Dick by Scott Hildreth Read Free Book Online Page A

of my left fingers and swerved into the center lane with a few feet to spare. Jess screamed like she was being murdered.
    “Quit fucking screaming, I can’t think,” I yelled.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted.
    I swerved to the left, barely missing a Volkswagen in the center lane. With the road ahead open, I hammered the gas and tried my best to plan well ahead, changing lanes long before I thought I needed to.
    “Get the phone out of my right pocket and call Drake,” I demanded.
    “Okay.”
    Remaining remarkably calm, Jess reached into my pocket, removed my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts while I weaved in and out of four lanes at 140 miles an hour. The mid-morning Thursday traffic wasn’t dense, but it sure wasn’t sparse, either. The cop was a quarter of a mile behind me – still well within sight.
    With my eyes fixed on the road ahead, I explained my plan. “We’re coming up on Highway 1 in a minute, and we’ve got to hit a ninety-degree turn. We should lose him there. I’ll take it at 140, he’ll have to slow to about seventy.”
    “I found Drake,” she announced.
    My heart was racing, I was sweating profusely, and the thought of going back to prison was becoming more of a reality with each car we almost collided with. “Call him and tell him to open his garage door and have an empty stall for me. Tell him we’re in the Ferrari and we’re running from the cops,” I barked.
    Slumped in her seat with the phone in her lap, she shifted her eyes to me. “Only if you go out on another date.”
    We were flying down a highway with a marked speed limit of 65, and traveling at more than twice the speed of traffic. Objects a quarter of a mile ahead of us were reached in roughly five seconds. To describe the event as intense would be the understatement of the century.
    Yet Jess seemed to care less.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Another date. Yes or no?”
    “God damn it. Call Drake. We’re coming up on highway 1!” I demanded.
    “Yes or no?”
    You crazy bitch.
    “Yes!”
    She pressed her finger against the keypad and lifted the phone to her ear “Is this Drake?”
    “No. He’s busy. Yeah. I’m Jess. No. He’s right beside me but he can’t talk. No. Just listen for a sec. We’re in the red Ferrari, and we’re runnin’ from the cops. We need to hide in your garage.”
    “About…”
    She leaned toward the center of the car and looked at the speedometer. “Looks like about 146 right now. Dick says you need to open the garage door and make a spot for him.”
    “When will we be there?” she asked.
    “About two minutes. Maybe less, I don’t know,” I responded.
    “How far away is it?” she asked.
    I swerved into the right lane, checked the rearview mirror, and prepared to take the exit-ramp at 140 miles per hour. “A mile from this exit. Hold on!”
    “Go open the door. We’ll be there in thirty seconds,” she said. “And be ready to close it for us. Don’t hang up.”
    With white knuckles and an overactive heart, I steered into the curve. The car hugged the road as we took the corner, drifting slightly, but it wasn’t unmanageable. I downshifted two gears, held the throttle to the floor, and merged onto the next highway. A quick check of the mirror showed the police car taking the corner much faster than he probably should have.
    “Cop just wrecked!” Jess shouted.
    Thank God.
    “We’re taking the next exit,” I exclaimed. “Hold on again.”
    “Two cops behind us,” Jess said. She wagged her finger toward the windshield. “And there’s one on the right at the side of the road.”
    Fuck.
    “We’re going to act like we’re going past this exit, and then I’m gonna take it at the last second. Grab my pistol. It’s under my shirt.”
    She didn’t hesitate. As if it were an everyday occurrence, she lifted my shirt, pulled the pistol from the waist of my pants, and held it in her hand.
    Our exit was fast approaching.
    Fifteen seconds.
    Two cars were behind