'Taking it With You' by Daniel Prokop

Chapter 7

“There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed.” ~ Napoleon Bonaparte

Chapter 7

The glossy white walls of the Napoleon Brothers’ executive car park reflect the powerful LED lights. Visitors to this highly secure enclave of exclusive cars were not welcome.

Faith's immaculate designer boots wobble unsteadily as she approaches her Ferrari. Her lipstick matches the car. A welcoming beep greets her as she approaches. It would be purring soon enough. Faith gives the car one of her rare smiles. It was nice to have her license back.

As she sits in the leather driver’s seat her hand shakes so much she has difficulty getting the key into the ignition. She is so tired. The insignificant effort of turning the ignition on exhausts her.

“God, I am so out of practice!  One drink! One, one hundred- year-old drink.” Whilst not a teetotaler, Faith was not a big drinker, mainly because she refused to drink alone. 

Faith rests her head briefly on the steering wheel. The sound of the engine soothes her. When she backs out, she backs out fast.  She would put her seatbelt on, eventually.

She looks at the smoothly receding gate in her rear view mirror. There is a large sign on it of a mobile phone inside a red circle with a line across it which conveniently reminds Faith about the call she was going to make. She immediately rummages in her bag and retrieves her Nokia. As she accelerates the wheels give a satisfying screech.

Faith drives with her mobile in the crook of her neck. She had upgraded her phone recently but had not got around to having her hands-free system modified. An amber light to Faith means accelerate. Red means floor it. She guns it to overtake a truck, swerving back into her lane just before the oncoming traffic. Faith gave women drivers a bad name which is strange because she actually drove like a man, a mad man.

Under the harsh lights of a grey concrete military base, a snow-covered troop carrier pulls to a halt. The icy back flap of the truck rolls up from the inside. Two soldiers jump out and shout angrily back into the truck. Awkwardly, painfully, a maroon clad figure climbs out and is soon surrounded by half a dozen half-frozen soldiers. Tenzin’s shoulders are slumped; face and clothes are torn and bloody.

One of the soldiers jabs his rifle butt hard into Tenzin’s back before they push their captive roughly towards a grim-looking building. It is a grimmer looking building than the other grim- looking buildings. Blade Runner could have been filmed here but only if they had wanted razor wire fences in the background. A Jeep with an orange revolving light mounted on the roof drives past.  It casts a crazy strobe effect over Tenzin.

The flashing light from the top of the ambulance pierces the Chicago darkness and gives the crash scene a surreal feel. A crumpled red Ferrari is wrapped around a light pole. It is no longer purring.

Competent concerned paramedics carefully, but quickly, load a stretcher into the back of the ambulance. The doors close, the siren wails and the ambulance pulls swiftly away.