Pearl

Chapter Fourteen: Ice Cream

His guest had proven curious beyond containment, and he was only happy that the books, at least, occupied her interest for a few short hours at a time. She seemed drawn to Charlotte's room, with its plush pink rugs and rose-tinted pillows to lounge on as she read.

She was also proving very good at ignoring the child without making her feel ignored.

Really, she had the makings of a fine babysitter, he thought.

Theodore considered, wanting to push, torn between his drive to protect (itself torn between his daughter and the clearly abused young woman before him) and wanting to help resolve the issue of his uninvited guest.

"All right, then," he decided. He stretched out his hand. "Cherry, come along. We'll stop for ice cream if you're good."

A memory surged in the guest's mind, a mouth-feel both cool and sweet.

The farmer was suddenly aware of not one but two sets of big, interested, pleading eyes upon him.

"Lyly, would you like to come along for some ice cream as well?" he asked, trying to hide the sudden impulse to chuckle.

"Yes, please," she said, setting her book aside, and it was decided that they were all going into town for ice cream.

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Larry watched, slack-jawed, through his rear-view mirror as the trailing van pulled apace of the cop cruiser on the double-wide merge lane and swerved, pushing both vehicles into and through the slim barrier that lined the overpass.

Hearing the crunch of metal and glass as the two cars hit the ground behind him, his bladder shrinking as adrenaline pumped through his blood, Larry made a decision.

The team the Facility had sent to replace them were idiots, and those idiots weren't gonna lay a hand on that cop—he was Larry and Gary's to kill, and theirs alone.

Larry hit the speed-dial on the phone without looking, swerving into the wide shoulder of the overpass and smashing the accelerator. Horns honked as his antics caused a crash right behind him, the sound almost drowning out Gary's annoyed voice as it flickered into the space of the cabin.

"What? Are you almost here?" Gary asked.

"Gary, get yer ass movin'!" Larry shouted as he careened around the corner and maneuvered to double back to the crash. "We need the rammer down by the overpass—that other team in the van pushed our mark off at the peak and both crashed down into that lil' area by the light at 51st."

Larry saw the smoke rising from the wreckage and reached forward into the glove department, where he had stashed a revolver earlier that day.

"What the--they stole our plan!" Gary shouted through the phone, and a deep rumble came through the speaker as he started up the engine. "Larry, I'm on my way, you keep that kill, you hear me? Larry, don't let them get past you or we're deadmen!" Gary shouted, but Larry was already out of the car, having thrown the sedan into park and rising from the front seat, revolver held tight in both hands.

The van and the cruiser had landed a few yards apart, the cruiser on its top and the van on its side.

Nothing moved at first as Larry approached. 

It was eerily quiet, just the hiss of a motor and the crunch of glass beneath his feet as Larry circled around the van.

He couldn't figure out their game—what use was risking themselves like this? What was the plan after they crashed the cop? Larry crouched and peered in through the front windshield, noting the empty driver's seat.