Johnny Came Home: A John Lazarus Adventure - excerpt

Chapter 6 - Hostage Situations

Johnny peeled around the turn as fast and hard as the Plymouth and the laws of physics would allow, hoping to convince his passenger that he truly was doing everything in his power to lose their pursuers. Truth be told, he was seriously considering just letting the nice policemen catch them. He could always bust out of jail later and still make his rendezvous at the old house on Archer Lane. Maybe.

Everything had been going according to plan until about 15 minutes ago.

He'd been waiting in the SuperBig Mart parking lot for Weasel to return with his shopping list. He'd chosen a spot that afforded a good vantage of both the main road and the front doors of the department store.

Well, it did, until some half-drunk redneck in baggy blue overalls, a red ball cap with a frayed bill and an ill-fitting, grease-stained wife beater pulled up in the ugliest pickup Johnny had ever laid eyes on. The ancient oil burner might have been fire engine red at one time, but generous patches of rust and pink body putty had rendered it a mottled mess. Perversely, this metal beast belched out rowdy country music at a volume that rattled its windows and blasted fresh chunks of rust off its rocker panels. Johnny had always wondered why anyone would abuse a perfectly good radio with country music in the first place. It just didn't seem civilized.

To add insult to injury, the good ol' boy at the wheel fancied himself quite the vocalist. He sang with a gusto and enthusiasm that was conversely matched with his mastery of tone and pitch. As the song ended, he tossed back the last foam of his lukewarm beer, sloshed out of the truck and staggered off in the general direction of the store.

Johnny hunched down when he finally got a good look at the karaoke king of Midwich. This guy lived somewhere on Archer Lane, too. Was he Wacky Jackie’s dad? Johnny watched until the big lout disappeared into the SuperBig Mart.

Suddenly the passenger door jerked open and a gun entered the cab, wielded by a wiry young man in a rubber mask.

"Hands where I can see them," the carjacker said. "And don't try anything funny."

Johnny’s first instinct was to fling this misguided criminal right back out the door like he’d skipped that rock across the river, but at the very moment he considered that action, he saw his own death, immediate and brutal. He scowled much the same way he used to when he’d find himself at a dead end in one of those choose-your-own-fate books he loved reading as a kid. There was nothing to do but choose the other path and hope it played out better.

So instead of using his powers, Johnny did as he was told. The carjacker’s voice was distorted somehow, but it definitely belonged to a man. The stranger ducked into the car, keeping the weapon trained on the driver. He was wearing a rubber mask that bore a vague resemblance to Hillary Clinton.

Johnny tried to remain calm, to keep control of the situation. He couldn't believe he was being car-jacked! He concentrated on finding the criminal's eyes, hoping this simple connection might establish him as a fellow human being and not just as a mark. The folds and shadows of the mask's eye slits thwarted his attempts. Too bad. If he could've made eye contact and held it, he might've been able to–

"Oh, no you don't! Eyes straight ahead. Do it now!"

"Look, my wallet's in my back right pocket," Johnny said. "You can have it. The debit card's maxed out, but I have about $60 cash."

"We don't want your money, John Lazarus. We want you."

Despite the gunman's warning, Johnny's head snapped around to face his abductor. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

The gun went off.

Johnny saw the flash, saw the bullet racing toward him. Impossibly, it stopped in mid-air, hovering about three inches from his face, still spinning on its way toward him, right between his eyes. But Johnny hadn’t stopped it. His eyes found his tormentor's. Green eyes leered at him mockingly from behind Hillary Clinton's face.

The bullet dropped, bouncing off the seat cushion between them.

"You're like me," Johnny said.

"In your wildest dreams. Now turn around and drive nice like a good little boy, Johnny, or I promise you I won't stop the next one until just after it stops your heart."

Johnny bristled at the racist way his abductor said the word "boy." Still, it wouldn’t do to antagonize the masked man until he had a better idea what was going on.

"Sure. Whatever you say," Johnny said. He stole a glance at the store entrance without making it too obvious. There was no sign of his friend. Hoping he'd be able to reunite with Weasel later somehow, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Just drive," Hillary said. "Make a right onto the main drive. I'll tell you where to go from there."

He did as he was told, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess.

"You said, we. We want you. Who are working for? Titan?"

"No more questions."

"At least, tell me how you found me so fast." As he distracted his abductor with questions, he mentally pushed the car's cigarette lighter.

"I said – No!" A police car had pulled onto the road ahead and was driving toward them. "No. No, no, no. Drive casually." He pressed the gun into Johnny's side. "Keep your eyes on the road. Do not attempt to make eye contact. And don't even think about trying anything Twilight Zone. Got it?"

Johnny glanced at his tormentor, who'd jabbed the gun into his side at the end of each sentence to emphasize his point. He swallowed his rage and nodded tightly. "I got it." He stole a peek at the cigarette lighter. It wasn't ready yet.

The squad car approached. Johnny glanced at the driver, despite himself.

"Eyes front." Hillary’s warning was punctuated with a fresh dig of the pistol.

The police car passed them without incident. Hillary watched the cop's progress in the passenger side mirror, keeping the gun planted in his hostage's side. The lighter finally popped up, but Johnny couldn't use it with the gun trained on him.

"Well done. Turn here. We're getting off the main road."

At that moment, the cop car made a sharp U-turn, flipped on its siren and roared down the road after them.

"What did you do?" Hillary roared. He nudged the gun deeper into Johnny's side this time. Johnny gasped and struggled to keep the car under control through the pain. His assailant seemed singularly unconcerned about the extreme danger he was putting them in.

"Nothing. I swear," Johnny said. "The police saw us earlier, but we lost them. Must be looking for the car." Truth be told, Johnny had recognized the cop and he was pretty sure everyone still knew what the late Sheriff Lazarus’ only son looked like. Of course, telling Hillary that would probably be disastrous, so he didn’t mention it.

Hillary looked unconvinced. Johnny saw it in his eyes. This psycho wanted a reason to just shoot him and be done with it. What was holding him back?

"Besides," Johnny said, "you are wearing a mask."

"On Halloween!"

"Tell that to them."

"You've got to be kidding me. Floor it! Lose this pork chop. Head for the river."

Of course, rather than losing their police tail, they'd actually gained a pursuer since that moment. Johnny was as desperate not to be caught as his passenger; unfortunately, Hillary was insisting on calling the shots and he’d made a series of very bad decisions, thus far.

Johnny mentally pushed in the car's lighter again, hoping for another opportunity.

- End of Preview -

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