The Man Who Would Be Daddy
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For a while, when he was still in high school, he had entertained thoughts of becoming a stunt-car driver. But the lure of the track had been far too great, and he had taken that road.
And abandoned it.
For the past year he’d been driving a LeMans GTO. He had rebuilt the car from the hubcaps on up. It had begun a healing process for Malcolm, and while he hadn’t healed, as he worked he had at least found his way out of the darkness. He had pored over every metal scrap, every rod, every cable. Every piece within the car was indelibly marked with his fingerprints.
As he gave chase out of the lot, his car revved to life, performing like a long-sleeping servant eager to please its master.
Keeping an eye out for any passing vehicles, Malcolm commandeered the thoroughfare, wishing for the first time in his life that he owned a car phone. He wanted to call the police and give them his location so that they could cut off the car-jacker before he managed to get away.
Not that he figured the police were really far away. Car chases were uncommon in Bedford. He was certain that by now the squeal of burning rubber had prompted more than one citizen to hurry to his telephone to register a complaint with the police.
With any luck, Malcolm thought, a squad car would shortly be approaching from the other direction to serve as a barricade.
Main Street went from one end of Bedford to the other, serving as a direct link between two freeways. Developments sprouted on both sides of the street, and were lined with carefully crafted stone walls and framed by lush, towering trees that coexisted in landscaping the way they never would have in nature. Right now, a section of the long, winding road was under reconstruction to make it even wider than it was. Detour signs littered the area sporadically, making passage difficult.
The car-jacker was headed straight for the construction area. Obviously not a clear thinker, Malcolm thought. While Freeway 5 was directly on the other side of the reconstruction and closer as an escape route, the smart thing would have been to make a U-turn and head for the 405.
Good thing for the little girl in the van that the guy wasn’t smart, Malcolm thought.
The light ahead was turning red. Malcolm knew that wasn’t going to be a deterrent to the car-jacker. The van raced through the intersection as a car coming from the right came to a screeching halt, fishtailing and leaving a trail of tire tracks along the asphalt.
Malcolm never hesitated. He pressed down on the accelerator, watching the needle on the speedometer climb to seventy as he rushed to catch up. Seventy was nothing compared to what he had once been accustomed to.
But that had been in another lifetime. When he had had a life. When Gloria and Sally had been a part of it.
Malcolm thought of the woman he’d heard scream. He hadn’t even seen her, only heard her voice, heard the anguish in it. It had ripped at his heart, and he knew he had to do something.
Maybe this was why he was still around—to save this woman’s baby. Though by all rights, he should have been dead himself twice over.
It seemed to be the only thing that made sense to him.
He watched the rear of the van as the distance between them became shorter. The driver looked as if he was in danger of losing control of the vehicle.
Damn fool.
Up ahead, the road narrowed considerably. Two bulldozers and a crane loomed on both sides of the freshly dug-up road, while orange-jacketed workers littered the area. Main Street’s broad lanes were reduced to a single serpentine path.
If he followed the curving path, he would still be behind the van. And he needed to be in front of it to make the driver brake.
Malcolm made his decision.
Hands tightening on the wheel, he plowed through the wooden horse barricade, then sailed over a mound of dirt and broken concrete that hadn’t been hauled away yet. For one moment, he was airborne. The next moment, the earth was there to greet him. Malcolm could feel his teeth rattling in his mouth as the LeMans came down hard onto the road. Dirt was flying everywhere.
He was going to have some heavy-duty work on his hands with the car later, he thought vaguely.
As he floored the accelerator, the LeMans seemed to fly forward, directly ahead of the van. He passed it, then, twisting his wheel hard, Malcolm spun around a full 180 degrees, bringing the hood of his car physically into the path of the van.
He saw the horrified look on the car-jacker’s face as the distance between the cars dissolved. The next moment, his curses swallowed up by the scream of tires and brakes locking, the man frantically tried to prevent a crash.
On the periphery of his consciousness, Malcolm saw men in the area scrambling to get out of the way of what looked like the inevitable. With the skill of a man who had earned his living and his reputation driving at high speeds for the entertainment of others, Malcolm pulled back, avoiding the impact that had seemed so certain a second ago.
And then came the stern peal of sirens as white cars with blue-and-red dancing lights atop their roofs seemed to materialize from every direction. They converged, surrounding the van and Malcolm’s LeMans.
He didn’t wait for them. Didn’t wait for the inevitable questions to assault his sense of privacy. Jumping out of his car, Malcolm hurried to the van. He didn’t give a damn about the driver, who was slumped forward over the wheel. At the last moment, his head had come in contact with the windshield, and while the wheel had prevented him from going through the glass, he’d hit his head and obviously been knocked out.
He could have been dead for all Malcolm cared. That was for the police to handle. Yanking the passenger door open, Malcolm climbed in, scanning the interior for signs of another occupant. A high-pitched wail that somehow managed to rise above the sound of the sirens guided him to the car seat directly behind the driver. And to the unwilling participant in the short-lived joy ride.