One Blood

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-One

I-10 West

Lincoln sped down the highway, maintaining a comfortable distance between his Jeep and the Crown Victoria containing Snake Roberts and Big Bald Ugly. The younger man and Coral were about five miles ahead of the Crown Vic in the white Ford Taurus. Rain pounded the cars without mercy.

They were the only cars headed toward Lake City; the eastbound lanes were gridlocked. The shifting traffic patterns confirmed what Lincoln was hearing on the 640 AM weather advisory. A detour thirty miles ahead would re-route them either north or east. All traffic entering Calcasieu Parish had been cut off.

This news was completely unacceptable. Lincoln had to take out the Crown Vic and its occupants, and then stop the Taurus, without hurting himself, his car, or Coral Lafitte. He checked the gas gauge—half a tank left. The dashboard clock read 3:10 p.m. The darkened sky overhead made it seem much later.

Twenty-five miles to the detour.

If Lincoln didn’t move now, it would be too late. He flew past a sign lit up in a flash of lightning: Atchafalaya Bridge 2 miles. The Atchafalaya Bridge was a fifteen- mile stretch of concrete hovering above the Atchafalaya Swamp. The eastbound and westbound lanes were very narrow, with very little shoulder. On this dark, rain-soaked evening, it would be easy to run the Crown Vic over the side. It was his only chance.

He sped past another sign—the bridge was one mile ahead. Lincoln jammed the gas pedal to the floor. The quality of the asphalt changed as he moved onto the bridge. The sound of the wind over the Jeep and the road underneath melded into a symphony of action. The taillights of the Crown Vic grew bigger, much like Lincoln’s eyes as he anticipated contact. If he was right, Big Bald Ugly would see him in his rearview and get over into the slow lane.

* * * * *

Snake relaxed. He finally felt like things were back under control. Unhooking one velcro shoulder of his bulletproof vest, he peeked at the damage. His shoulder wound had turned into an ugly black circle of charred flesh and was beginning to smell. The only consolation was that soon, he’d be a rich man with the best doctors money could buy. As they passed the sign announcing the Atchafalaya Bridge, he drifted off to sleep with a smile.

* * * * *

Larry’s face was all concentration. He hated driving in the rain and wasn’t a huge fan of driving at night, either. But now, because of this damn storm, he got both. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Snake with his head against the window, legs stretched out on the backseat, snoring. Then he saw the headlights of an unidentified vehicle gaining on them. His first instinct was to accelerate, but instead he slowed down.

Let the asshole pass. At that speed, he’ll be sleeping with the swamp gators for sure.

Larry smiled, imagining the unidentified car barreling off the highway in smoke and flames. A moment later, the Crown Vic entered the Atchafalaya Bridge.

* * * * *

Snake twitched in the backseat as a nightmare enveloped him.

He watched the cops beat down a tall, black kid in prep school clothes who’d been standing at half-court in Simmons Park. Snake scanned the carnage and admired Lafitte’s ruthlessness. It took a seriously imbalanced motherfucker to plan out something this crazy. Snake tripped over a corpse in a black t-shirt and almost fell. He kicked the corpse in repayment.

He would have to watch his step. There were bodies everywhere. For his contribution to the body count, Snake was going to make a quick fifty grand. Not bad for a few hours work. Still, he had to admit, he hadn’t expected to jump out into Vietnam…