.

“About two. I heard him come in, and we talked for a little while. He said he doesn’t really have a choice.”

“Are ticket sales that bad?”

“Yeah. He said we could go bust if they don’t improve. He already contacted a local TV station, and they agreed to televise it on Friday night.”

“Wait a minute. Your father has already lined this up? Which escape is he planning to do?”

“It’s something new.”

“Did he tell you? Come on, Crys, don’t keep secrets from me.”

Her stepdaughter glanced out the window.

“Hey, that guy across the street is staring at us.”

“Stop avoiding the question,” Jan said.

“I’m not avoiding the question. Come on, you’re supposed to be protecting me, aren’t you?”

Jan had a look. The driver in question had double-parked his van in the street, his face buried in some papers.

“He’s not staring anymore. Tell me what your father’s planning to do. I have a right to know.”

“The roller-coaster escape.”

“Oh, my God. You can’t be serious.”

“Dad says it’s a winner, and will get a lot of publicity.”

“Didn’t a performer down in Mexico get killed trying that stunt? What on earth is your father thinking?”

Crystal shook her head. “He’s made up his mind, Jan.”

Jan knew what that meant. When Vince decided he was going to do something, there was no turning back. She angrily got out of the cab, and slammed the door behind her.

Jan stood in line and waited for her dry-cleaning. She felt betrayed. Her husband was confiding in his daughter, but not in her. Had it been over something small, she could have excused it, but this was anything but trivial.

She paid for her order. Walking outside, she came around the corner to where their cab was double-parked, and saw broken glass in the street. She shivered at the sight of where a bullet had frosted the driver’s window.

The dry cleaning slipped through her fingers. She ran around the vehicle, and pulled open the driver’s door. Their affable cabby was slumped behind the wheel, a bloody, half dollar sized bullet hole above his left ear.

“Crys...? Crys!”

The backseat was empty. A wave of absolute dread swept over her. Crystal hadn’t been imagining things. The guy in the van had been stalking them.

Jan opened the driver’s door and rolled the corpse onto the pavement. Jumping in, she threw the running engine into drive and the cab leapt forward like an uncaged animal. She ran the next traffic light, stopping in the middle of the intersection to look both ways. The van had vanished. In desperation she grabbed the microphone to the cab radio.

“This is an emergency. I need help. Does anyone hear me?”

“Who the hell is this?” barked a radio dispatcher.

“My name is Jan Hardare.” She glanced at the operator’s license on the dash. “I’m driving the cab of Fami El Hassad.”

“Where’s Hassad?”

“He’s dead. The man who killed him has abducted my stepdaughter. I’m driving west on Pico Boulevard just past La Cienga in pursuit of a white van. Please call 911.”

“I’m dialing right now,” the dispatcher said. “Hey lady, please don’t do anything crazy with the cab.”

The screech of brakes drowned him out. She ran a red light and swerved out of the path of an oncoming Mercedes, the passengers cries making her skin crawl. At the next intersection she hit the brakes again, and looked both ways. The van could be hiding in an alley, or parked behind a larger truck, there was no way to know.

“Hey lady,” the radio dispatcher said.

“Yes...” she said, grabbing the microphone.

“The police are coming. I put an emergency call out to my fleet. One of my men just spotted a van on the corner of Fairfax and 18^th Street, heading west. He said the driver was really hauling.”

“I don’t know where that is,” she shouted, horns blaring around her as she dangerously weaved through traffic. “I’m heading south on Spaulding. Can you get me there?”

“Sure. Make a right and go to Fairfax. Hang a left, and that takes you to 18th Street.”

Jan followed the dispatcher’s while flooring the gas. A block ahead, she saw the spotted the van jockeying between cars.

“I see him! He’s still on Fairfax. I’m going after him.”

“Lady, let the police handle this. Lady... lady!”