Resurrection Express by Stephen Romano Read Free Book Online Page A

start talking. I wanna know what the hell’s going on here.”
    “I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. Someone just tried to make you dead and I saved your life. Now, if you want to stay alive, I suggest you let me drive.”
    I keep the gun aimed at him while he stares me down. We stay that way for a few seconds. I try to calm myself. In a long momentof stupid incredulity I flash on the automatic nature of the actions I’ve been taking, and realize I don’t even know who manufactured the gun I’m holding in my hand. It’s heavy and compact, black and warm in my grip. Looks like it could be a Taurus or a Springfield. The serial numbers are sanded off and so is the brand name. I shake my head, checking reality, and Franklin scowls down the barrel.
    The cell phone in my pocket rings.
    I fish it out, not lowering the pistol.
    UNKNOWN CALLER.
    It could only be the Fixer on this line.
    It isn’t.
    It’s only the man who destroyed my life.
    “ Hey, buddy-boy, are we having fun yet? ”
    I don’t say anything. He laughs at me.
    His voice is like a southern-fried pig who eats human flesh.
    “ I heard you got an early release. I also heard you got a new phone number. Unlisted. Well done. I’ll be sure to tell our mutual friend Mister Remo Williams that you’re all kinds of grateful. And nice job, running from my boys, by the way. One hell of a professional getaway. ”
    I can’t believe this. Jett sold me up the river. Or maybe they just beat my name out of him. Either way, I’m dead in the water.
    About a million weird emotions trainwreck inside me, all those plunging wet feelings you get when the business comes down bad, when the whole world turns against you. But all I can think to say to him is this:
    “You sick maniac.”
    He laughs again. “ Now let’s not get nasty, old boy. I don’t think you want me really-and-truly angry with you right about now. ”
    “Those people back there . . . they were nothing to you.”
    “ Fuck those people. This is just a warning, boy. I knew those morons would miss and I didn’t really care. Not this time. But from now on, anywhere you go, I’ll know where that is. And every day you’re on the street, someone is going to die. Maybe someone close to you. But mark my words: we’re covering all the bases this time and the sky is falling. Think about that while you’re running from me. Think about that really, really hard. ”
    “What do you want?”
    “ Well, hell now. That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, ain’t it? ”
    Click.
    •  •  •
    I ditch everything. Smash the laptop, the cell, throw it all in the lake. Franklin also tosses his phone. Any chance they can track us where we’re going, we can’t take it. I just pray to God they didn’t get to the Fixer. If Hartman got to Remo through the Fixer, I’m completely hosed. They wouldn’t play nice with a guy like that, either. They’ll have made him talk about everything. I remember the key to my safe deposit box, still in my pocket, maybe useless by now, maybe not.
    We change rides at the magic hour in a used-car lot five miles up the road, covered by the dull copper twilight. Nobody sees us—the place is closed for the night. I get us a shiny almost-new Impala that won’t be reported stolen for at least ten hours.
    I let Franklin drive.
    •  •  •
    T he safe house isn’t even in Austin.
    It’s near Houston, two hundred and fifty miles.
    He gets us there in just under three hours.
    No cops anywhere. No choppers looking for us. We’re just some other stolen car on the back roads to nowhere. A little damp outside. Fall and winter are never really cold in Texas, not like in other states. Just a ghostly chill to remind you, mostly at night.Franklin does a lot of weird turns down highway stretches I’ve never even seen, until we finally emerge on 59 North, and I can finally see a few familiar landmarks. He’s taking us into Splendora. It’s a pissant little settlement a