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yanking him off the axe. It would've been worth the risk of getting wet or being attacked by other crazies. But he'd decided it was not worth the loss of time. |
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The crash and detour had stolen four or five minutes from him. From Maureen. |
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Let the bastard have his ride. |
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Trev hadn't returned to Guthrie. He'd gone one block over, made another right, and now he was speeding up Flower Avenue, parallel to Guthrie. He'd lost count of the cross-streets. He'd quit slowing down for intersections. He suspected he must be getting close to Third. |
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We'll either crash and burn, or we'll be there pretty quick. |
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He wished Francine would stop making those awful gasping noises. He had half a mind to climb back there and shut her up. |
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The center line ended. He hit the brakes. His car fishtailed into the intersection. When it slid to a stop, he peered out the windows. His headbeams lit the side of a red Porsche. It seemed to be parked at a curb. |
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If his sense of direction wasn't screwed up, the skid had taken him across the northbound lane of the cross-street. This should be O'Casey's side of the street. |
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The restaurant would be near the middle of the block. |
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He steered away from the Porsche, drove slowly alongside it, passed a Subaru, and came to an alley. He swung into the alley and stopped. |
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