Not there.
Under the car. He must be under the car.
Ponytail drops flat to the ground, thrusts the pistol under the vehicle.
He’s not there either.
Where is the bastard?
Corey holds his breath as he crouches behind the Mustang’s front wheel on the passenger side, balanced on one foot. He looks over at the exit. If he ran for it he’d be out in the open for too long. Ponytail would see him straight away.
Bugger.
Kilroy pulls himself up and circumnavigates the Mustang’s boot, swings the gun down the passenger side of the vehicle.
No one there.
He turns.
‘Where is he?’
Lying under the car a metre away from you.
Corey watches Ponytail’s feet stride across the floor, then he loses sight of them in the darkness. Corey backs up, pulls himself out from under the vehicle, crouches beside the passenger door and peeks through the Mustang’s cabin again. He can’t see Ponytail anywhere, and he can’t see any sign of Judd either. He takes a breath and stays low.
Now what? Does he wait for Judd to return? He said he was only going to take thirty seconds. Does this mean they’re now separated?
He smells something unpleasant. What is that? Sharply toxic and instantly headache-inducing.
Corey turns.
Ponytail towers above him. The odour is his cheap and nasty cologne. It’s the first time the Australian’s seen the guy up close. Damn, he’s positively ancient.
Ponytail points his pistol at Corey’s face. ‘Give me the counter-agent.’ His accent is thick Louisiana.
‘Counteragent? What’s a counteragent?’ Playing dumb is not Corey’s strong suit.
Ponytail steps forward, the pistol’s muzzle an inch from the Australian’s forehead. ‘Where is it?’
‘I only have one thing to say.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Tomato!’
‘What the hell are you — ?’
‘To-ma-to!’
Wiif-Clunk! Ponytail’s head jerks sharply to the left as something clips him across the back of his skull. He sways unsteadily for a moment, then keels over and slumps to the cement like a large sack of extremely old potatoes. He’s out cold.
‘The locker only had one thing in it.’ Judd steps forward and holds up a floor mop with a heavy wooden handle. ‘You okay?’
‘Took your sweet time coming back. Where were you?’
‘I thought we were meeting at the bikes.’
Corey’s confused, then sees Judd’s grin and realises he’s taking the piss. ‘Thanks, mate.’
‘Anytime.’
Judd and Corey study the crumpled, unconscious ponytailed man on the floor of the garage. Judd picks up his pistol and checks the magazine. There are four bullets inside.
Corey watches the astronaut closely. ‘We’re not going to. . kill him, are we?’
Judd shakes his head and pushes the weapon into his belt at the back of his pants. ‘Just because he’s a dickhead doesn’t mean we have to be.’
Corey nods in agreement. ‘And he’s so old he could die of natural causes really soon anyway, so what’s the point?’ A moment passes, then he looks at Judd. ‘What are we going to do with him?’
Judd and Corey drag Ponytail to the dark corner of the parking garage behind the old Mustang. They prop him up so he sits against the wall then search him. Judd finds nothing, but Corey discovers a small walkie-talkie in his jacket. He checks to see if it’s functional. It is so he pockets it.
Judd looks at the old fella. ‘We need to tie him up.’
Corey thinks about it for a moment. ‘I got an idea.’
The Australian rolls over the bald tyre he saw earlier, picks it up and drops it over Ponytail’s head. Judd steps up and they both push it over his shoulders, then jam it down his torso until his arms are trapped tight.
Corey takes in their handy work. ‘Beautiful.’
Judd turns to him. ‘Let’s deliver those canisters.’
They move fast.
Spike pants at the entrance of the parking garage as Judd and Corey exit. He barks.
‘Sorry, mate, no lemon sorbet.’ Corey pats him on the head as he turns to Judd. ‘So, where are we going?’
The astronaut works his iPhone and reads the screen. ‘We head for the Federal Building. It’s on Wilshire. That’s where the FBI office is. Shouldn’t take too long on the bikes.’
They move past the wrecked cars. The Buick burns loudly, almost completely gutted. The Prius is only half alight.
‘Hold on a sec.’ Judd shields himself from the heat as he approaches the vehicle and looks inside. He uses his sleeve to pull on the doorhandle, which is hot to the touch, then reaches in to the passenger seat and flips something onto the street. It’s on fire so he lightly tamps out the flames with his shoe.
Spike sniffs it and barks.
Corey studies it. ‘Don’t know what it is, mate.’
‘I do.’ Judd crouches beside the smoking item for a moment, then flips it over. ‘It’s Ponytail’s iPhone.’
Kilroy comes to with a start.
He looks around the empty parking garage and realises his predicament. He’s trapped in an old tyre, he can’t see his pistol anywhere and the back of his head throbs worse than his burned shoulder. Overall his day has not gone to plan. The only upside is the fact those two guys didn’t kill him. It’s a pleasant, if not particularly shocking, surprise. They’re not the kind of guys who kill people, especially when they’re unconscious, though they will regret not killing Kilroy.
Kilroy knows he must get moving. Unfortunately he no longer has a car so Bunsen will need to pick him up. The boy won’t be happy about that, and will be even less impressed when Kilroy explains how he ended up in this situation. But before any of that can happen he needs to get out of this damn tyre.
He tries to wriggle out of it. No joy. They really jammed it on tight. He tries to stand, to walk out of here, maybe find a stranger to help pull the thing off, but without the use of his arms he can’t even get up. So he grits his teeth, pushes himself onto his side and rolls across the floor towards the old Mustang.
He’s sure it’s a 1967, though it could be a ‘68. It doesn’t actually matter because what’s important is that it has the chrome front bumper which wraps around the side of the car and ends in a point. Facing the ceiling, he works himself close to the vehicle and rams the sidewall of the tyre against the pointed end of the bumper. He then pushes his right leg under the car, braces it against the exhaust system and pushes hard. The bumper presses into the tyre’s sidewall and slowly edges it down his body. After what feels like a minute but is probably only twenty seconds, he stops, exhausted and sweating like a pig, and checks his progress. The tyre has moved about an inch and a half down his body.
An inch and a half! This is going to take an age. No use whining about it. He braces himself and pushes again.
Judd and Corey briskly circumnavigate the apartment building and arrive at the spot where they hid the bikes behind the large-leaf plants.
Judd studies the burned phone then presses its home button. The screen blinks to life but it’s melted and cracked and only about twenty per cent of it is readable. He swipes a finger across the blackened glass and the phone unlocks. ‘It works.’ He’s happy.
Corey turns to him. ‘What are you looking for?’
Judd stares at the screen. ‘A clue to who this bastard is and what he’s up to.’
27