What goes around...

(Continued from PART TWO of What goes around...)

Playing chicken with the devil

"Well Roddy, I hope you got something better than Caleb to throw at me, because I just left him and his boyfriend as a greasy spot in the road. This is fun! Could I have some more of you to smear over my road please? My handle's King of the Road. What's yours? Piss-ant up my leg?"

Yeah, it wasn't eloquent, but it was the best I could do off the top of my head.

I wasn't really that good at talk meant to enrage others.

Then Headhunter chimed in. "Goddamn! Somebody call the ambulance! There's been a terrible wreck here. Arms and legs just laying all over the place!"

That was all Headhunter said. When others requested more info, he pretended he didn't hear them, or else had switched channels.

It was obvious Headhunter's voice had been a different one from mine. So he sure enough might have been an eye-witness on the scene-- at least in the minds of some.

It was great theater!

The chatter on the channel got fierce for a couple minutes, with multiple people talking over the top of one another.

"Come on Roddy! Send me more fresh meat! I'm waiting! You guys aren't running off already are you?" I chimed in again, when the chatter had declined some.

That caused the chatter to spike once more, mostly with death threats to me, as Caleb's radio silence was starting to make the reality of it sink in for them.

"Yeah, you're all a bunch of little girls! All talk and no action! Caleb was the bravest one of you, and now he's lunch for the crows! Come on! Surely there's one or two of you left out there who's got some balls!"

I kept pouring gasoline on the rhetorical fire every time I could think of another good line-- with my language getting coarser by the moment. I was on a roll!

I paid no attention at all to the frothing-at-the-mouth threats I was getting in return now-- partly because some of them often lapsed into total incoherency. I just kept pumping out more taunts as I thought them up. Knowing that lots of the kind of characters Roddy had rounded up for this didn't take such insults easily. Hopefully I was ruining his control over his gang. They'd be easier to handle one at a time, than all together.

Then a new voice came over the radio.

"Hey King of the Road. Got your ears on?"

I didn't respond. I didn't recognize the voice. And unlike the other baddies, it sounded calm and collected. The new voice also seemed to quickly quiet all the others.

"If you can hear me King of the Road, I'm your man. Just let me know where you are."

I still didn't respond. But I was heading lickety-split towards the posse entire.

"I know all about you Staute. That's my job. I know these days you're usually working a guard detail run between Montgomery and Atlanta, and you were headed back that way today. I know about your car and its little tricks. But they won't work on me. I retire guys like you all the time. You think you're an outlaw, but that's a laugh. You haven't seen a real outlaw before. I'm the real McCoy."

I still said nothing. I figured this must be the dreaded Gannon. He seemed to be trying to make himself sound like a hit man. But that didn't impress me.

I hoped this was Gannon: for it'd mean Headhunter wasn't. Yay!

For the new voice didn't sound like one Headhunter could easily impersonate. Or vice versa. Of course, there was still no way to be absolutely sure. The stranger continued talking.

"I usually retire them quick. But I'm being paid extra on this one to make you linger. I'm just going to cripple you up and turn you over to my employer. I hear he's got big plans for you--"

I decided to interrupt him.

"Oh wow! You've really got me scared now, shit-head! Ha, ha. I just left Caleb in pieces behind me, and you're telling me you're going to do the same to me? So far lots of guys just like you have tried, and their pieces are now in coffins eight feet under. What makes you so special?" I actually didn't know how many men had died trying to hurt me. But I figured several for sure.

"I'm Green Beret."

"So that's my cue to be scared? Hmm. Let me think about it for a minute-- no, I'm sorry. It don't work for me. Wait 'til I get there, and I'll give you something to be scared of..."

Gannon didn't respond to me.

Then Headhunter came back online.

"Hey! You Green Beret bastard! Still got your ears on? I'm with Special Operations myself. Maybe we've met?"

"Who's this?" Gannon asked.

"Aww, just somebody you probably didn't expect to see here. Somebody who heard of a Gannon who washed out of Green Beret training not long back due to his slimy nature and plain old incompetence."

"You're not S.O. You're bull-shitting," Gannon came back.

"If I'm not S.O. then somebody sure sprang a hell of leak somewhere! Ever hear of a little gal by the name of Rachel Hodge? Word is what you did to her was what got your ass kicked out."

After that moment Gannon never spoke another word over the radio.

"King, don't you worry about that guy claiming to be Green Beret. He's lying. He's had some training sure, but much of it didn't take apparently. So he was shit-canned with a vengeance. As soon as he shows his ass, it's mine," Headhunter assured me. Which sounded absolutely great to me! In more than one way! For it now appeared that Headhunter and Gannon truly were different people! Strike up the band, boys!

But I also wondered what it'd be like to have something approaching two full-blown military commandos involved in our little war here. Yikes!

At least it was unlikely they had any military armament with them. Right? Uh oh. Gannon likely came loaded for bear, while Headhunter probably didn't.

I hoped I hadn't got Headhunter into something that'd be the death of him!

Man, if Headhunter wasn't turning out to be one hell of a guy!

Whoa! What if I hadn't raced him? I'd be all by myself now, maybe facing some crazed commando drop out!

I gathered from the ongoing radio chatter that several carloads of baddies-- against orders-- had now broken off from the main body, and were headed to meet me.

Great! My little tirade had worked! But now what the hell would I do with them when I met them?

At least they were unlikely to present a solid road block against me, I figured. For that required a bit of patience and passivity. No, if I had them mad enough, they'd want to play it something like a road version of fighter jets, with us all swooping past or chasing each other, all the time trying to cause one another to crash and burn via various methods.

Or maybe it'd all boil down to something far simpler: a deadly game of chicken.

I'd played chicken before. Unfortunately, here my opponents were not only likely to be crazy or stupid or both-- they were also mad as hell.

So maybe my only chance in winning a game of chicken with them was to both surprise and terrify them at the same time...but how?

Hmm. A previous road stunt came to mind. One I'd performed by pure accident the first time, then by subconscious instinct or memory the second. Now I was pretty sure I could consciously do it. And it seemed like it would have a fair chance of success. I was pretty sure none of my present opponents had ever before encountered the tactic I had in mind. Or not in the midst of a confrontation, anyway.

Of course if it didn't work, I could be in a major crack up. Hmm. If I paid close enough attention though, I believed I could pull myself out of the stunt almost anywhere along the way. Or abort it, if it didn't appear to be working. But making out what was happening might be tough with the landscape whizzing horizontally around me that way...oh well!

I rounded another curve and there they were, at the far end of the straight away stretched out before me, freshly arriving from around their own bend, moving down a small hill and towards me. I counted three of them before I began my maneuver.

I'd recognized two of the cars from before. I hoped no innocents had inadvertently gotten their own cars mingled in with posse vehicles here, via the vagaries of traffic flow.

This straight wasn't the ideal battle theater for what I had in mind, for the terrain to either side of the road looked relatively gentle and forgiving of mistakes. So anyone who went off the road might still be able to come back again. On the other hand, that also meant Shadow and I might more easily recover if things went awry, too.

I had to make my move immediately; there was no distance to waste. I saw them, they saw me; everyone knew the fight was on.

Just as I began wagging my steering wheel and punching my brakes, I saw they had their own strategy: they'd staggered their formation to cover both lanes of the road, after exiting the curve, so that I would have nowhere else to go but off the road-- or backwards.

But that might only make my own plan work even better. For I'd been worried before about what might happen if the cars behind the first didn't see what I was doing until it was too late-- and cause us all to mash together out of ignorance.

The whole world began spinning about me as I set Shadow into a series of high speed 360 degree spins, taking up the entire highway with our length in a different manner from our enemies. Our momentum though kept us headed straight at them (I'd made sure of how our inertia was set before starting the maneuver).

Imagine what my foes saw in that moment: Shadowfast apparently completely out of control, coming at them at around 100 mph, spinning end to end, taking up the entire road. This was no longer a game of chicken for them: it was a massive crash in progress, and they had to avoid getting caught up in it!

I was doing my best to track their reactions from my vantage point, but it was tough! It was sort of like seeing only one frame out of every twenty of a film strip running through a projector, and having to guess what was happening in all those frames in-between. Except that here there was some blurring too.

At the same time I was watching them, I had to also make sure I wasn't accidentally taking us off the road with an errant turn of the wheel. Yikes! And that proved tougher than I expected!

Apparently this maneuver is much easier if your subconscious mind rather than conscious one is controlling it. Agh! Or at least it'd seemed easier last time I did it!

Did I have to abort? No. I ended up not pulling out of the spins until the entire road had been voluntarily cleared by my enemies at relatively high speed.

I was a little dizzy by that point, which made pulling out of the spins again harder than originally expected. But I managed it. Then as my head swayed involuntarily to its own continuing internal spin, I made a few glances around and behind to gauge the aftermath, even as Shadow and I continued on down the road, now in a much more normal fashion.

One of the cars was lost to sight entirely; I couldn't tell what had happened to it. This was puzzling, given the largely flat and even terrain on both sides of the road. I mean, there was plenty of foliage in spots; but seemingly not enough to easily hide a car anywhere near to the roadway.

Another car had apparently flipped on its top and skidded pretty far off road, its wheels still spinning in air. The third car seemed to have the wheels on one side stuck in a ditch or trench, rendered invisible by the foliage.

Five cars down; unknown number to go.

I immediately returned to the radio.

"Hey Roddy! I need more guys! Those last few you sent me just shit on themselves and ran off the road on me. I haven't got the time to chase you guys through the woods on foot! Either come out and play or quit wasting my time! I've got better things to do than teach you girls how to squeal! That's what your mommas for!"

The CB chatter went up again. This time including a few voices apparently from the cars I'd just run off the road, expressing disbelief that I could be completely unscathed by the events of past minutes. They related to the others how I'd been a wreck in motion coming at them, etc., etc. Finally, some of them started expressing the view that I'd gone off my rocker, and might now be unpredictable.

Ah! Just what I was shooting for!

Of course cooler heads prevailed, unfortunately. And I heard indications of road block trap preparations being made, and watchers being posted to help alert them as to when to sew it up.

They obviously expected me to come barreling in at high speed, at which time they'd hit me with a barrage of gunfire, while also blocking all possibilities for retreat. One way or another I'd be stopped by the vehicles blocking the road, and then they could just close in for the kill...

Right around then, a fresh development raised its head. Namely, the posse started noticing that there were members dropping out of radio contact, that were nowhere near me.

Headhunter! Bless his soul! I just hoped he survived this!

Now Headhunter was chewing on them from the other side, as I did my thing on this one.

Well, I guessed I'd have to crank it up a notch.

Now that they thought I'd lost my mind, it was the perfect time for a little cold and calculated behavior. And more scare tactics.

No way was I going to fly straight into a stronghold road block and have my way behind closed off. Instead, I needed to bust the posse up some more. So I pulled off the road into a shallow hidey hole to make a few adjustments to Shadow and our preparations. It only took a few minutes, which I figured I had the luxury of at the moment.

I had three self-contained pen-type marine flares on-board, in addition to my flare pistol and associated rounds. I firmly duct taped two of the pens to my driver's side door rear view mirror, and one to the passenger side. In the little elbow-like spot between mirrors and doors. All pointed ahead of the car. I tried to fix their aim a little high of level horizontal. Then I removed their screw caps, exposing their chain finger pull triggers. For this trick the pens seemed better than the pistol.

I next made sure my .38 revolver, shot gun, and some extra ammo for both were handy for quick access. I loaded my long gun with two slugs from its stock sock supply, then with all six slugs from my vest supply. For any more slugs than that, I'd have had to dip into my onboard ammo box. My stock sock and vest still held scatter-shot rounds though. Plus another couple full loads for my 38, beyond the five rounds I also loaded there at this time, before slipping the pistol, safety-on, into a pants pocket.

I returned to the road and headed back to where I'd left those posse members scattered behind me.

I came again to the straightaway where I'd left them, and there they were. They'd made surprising progress at getting themselves back on the road again. Except of course for the car still on its top.

There disturbingly seemed to be too many cars in the tableau; for now there were three vehicles either on the road, or near to getting on; despite the fact that the car which had previously disappeared from the road was still missing in action.

I was puzzled by the numerical anomaly. But figured that perhaps not all the cars had yet rounded the bend when I initially spotted them, prior to my spins. And that maybe more than one had gone out of sight off the road during the event.

I immediately turned on my siren as I sighted them anew. For I wanted to make sure they saw me coming. I wasn't going very fast as I entered the straight though.

The two cars already on the road took off wheels a spinning straight at me, leaving some of their ride-alongs stranded on the side of the road with the remaining vehicle.

I figured there was no way they'd fall for the same 360 spins again. Oh yeah: they'd scatter for self-preservation; but not in a sheer uncontrolled panic, like before.

What they did do was somewhat comical: both cars stayed in the same lane, one behind the other. I guess the second driver wanted a buffer between me and him.

I swerved over into the same lane they were coming at me in, floored Shadow's normal throttle (the nitro would have been overkill here, plus I couldn't have handled the wheel properly), then leaned over and yanked the chain on my passenger side flare. Then I immediately switched hands on the steering wheel, swerved back to the right about half a lane width, and pulled first one and then the other of the flares attached to my driver's side.

Wow! Quite a few sparks flew in my windows from all that! But the driver's side was the worst. The sparks burned my exposed skin where they landed, and I instinctively batted at some spots afterwards to prevent a fire erupting inside the car, or on my person.

My actions had the desired effect. My attackers saw me swerve over as if to ram them, and suddenly accelerate tremendously-- then beheld something like a small rocket fire at them from my passenger side. On the heels of that, they saw me swerve back a bit to better aim at them, and fire in quick succession two more rocket-like things from my driver's side.

(Note I couldn't have done this with my flare pistol, as it was a single shot I'd have been forced to reload manually while driving.)

Yes, I reckoned the entire posse had been either briefed in regards to most of my tricks and gadgets-- or else experienced some of them before, first hand. Including my flare gun use. But none had seen or heard about something like rockets being fired from Shadow-- or witnessed the amazing 360 degree death spin that had rattled this particular bunch only minutes before.

The last one or two flares had maybe been unnecessary, as both cars ran themselves off the road again at considerable speed, trying to avoid being blown up by imaginary rockets.

All the video on TV news every night about rockets being used in Vietnam probably didn't hurt my gambit either (this was the early 1970s, after all).

All my flares finally fell onto the road, bouncing a few times, to finally just sit there sizzling, trying to melt three small holes in the asphalt before they ran out of magnesium.

I avoided letting my tires hit the hot spots as I sped over them: I was afraid the flares might stick to them and make them pop.

Yeah, the pen-flares weren't really much of a threat to anyone, the way I'd used them. But they'd offered a nice visual surprise for my purposes.

I pulled a fast 180 degree turn, then retreated back the way I'd come just a bit, to attain the somewhat higher ground the straight offered nearer to its start, close to the curve where I'd first beheld this bunch coming at me, before.

This move also gave me an extra margin of safety distance-wise from the posse members.

I decided to pull off at a spot so near the curve that if any more posse cars came around and saw me, they'd already be past me before they could shoot at me, or pull over themselves, too near to my position. And if there were more than one of them, the first one stopping or slowing too abruptly could cause the rest to pile into them, maybe ridding me of a few of them that way.

I'd also be on the driver's side of any new enemy cars, making it less likely that anyone on that side could get off a shot at me immediately upon sighting me. And if such baddies did show up, I could easily jump into Shadow and take off around the bend before they could do much about it, as I was already pointed that way anyway, and would have a clear path.

Yeah, the posse's use of CB radios complicated this plan a little. But I figured I might have a few minutes before any more came along. And although the ones I already had sitting here could be radioing in my position, they'd better be doing it quick, before I stopped them.

Once at my chosen location, I stopped and parked just off the road, and surveyed the situation. For the moment the drivers of both the freshly ditched cars seemed occupied, with their companions with the third down the way watching in uncertainty about what was going to happen next.

I was hoping at least one of them was radioing all this in to their main body.

I left Shadow idling to leave open the fast getaway option, and got out, also pulling my shotgun free. It had a short slug barrel on it with a rifle-like sight. It could shoot scatter shot too of course.

I usually kept a mix of slugs and shot rounds with the gun. This occasion called for slugs. I'd preloaded the gun a few minutes before.

I found a good spot to rest myself and the gun against Shadow's driver's side, and took aim at the car I deemed most likely to get moving again any time soon; then blasted a big chunk out of it with a slug.

Or tried to anyway. My target was somewhat further out than I usually practiced with my Remington and slugs.

I practice fired slugs quite a bit. I liked to cut down small trees with them, among other things.

A 12 gauge slug is a pretty big and robust shell.

My first, then second slugs missed, due to me getting accustomed to the new range. Then I did better (at least for targets in range).

The sole occupant of my first target vehicle immediately took cover when they realized I was shooting at them. The sound of the shots alerted the others to do likewise.

I wasn't aiming for the drivers of course; just at the most vulnerable spots of their cars, in order to put them out of commission. Scaring the shit out of those in or around the cars was just a bonus.

I sure hoped someone among them was reporting all this over the radio!

I tried to avoid hitting anyone's battery or dashboard, and thereby putting their radio out of commission. But using slugs at such a distance as this was a bit messy no matter how you did it. I just hoped I didn't injure any of the men too badly with a ricochet or shrapnel along the way.

Where possible I wanted to send my slugs right through grills, hoods, and fenders, and into the vicinity of the cars' relatively fragile radiators, carburetors, and distributors. For those would be much harder to repair than a blown tire or two.

After one slug into the vicinity of the first car's gas tank (it's all I could get at that angle; fortunately in those days a tank's location was relatively easy to guess in most American-made cars), then two into the engine compartment of the second, I noticed the guys with the car just off the road (and not a part of the latest melee) had found their guns and begun shooting at me. Or found pistols rather. At this range and firing wildly like that, I wasn't too concerned with their efforts. But I didn't take kindly to it at all. So I tried to bury a slug in their engine compartment by way of the radiator.

Unfortunately, their car was simply out of range of my slugs, with my rounds striking utterly randomly in their vicinity, no matter how carefully I tried to aim, and account for the extra distance.

But that seemed enough to put them off of their game; for their return fire was all over the place too. Of course it's tough to aim when you're cringing in nearly a fetal position, behind whatever solid cover you can wrest from your similarly frightened companions in the face of fire which could easily take your whole head or a whole limb away in a single strike. In those days there were few non-military type rounds available which could take as big a bite out of a victim as a single 12 gauge slug.

And remember those guys had no idea I was only aiming to disable their cars.

With the last slugs at my immediate disposal, I did my best to insure none of those vehicles would return to the road that day, as well as further terrorize the folks associated with them. But the out of range third car never did take a good hit. I comforted myself with the fact that if that car could indeed take to the road (I'd not seen any evidence of it being capable of movement this time)-- and tried to carry all the stranded posse members-- it'd make for more of a target than a battle wagon; for they'd all be crammed in there like sardines. Making it tough for the driver to pilot-- and for thugs to accurately aim and fire their weapons.

After that I packed back up (quickly refilling my shotgun's eight round magazine with the remaining at-hand shells which all consisted of scatter-shot), and left.

Of course my victims couldn't know if I might return again to harass them.

Now I could conveniently eavesdrop on the posse over the CB again. Good! My recent target practice victims had indeed reported the whole thing to posse central. Once again Roddy seemed to be losing a few more troops to insubordination, as they broke ranks to come help their now at least largely immobilized and possibly further endangered companions.

Time was also running out for the posse, of course. For civilian reports of the ongoing carnage had to be starting to trickle in to police somewhere. Roddy and the posse had to know time was running short. Plus Headhunter and I seemed to be successfully winning a war of attrition at the moment.

But there was still a bit more fighting to do I reckoned, before the dust settled. It now seemed I had another bunch coming to relieve those stranded beside the road and all shot up. The posse now knew I had a shot gun and was using it, plus some sort of fireworks I could spray in front of my car (they didn't realize those were flares, or that I'd used up all my current pen flares store in that one volley).

Meanwhile, I was running out of tricks myself. I'd succeeded in persuading another bunch to come at me on their own again now. But damned if I knew how I was going to handle them. It'd be far too risky to try the same moves already reported to them by their compatriots.

But what did I have left?

Deadly force

What the hell!?

A lone, non-helmeted motorcyclist zoomed past me as we abruptly met in a blind curve. I instantly deemed him posse due to the long gun strapped to his back. I got a brief follow up glance in my 180 degree rear view mirror before he vanished around the bend. The gun had a scope, making it appear to be a hunting rifle. Or sniper's gun, maybe.

The very second we'd cleared the curve, I stomped down on my emergency brake and pulled a 180 degree turn, figuring that would be the last thing the cyclist would expect of me-- as he was probably doing his own version of the same maneuver (only with a lot less mass to lug around). I had not a second to spare: I couldn't afford to let this guy get too far from me if he was a trained sniper sent to kill me-- for he could then at leisure blow my head apart with no warning whatsoever.

Just as soon as I had Shadow facing the proper direction I yanked the brake release under the dash, and flipped the nitro on and off again for the biggest spurt I thought we might handle in the circumstance, as I also floored Shadow's conventional throttle.

Smoke poured off of Shadow's screaming rear tires, with a slight breeze making some of it envelope us and even get ahead by a bit. I switched on the siren and every forward facing light we had, including emergency blinkers. As the siren took a second to get to 100% howl, the timing of its scream was almost perfect as our nemesis suddenly came back around the bend at horrendous speed, one knee almost scraping the pavement as he banked to cope with the physics involved.

And there we were right in his face, driving lamps and headlights ablaze, emergencies blinking, smoke boiling, tires and siren screaming-- and that whole mess coming straight at him in the middle of the road at God-awful acceleration.

The guy knew how to handle his bike though, and laid it down completely flat on the road, skidding out of the ramming zone and disappearing into the foliage beyond highway's edge. He hadn't lost his cool, despite the sudden horrendous racket and massive threat.

Shadow and I continued on around the bend, then pulled a somewhat less urgent repeat of the previous 180 turn, and headed back around again to see what was what.

I had no choice here: a sniper is the most dangerous threat of all-- even worse than a bomb-maker or poisoner in some ways. I had to make sure he was out of commission.

I came back around the curve as fast as I dared, and screeched to a stop where the cyclist had vanished into the trees and bushes off-road. Luckily there was sufficient clear space on the road-side that Shadow wouldn't block the curve while parked there. Unluckily, with my need for haste, I'd have to leave Shadow terribly exposed there for any passer-by-- innocent or malevolent-- to see.

I hurriedly flipped off all my light and noise-makers, grabbed my shot gun-- now filled with scatter-shot rounds-- and went in looking for him, knowing this could be my end, one way or another. But the only alternative was to get splattered by him later from a distance with no chance at all. Damn him! I was going to have to actually shoot somebody to death here in self-defense-- if I lived through the next few seconds. And maybe get ambushed right after that by more posse members, if they came by while Shadow was sitting there in the open like that.

But fortunately the desperate slide into the trees and rough terrain had broken the rider up pretty badly, making him no longer the imminent threat I feared. Especially after I found his seemingly undamaged sniper rifle and took it into my own possession. I also found he had a shoulder holstered 45 semi-automatic and an ankle holstered 32 caliber on his person. Plus a big knife. He probably had a few more small items of the sort on him, but I was uncomfortable staying too close to him for more of a search, even though he obviously had at least one leg and one arm broken.

"You Staute?" the sniper had asked me, in-between brief grunts of pain, as I'd disarmed him.

"Yeah. Who are you?" I asked, as I threw his pistols and knife as far as I could into the brush. The rifle though I figured I'd keep, as I currently owned no such beast in my personal arsenal (those babies were expensive). I had no plans to turn sniper; it's just that a complete arsenal should include a high powered rifle for both hunting and defensive purposes.

I backed off again, to stand around five or six feet from him, pointing my shot gun directly at his mid-section, with my finger on the trigger. If he did anything threatening, my shot wouldn't cut him in half-- he'd just wish it had.

"Gannon," he told me, after some more gasping from the pain. That made me examine his face really closely, in case I might need to describe him later to someone, or maybe watch out for him in the future. For I had no intention of killing him unless he forced me.

I also scrutinized his countenance in case it might ring a bell from past experience; but I couldn't recall seeing it before.

"You know you're lucky I got to you before Headhunter, right?" I asked him.

"Yeah. Lucky. You're the lucky one, you son of a bitch. I can't believe I let you catch me in that curve like that. How the hell did you do it so fast?" he coughed, wincing from the fresh suffering those spasms brought with them. "You turned that car as quick as I did my cycle! I didn't think that was possible!"

I didn't smile; I was still in danger. Watching Gannon like a hawk. Even if he didn't qualify as a real Green Beret, I knew he'd still had lots of deadly training. And had to be tough as nails to even get to the testing stage for such a group.

"I've got nitrous oxide. Plus, I've been doing this for a while now," I told him.

Gannon seemed to cough and laugh at the same time. I'm not sure if he knew what the heck I meant about a nitrous oxide system, as mainly just hard core hot rodders were familiar with the stuff.

"I don't want to kill you Gannon. But you told me how dangerous you are; and I believe you," I said, with an air of finality.

"So this is it, huh?" was Gannon's response. "You never killed anyone in cold blood before. I've seen your file."

What file he was talking about, I had no idea. And didn't really care.

"Yeah. You're right. So far as anybody but me knows," I replied ominously.

I then pulled my 38 Special out of my pants pocket, took off the safety, and shot him in the knee of his remaining good leg. He grunted really loudly at that. Then I shot him again in the elbow of his least injured arm. That grunt was a little less audible, as I'd done him the favor of spacing the agonies so close together.

I'd firmly held the pistol in both hands, only a couple feet away from the targets. I hadn't wanted the kick to spoil my aim, and force hellish retries.

The 38's blasts seemed unusually loud to me in this instance. I hoped no posse members were close enough to hear them.

Then I put on the safety of my shot gun, and smashed all the fingers on both his hands repeatedly with the stock, making sure to break most of them, maybe in several places. That took a gut-wrenching couple of minutes, as Gannon near-gagged with pain, and struggled to save his digits with a terrible thrashing of his ruined arms (but I held each in place with my foot as necessary). I hated doing it, even to Gannon. But such injuries would hopefully make it much harder for him to stalk and kill anyone else-- including me and mine-- even after he'd healed up.

Of course, the only absolute way to guarantee his disappearance from my life would be killing him. But I just couldn't do that under those circumstances. Or wouldn't, anyway.

With Gannon deemed safely disabled, I left him for a couple minutes to better conceal Shadow from the bad guys I knew to be on their way, as well as retrieve my first aid kit and one other item. I kept my 38 in my pocket and my shotgun slung over my shoulder (its safety now off again), just in case.

Then I returned to Gannon's predicament. Carrying-- among other things-- my own big scary knife from Shadowfast's store.

Fortunately Gannon was still conscious.

"Gannon, I guess I should take out one of your eyes too, so that you'll lose depth perception..." I said, even as I made motions like I was preparing to do so. I was really hoping he'd say something to stop me...else I'd have to act like I'd changed my mind on my own...

"No! Goddamn no! Leave me my eyes, please!" Gannon spoke with alarm. I pretended to reconsider.

"I'll do you that favor, if you'll do me one in return."

"Anything! Yes! Damn it!"

"I'll leave you both your eyes if you swear you'll never ever come after me again. You understand?"

"Yes! I'll leave you alone! I'll never bother you again! Just leave me my eyes, for God's sakes!"

I knew such deals made under duress weren't necessarily worth much. But I figured the damage to his limbs and fingers should slow him down for life. I would have used the shotgun on his major joints rather than the pistol, but I was pretty sure the shot gun at close range would have cut his lower leg and fore arm completely off the rest of him. And re-attachment probably wouldn't have been possible at the hospital.

I didn't want to turn him into a multiple amputee; I just make him unsuited for future hit man duties.

"Gannon, you do know I used the pistol instead of the shotgun so you could keep your arm and leg, right?"

"Yeah. I figured. Thanks," he winced. I was sure his pain had to be incredible. And I suspected his lucidity was slipping away.

I sat down beside him and opened up my first aid kit.

"What are you doing? I swear I won't come after you if you leave me my eyes!" Gannon exclaimed.

"Calm down Gannon. It's all right. You're just bleeding so much I figured I better apply some tourniquets to you."

"What?" Gannon asked in disbelief.

"Tourniquets. I have to put some tourniquets on your arms and legs to keep you from bleeding to death. But I'll need more supplies than my own kit has. You have any on the cycle?"

"Tourniquets? Tourniquets. Yeah. Check the left-hand saddle bag."

I dug through the bag and used what I found along with my own supplies to tie up all of Gannon's limbs. He had other, less important injuries to be sure, but I was no doctor. I just wanted him to last long enough to get better attention.

By the time I'd finished, it was already time to loosen the first one I'd applied.

You have to loosen tourniquets periodically or the limb beyond might get starved of blood and die. At least this was the training I'd gotten in my own youth. The use of tourniquets would undergo some rules changes in the decades to follow.

"Gannon, you need more help than I can give you. Anybody in particular you want me to contact over the CB? Gannon?"

Gannon's eyes were staying closed for ever longer intervals now. He was likely close to his own personal limits pain and endurance-wise. The only pain-killer I had with me was aspirin. But I was sure it'd be useless to Gannon for his present suffering. After all, this cycle crack up-- plus being shot-up!-- was far beyond a headache!

Just when I thought he was finally out for the count, he managed to get out a reply.

"Yeah, man. Tell Sonny I'm down and need evac, and where; he'll know what to do," Gannon told me.

"Okay. But I can't stay here to loosen your tourniquets. Will you be able to do it yourself?"

"I'll manage. I still got my back and teeth to work with...plus I shouldn't have to loosen them more than once or twice more."

"Okay," I got up to return to Shadow and make the call.

"One more thing, Staute," Gannon stopped me, his voice a bit louder than before.

"Yeah?"

"You're not going to ambush Sonny are you?"

"No."

"You swear?"

"Yeah, I swear Gannon. I really don't want you to die. I just want to be left alone. That's all," I told him.

He really had no choice but to take my word and actions at face value. He sighed.

"Okay, when you call Sonny, tell him that I personally said the area's clear-- and that his momma's always going to be my bitch-- you got that?"

"Okay." I figured that last comment was some inside joke between Gannon and Sonny which would confirm Gannon's words to be voluntary in nature.

"Thanks." Gannon seemed to pass out after that. He was one tough bastard. I hoped to God I'd never see him again. And that he truly would be able to loosen his tourniquets when needed. Otherwise the docs might have to take his limbs after all. If he lived.

Well, Gannon had surely known the life of an assassin was high-risk when he took it on.

I put in the radio call to Sonny, even as I vacated the area myself. The sun was getting low now; it was after seven PM. By the time Sonny arrived, he might need a flashlight to tend to Gannon in the woods.

This would be one of the few times I'd have blood other than my own spilled on me in my escapades.

It wasn't hard to reach Sonny through the radio noise of the other posse members, once I'd informed them Gannon was in dire need of medical attention, and had specifically asked me to contact him. I didn't muddy the message with any bravado or propaganda, either. Sonny sounded suspicious and skeptical at first, but took it seriously after I gave him a quick (but edited) synopsis of events, and the nearest thing to exact quotes I could from Gannon. I made sure that Gannon's location was the very last thing I gave out over the radio.

So I'd done what I could to tie up Gannon's bloody ends and call his buddy in to help him. Including tying a large blood-stained piece of cloth on a tree limb in plain sight of the road, as a marker for Sonny. And just given aid and comfort to my larger posse enemy in the clear, over the radio (by showing mercy to my would-be assassin).

But hellfire: I couldn't just let Gannon die. Even if it did undermine much of my propaganda strategy with regards to the posse at large.

I was sure now that I'd meet Sonny coming this way.

But before Sonny had a chance to get there, I encountered the second group of rogue elements from the posse. They came into sight almost immediately after I'd finished the radio message to Sonny. Yikes!

There were at least two cars and three pickup trucks, and they were weaving across both lanes so I'd have nowhere to go. So I pulled a panic stop, shoved Shadow into reverse, and gunned it backwards as soon as the transmission engaged, crossing over into the wrong lane so I'd be unlikely to hit anyone coming around the curve in the proper direction.

As soon as I'd cleared the bend I pulled a 180 degree turn, shifted into drive, and floored it, with all the enemy vehicles behind me-- some sprouting arms holding guns.

I gave Shadow's normal all out throttle a moment to get us moving at a good clip, then I flipped on the nitro too, and left them eating our tire smoke.

But that was it: I was now out of any more of the good stuff, according to my gauge.

With the posse now out of sight, I determined a good temporary hidey hole and ducked into it. It helped that this was now something like my fifth or sixth run over this piece of road. Not long after that I watched this latest faction of the posse flash by.

I pulled back onto the road and headed toward the wider end of the funnel again.

I figured it likely I'd meet Sonny on his way next.

I'd promised Gannon no ambush, but I'd damn well defend myself if Sonny instigated anything.

Of course if the next posse member I met wasn't Sonny, he'd have a free pass at trying to kill me. One. I got my pistol ready, figuring I'd try to shoot somebody right in the face as we passed if they'd done anything questionable towards me before that.

I passed Gannon's bloody marker on the road-side once more. Apparently Sonny had definitely not been amongst the most recent group. And no other posse vehicle had deigned to stop for their fallen ally. I wondered if that was because they feared a trap more than they cared for Gannon, or if they simply didn't give a damn about the sniper, now that he was out of action.

Another couple minutes later a dull-colored family sedan approached, looking pretty normal. The guy in it sported a military crew cut, and we both looked very intensely at one another as we passed by. But he didn't try anything. I figured that must have been Sonny.

I hoped I'd never see Sonny again either.

Then I finally got some good news. The racket from the CB indicated the road block was breaking completely up now, as cops seemed to be on the way. Plus Headhunter's efforts were surely ruining their day too.

So there was no block by the time I got there! But no Z-28 either.

Shadow was nearly running on fumes by then, so I had no choice but to get gas at that awful looking station before the interstate that I'd seen before.

Although I was still anxious about stopping there, so far as I could tell the posse had scattered to the four winds.

I just got half a tank, as I wanted to put as little as I could in from that place; I had a bad feeling about it.

And I was right of course. Shadow would soon be acting like half of what I'd put in him was water. Agh!

Fortunately I carried some alcohol around for that in the trunk. But I wouldn't realize the need for it until it was too late. For it took a few minutes for the contaminated gas to get from the tank to the engine.

I'm unfamiliar with the ways of modern 21st century automobiles, but in the old days if you had water in your gas, adding some alcohol would mix with the water and help it burn in the engine, causing you fewer performance problems while you were so plagued. But put too much alcohol in the mix, and you'd wash the oil off your cylinder walls, possibly damaging your motor.

Shadow had begun to run terribly by the time we'd attained the interstate. He kept threatening to die completely at anything under 55 mph-- and he just couldn't go much over that without being horribly racked with engine coughing.

Man! I hoped to hell it was all over-- because Shadow was sick as a dog from the bad gas.

I'd been trying to get Headhunter on the CB for a while by then, first on both the posse channel and eight; then other likely channels. But I got no response. I hoped he was okay. I knew I might not have escaped the posse without his help.

I'd also tried to keep an eye out for his Z-28 being crashed or burning off the side of the road, prior to hitting the interstate again. But it had been nowhere to be seen.

Nightfall was finally making its appearance, seemingly promising an end to one of my longest days ever.

Shadow's defenses were so depleted that I'd decided to head back to my hometown rather than work, for reloads.

I knew probably the entire posse-- or what was left of it-- was headed the same way too. But they'd had a head start on me. Plus, with rising law interest in our little dust up, and Headhunter and mine's decimation of their ranks, I thought surely they'd had enough.

But I was wrong.

The stand

Roddy wasn't happy about the spectacular failure of his plans. Still worse, the debacle had happened before lots of witnesses: his own minions, as well as other recruits from our hometown and beyond.

His failure here would be very bad for his business; maybe even for his own survival. For he'd now be seen as vulnerable. Heck: a goodie-two-shoes from the local neighborhood had now put him in his place!

Yeah, I was in no way considered a tough guy in my hometown. I may have had a nifty trick ride, but that was about it. I had no gang I ruled over; no drug trade; no car theft ring; no special fight training or skills; no impressive pseudo-military arsenal. No money, and no powerful connections in local politics or law enforcement by which to smite someone. I was basically a nobody, compared to the real power brokers in those parts.

So Roddy just had to try one last move on me.

He apparently hid somewhere near the entrance ramp to the interstate, knowing I'd have to come through there sooner or later.

He surely knew of me stopping for gas too then. I guess hearing about me using my shotgun on his men and vehicles-- and especially dispatching Gannon-- made him too skittish for a direct confrontation where I could easily grab my gun and shoot back.

No: he wanted me to have my hands full with other matters when he personally shot me.

But there was no way he could sneak up on me in his red Trans Am. Fortunately he did have several guys left from his posse riding in a van, to help.

Even though it was now dark, I noticed the van coming up fast from behind in my 180 degree mirror. Once it was close enough, the light from other cars provided enough illumination for me to see it was a Ford, splotched with the green and gray of bondo and primer. It was dark inside, but I could make out two people in the front seats. Was it a posse remnant? I wondered. If so, I could just speed off and leave them behind indefinitely.

If only I hadn't picked up that load of water in my gas tank from that delapidated station, that is. Shadow was hacking and coughing terribly as the new adulterated fuel made its way through the engine. It now appeared I had to keep him revving at least high enough to maintain about a 55 mph speed, or he might quit entirely. And yet taking him up to 75 mph seemed to be our new ceiling with the watered-down gas (and any speed over 55 made it sound like I was actually damaging the engine). Damn!

I badly needed to put some alcohol in the tank.

But I'd realized all this too late, and now I had few options velocity-wise with Shadow. Even slightly robust road maneuvers might cause him to die too, leaving me at the posse's mercy.

I didn't want to stop and shoot it out. But I couldn't outrun the van in this state either. And here it came.

Maybe I could figure out something else...but dodging around the civilian traffic might put families at risk. And my restrictions on acceleration made such weaving risky simply from traffic realities alone, even if guns weren't anywhere around.

The van's only side windows were in its driver and passenger side doors. I figured the passenger was going to shoot at me like before.

38 or flare gun? 38 I decided, pulling it out of my pocket. I hadn't reloaded since shooting Gannon, so I had just three rounds left in the pistol. Not many at all to waste trying just to scare somebody off.

I took off the safety as the van came up on my driver's side, trying to keep in mind I couldn't know for sure that this was posse: it might just be two country boys in their beat up van, listening to rock and roll.

I kept my left hand on the steering wheel, trying to be acutely aware of everything going on ahead and behind and beside me all at once, even as I held my pistol in my right, out of sight of the van occupants.

What irony: all the previous day I'd been fervently wishing for nightfall; now here it was, and I was wishing for daylight again, so I could better see my surroundings!

The van pulled alongside, but I saw no guns. The passenger did seem to give me an annoying smile, which could have been interpreted as either malevolent or goofy; I just couldn't tell which in the shadowy van interior.

Then the van slowly moved past me, a minute or so later easing into my lane, to get in front of me. I slowed a bit to increase the space between us, but as I said before, the bad gas was really squeezing me in terms of speed options. If I slowed too much my engine might die; speed up too much, and I might damage the engine or stall out that way. So I was courting engine failure if I stuck too closely to my usual routine here.

Everything else around me still seemed okay. Although on rare occasion it seemed I saw a flash of red maybe ten cars back in traffic. I was getting pretty tired by this time, and this new tension (along with the added vision difficulties brought on by nightfall) wasn't helping matters. I wondered if I was making too big a deal of the van and sporadic glimpses of red behind me.

The van now ahead of me had double-doors on the back, with a small window in each. I thought I saw movement inside, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, I kept telling myself. I was terrified that the recent attacks might get me so paranoid that I'd shoot up a family or something. I kept telling myself I had to calm down!

I was about to put the safety back on my pistol, and put it into a nook behind my passenger seat, when the twin tail doors on the van flew open, and a couple guys with shotguns became visible.

Both my hands had been occupied when the van doors popped open: my left gripping the steering wheel, my right holding my pistol. Now I was compelled to return my right hand too to the wheel A.S.A.P., despite the pistol still being there. I then ran off the highway, bouncing into a ditch and out again, then up a tall, rough slope which existed alongside the road. As my finger was still inside the pistol's trigger guard (and the safety off) I'm amazed I didn't accidentally fire the gun and shoot out my own windshield, as I struggled with the writhing steering wheel brought on by our sudden off-road jaunt.

I'd instinctively meant to run around the van at high speed and get ahead of them, but a second after I gave Shadow lots of gas he almost died, and we rapidly lost much of our previous velocity.

The somewhat sideways detour up the slope and the engine-faltering combined with the van's movement to quickly put something less than fifty yards distance between us and the enemy vehicle. The van driver had slammed on the brakes and moved into the nearest emergency lane-- I figured to stop and back up for a better shot at me. Fortunately all this really threw the shooters inside around, and they hadn't yet hit us with anything that I could tell.

I didn't have many options here. But so long as our speed was zilch, and the engine about to die anyway, I pushed the shifter into reverse, playing the gas pedal furiously in an attempt to keep my badly sputtering motor going. The van crew was quickly getting themselves back into order, coming to a complete stop up ahead in the emergency lane.

My trans re-engaged and I spun the rear wheels to get us out of there, back down the slope and towards the road, Shadow coughing terribly the whole way.

I had no choice but to descend, as the slope was simply a spot where the interstate bisected a small hill.

With Shadow threatening to die any moment I knew it'd be risky to try a 180 degree turn on the fly to get facing forward again-- but it'd be even more risky to do it any other way.

There were open grassy fields past the hill slope. I was thinking I might have to try heading cross-country, away from the interstate, to lose the van. Or at least gain enough distance on them so that I could find a decent spot to make a stand gunfight-wise.

Then I saw Roddy's red Trans Am pull up into the emergency lane close by. So that Roddy was now ahead of me in my present backwards course, and the van behind.

Damn it all to hell!

Even as I steered us with both hands backwards down and off the bumpy hill, I was badly wanting to take a shot at somebody-- or maybe try to somehow single-handedly switch my pistol out for my more potent shotgun-- when the situation changed.

The blessed cavalry had arrived!

Headhunter's Z-28 came in for a fast dust cloud throwing stop between me and the bad guys, surprising I believe everyone there. He seemed to appear out of nowhere.

In an instant I knew this was it: the stand. I skidded to a stop myself, letting Shadow's motor die, and stomping on the emergency brake rather than throwing the shifter into park: I didn't have time for the usual niceties.

Shadow was still settling to zero velocity as I brought my arms up to rest on the window sill of my driver's side door, aiming my pistol as carefully as I could at the van, and trying to be relaxed as I sighted and gently nudged the trigger.

Although Roddy was now actually closer to me distance-wise than the van, I figured it best to leave him to Headhunter, due to his Z-28's proximity to the Firebird.

I squeezed off my last three 38 rounds at the van, actually striking it at least twice-- which was maybe a personal best for me, given the distance and other circumstances (snub nose pistols aren't really meant to be used at that range). As soon as the last bullet was gone I threw the pistol into the passenger seat and drew my shotgun, then vastly ramped up my bombardment of the van with its scatter-shot shells. At this distance my every shot pretty much impacted simultaneously the entire outer surface of the vehicle facing me, making it very risky indeed for the occupants to do much more than stay hidden inside. I did try my best to time the shots so as to avoid hitting passing innocents on the highway, but I felt badly pinched by the necessity. My enemies of course cared not a whit for innocent casualties. Fortunately my present height above the highway-- combined with the range-- likely prevented much shot from ricocheting over into the opposing traffic lanes with much more than BB velocity (I hoped, anyway!). For I was afraid to slack off enough to fully protect the far lanes too from the effects of my attack.

If I'd been loaded with slugs instead of scatter-shot at that moment I could probably have forced the shooters to flee the van altogether. But I might also have turned one or more of them into a pile of raw meat sitting in a big red puddle. Unintentionally. Scatter-shot's very helpful about limiting penetration in such instances.

A brief glance in Headhunter's direction beckoned by a new sound showed Roddy's Trans Am getting the hell out of there, after getting a couple windows shot out by what seemed to be a 45 caliber semi-automatic pistol in Headhunter's hands.

With Roddy speeding off, Headhunter dropped an empty clip and shoved in a fresh one to continue firing, only now at the van. It seemed he got off one shot while there was technically no clip in his gun-- the first time I'd seen that happen in real life under fire.

Roddy's retreat and our now concentrated fire convinced the van guys to leave too (the 45 slugs-- unlike my scatter shot-- were likely penetrating the van sheet metal with every hit). I was sure glad they left, as my shotgun struck empty at that moment, and it might have taken me a couple of hairy minutes to reload, seeing as how I'd by now spent all my most easily accessible ammo and would have to resort to the main store onboard (a military surplus ammo box) for more.

"You hit, King?" Headhunter yelled at me from below.

"No! How about you?"

"A few scratches from some of their friends is all," he told me, as he motioned towards some bullet holes and scatter shot damage in the body of his Z-28. His car glass displayed multiple impact spidering as well. Headhunter himself seemed uninjured, and his car still functional, so apparently they'd neither suffered serious damage. But I still felt bad that Headhunter had had to face the bandits without any armor protection at all. And it seemed my nitrous boosted acceleration had prevented Shadow from taking any gunfire hits whatsoever; for I never found a single one from this episode, amazingly enough.

As the battle finally seemed to be over, I made my way down the remaining slope to him, on foot. I stumbled a few times getting there, as wherever Headhunter's car's headlights and Shadow's weren't pointing, there was only the occasional indirect lighting of passing cars on the highway to illuminate the ground (and the ground was relatively rough). Too, I was nearing exhaustion (and feeling weak from having drank and eaten nothing all day but a shake, fries, and a bite or two of a hamburger (I rarely ate breakfast back then)), which made me clumsier. And this latest bit of excitement combined with the final, at last, freaking end of the ordeal, left me somewhat giddy. So I was having moments when I might have seemed to be staggering drunk there.

We shook hands.

"Glad to finally meet you King," Headhunter said.

"Damn glad to meet you, Headhunter! I think you may have saved my ass just now."

"Oh, I don't know about that: from what I heard over the air, you might have whupped this whole bunch even without my help. Who the hell are you, anyway? You're not military; I'm damn sure of that."

"No. I've had some ROTC training, but that's it for the military stuff. I've basically trained myself. Built my car. And tried to make a buck here and there."

Headhunter laughed. "Damn, son! If you like making money the hard way you should sign up for 'Nam!"

"Thanks, but one thing I learned in ROTC was that I'm not very good at taking orders."

"Well hell, son! The way the war's going we may need more like you that takes the initiative and fewer like this bunch we just scared off, who just eat the shit they get handed."

I laughed. Then I brought up more sobering matters.

"You hear about Gannon?"

"Yeah. Good thing you got to him before he got into position."

"Yeah, I figured that. I was damn lucky."

"I'd keep an eye open in the back of my head for him if I was you," Headhunter warned.

"Yeah, I know that too. But I tried to make it tough for him to come back as a hit man in his next life."

"Snipers only need eyes and a trigger finger," Headhunter reminded me.

"Yeah, well, I broke his fingers," I replied, thinking of my own firearms training, and how maximum accuracy demanded a smooth trigger pull; I imagined such pulls would be more difficult with fingers which had once suffered complex fractures. And accuracy was much more important for snipers than other shooters, as snipers tended to be far more distant from their targets. Gannon's joint injuries (once healed) would surely make it tougher for him to maintain long watches in sniper mode, too; and tougher still for him to get into many of the preferred sniper positions at all (which tended to be high up, and often in places deemed inaccessible by most others).

Headhunter's smile was tight. "You might should have just finished the job."

"Well, this is America, Headhunter. You're innocent until proven guilty. And even if you are guilty, you should be suitably punished and then given a second chance; at least for many things. People can change, after all. And I can't actually say that Gannon injured me in any way: only threatened to. If he took me to court, he could probably have me thrown in prison!"

"Some people can change, maybe," Headhunter said skeptically.

"Yeah. I just don't like wasting anything, I guess. And a human being is about the biggest waste of all when they're killed unnecessarily. To my way of thinking anyway."

"Gannon would have spent no time at all on such stuff. He'd have killed you, period.

"I know. But after he's been laid up for a while, he might become a better person. I've seen it happen before."

"Let's hope you're right. So what about the bastard in the Pontiac?" Headhunter referred to Roddy.

"Thanks for not killing him, Headhunter."

"You're welcome-- I guess. Name's Tom, by the way. Tom Reynolds. Only reason I didn't kill him was I didn't have to. But won't you have to worry about him later too?"

"Not necessarily. I'm not in my hometown much these days. And he might actually be more worried about me-- or you!-- coming after him, after all this," I happily waved my arms around. I couldn't help but marvel at how well things had turned out!

This had been much easier than certain other recent adventures, after all.

"Point taken. What say we get out of here before the law shows up asking questions, and get us some eats?"

"Sounds great to me! And I'm Jerry. Jerry Staute."

Traffic on both sides of the interstate below was running like nothing special had happened here in past minutes. The flow had fluctuated a little during the gun battle, with some cars slowing for a better look, and others more wisely accelerating to get out of harm's way. But I wondered if any passersby had witnessed enough of the shootout to realize that that was what it was. For probably only a few had been in the range required to recognize the sounds of gunshots; and fewer still might have happened to be looking at the right spot at the right time as they sped by, to make out me and/or Tom firing at the other cars, and Roddy's windows blowing out. And both of us had been outside of any direct headlight beams at the time-- and so not well lit for observers.

Bits of glass glittered below, where Roddy's car had momentarily been parked, as passing car headlights struck the shards. But all in all, the scene looked deceptively peaceful and routine. Nothing like you'd expect of a place where you might have violently died, only minutes before.

I retrieved some alcohol from my trunk and fed it to Shadow's tank while Tom waited for me. Shadow was so stove up though I had to use a smidgen of starter fluid too to actually get him running again. Damn watered-down gas; it'd almost gotten me killed!

Tom thought it funny though. Considering all else which had transpired that day.

Tom and I found us a greasy spoon away from all the shiny fast food places near the interstate, just in case more posse remnants were still around. Man, but that was some of the best tasting but otherwise most God-awful food I ever had. It gave me some really bad gas pains and a bit of explosive diarrhea later that night. Luckily the worst of it didn't hit me until I had easy access to a bathroom. But it was a close thing, still. Yuck!

I hoped the same thing didn't happen to Tom after he resumed his trip! Yikes!

I tried my best to avoid greasy spoons after that. And just took my own sickness-- so closely timed with Shadow's bad gas ordeal-- as another sign of how intertwined our fates were.

I'd felt mighty obliged to Tom for his aid in the latest fracas, and so revealed a bit more of Shadow's tricks to him than just about anybody else had ever seen but for me and dad; or at least shown him what I could in a dark parking lot, with a flashlight. Even my friends Steve and Will never knew of all Shadow's special talents back then (I admit it: they weren't really that interested, either).

There was also the fact that I often itched to brag to someone about Shadow and his gadgets in those days, but couldn't. So Tom got nearly the full tour in the greasy spoon parking lot.

But what he liked hearing about most was the nitrous. For that meant I had indeed cheated to blow his doors off in our race (Well-- not really. Blind racing is still racing, after all (and by blind I refer to the wordless challenge from Tom which had allowed no opportunity for him to learn I had nitrous). But the existence of the nitrous would be an acceptable fig leaf for the tale when Tom might relate it to his buddies later).

We traded some addresses and phone numbers before parting ways, but Tom's own marching orders and my hop scotch living arrangements meant it'd be quite a while before we spoke again.

In gradually compiling all the background info on this incident over the years since, I also heard from more than one person that Roddy had promised a pretty hefty reward to whoever he deemed most responsible for destroying Shadowfast and/or badly injuring or killing me.

What was that reward? Two thousand dollars, supposedly.

Yeah, I know that doesn't sound like much in the 21st century. But it was quite a shiny sum in 1973, in my impoverished hometown.

What goes around comes around

I was surprised by Roddy's end when I heard of it. Not surprised that someone had killed him, but by how they'd done it. Apparently, someone had done to him exactly what he'd threatened to do to me: shot him in the face while he was sitting in his car (not the Trans Am, but some import I believe). A friend of his had discovered him soon after and rushed him to the hospital, but in vain.

It was pretty gruesome. The friend had had no choice but to slide the seat rearwards and sit in Roddy's bloody lap, to drive him to the hospital as quickly as possible. For he'd been unable to move Roddy out of the driver's seat, and no one else around was immediately able (or willing) to help in the matter.

And no: it wasn't me who killed Roddy. Although anyone who knew of Roddy's parking lot threat to me (and various other matters as related here) might have suspected me. But so far as I know the police never learned of our parking lot confrontation-- or anything else which might have aroused suspicion of my own involvement. Though I did tell Steve and a few others about the parking lot thing at the time. I never told anyone but a few of my fellow convoy members about the run-in with Roddy's posse though (until now).

And Roddy's murder happened years after he'd pointed his own gun at my nose, and sent his henchmen to cripple me up or kill me. I'm not even sure now if I was in Tennessee when Roddy died there.

What became of Gannon and Caleb-- and Caleb's ride-along in his Charger? I honestly don't know. To this day (mid-2011) I've never seen or heard anything about any of those guys again (I never did know the identity of Caleb's ride-along). They might all be alive and well-- or long dead. Remember that I had to return to convoy duty again almost immediately after all that, so I couldn't monitor the local newspapers for such things. And I couldn't very well alert friends and family to do so either, without telling them far more than I wanted them to know. Hopefully those former enemies are all alive and good and peace-loving folks now.

Just to be on the safe side though, I try not to tempt any would-be sniper with an easy target. Even now, decades later. No matter where I am, or what I'm doing.