"But I don't. I can sue the prison, for admitting Buford and Donnell to your class. For failing to adequately safeguard the other inmates, and us. They'd raise an immunity defense but it would be a first strike."
"Not bad." Angus nodded. "That's what Machik is worried about, and he deserves it."
"So we tell him we're going to file, then we give him my settlement demand." Nat shifted forward as a plan began to form in her mind. "We ask for a copy of the videotapes in return for my complete, signed release. Essentially, we offer him a free settlement. If he says no, we know something’s very, very wrong. Who turns down a free settlement? And if nothing incriminating is on the tape, he'll make the deal."
"That's a great idea! It blocks him in." Angus thought a minute. "But why will we say you want the tapes? What do we give as a reason?"
"We say it'll help me process the trauma of the event." Nat wasn't half kidding, but Angus laughed.
"You're an evil genius. Do you intend world domination?"
"Not at all. Tenure, merely."
"Done and done." They took off, and the Beetle hit the ramp for 1-95. They reached the highway, three lanes of flat road headed north into Philly, and the traffic moved fast. The reflected light of cars, houses, and buildings muddied the sky. It was almost nightfall. They whizzed past billboards of pretty people, their supersize smiles illuminated by spotlights from beneath. The Beetle switched into the fast lane, and Nat figured that now she might even get home before Hank.
"Now we're moving," she said happily. She checked her cell phone, but there were no messages from Barb Saunders.
"This is way better." Angus looked annoyed in the rearview. "Except the dude behind me is a tailgater."
"Ignore him. He'll pass."
"How nonviolent of you."
"It's this talk of knife fights." Nat shuddered.
Angus accelerated, but the car behind them blasted the Beetles interior with light. Nat turned around and squinted into headlights, which were higher than usual, above a large chrome grille.
"It's tall, like an SUV," she said.
"I think it's a pickup. He's been weaving through traffic. Must be a drunk. I can't believe Willie ever did stuff like this." Angus accelerated again. White reflective lines on the highway flashed by as one. Road salt made tick tick noises as it hit the Beetle.
"Slow down." Nat gripped the stiff rubber hand strap. "Make him go around you."
"Get off my ass, pal!" Angus shouted at the rearview, and the Beetle's interior finally went dark. The lane to their right opened up, and the pickup darted into the empty spot.
"Good." Nat relaxed. "I'll give him a dirty look."
"Nobody messes with Professor Greco."
Nat looked over and saw it was a black pickup, its F-250 letters and a Calvin decal in view. The Beetle and the truck sped side by side through the twilight. The asphalt glistened in the headlights. A veneer of black ice on the road winked darkly. In the split second before the accident happened, Nat saw it like deja vu. The pickup hit the ice. She screamed. The pickup sideswiped the Beetle in a dark flash of metal, sending both vehicles skidding into the guardrail, spraying sparks and making a hideous scraping noise.
PHOOM! The Beetle's airbags exploded. A hot plastic cushion burst into Nat's face and pressed her back into her seat. The car slid forward, out of control. She kept screaming, praying for the Beetle to stop. She couldn't see anything but plastic. She couldn't hear anything but her own yelling. Everything was heat and fear and a funny smell.
Finally, the Beetle came to a slow, jerky stop. Angus must have engaged the ABS brakes. Nat's face plowed into the pillow. Her shoulder collided with the passenger window. Powder was everywhere. Then the accident ended as soon as it had begun. Nat's airbag began to deflate, and she looked over.
Angus was slumped against his collapsing air bag, motionless.
Chapter 19
The examining room was small and ringed with white metal cabinetry. Against one wall was a stainless steel sink, underneath an array of cleanser dispensers. A steel basket on the wall near the examining table held a blood pressure gauge and its rubbery black cord. The vital-signs monitors remained off, their black screens etched with frozen green and red lines. A plastic IV bag that read "Baxter" hung from a steel hook on the wall, dripping saline into the crook of Angus's arm. He sank back into the thin pillow, his blue eyes reddish under a forehead dressed with a new gauze bandage. His cheekbone had sprouted another wound, he'd cracked a rib, and doctors were trying to determine if he had any internal injuries, besides a bruised ego.
"That jerk!" Angus said. If he felt weak, it didn't show. "I would've kicked his ass if he'd been man enough to stop."
"Peace, brother."
"Screw peace!" Angus scowled. "That guy coulda killed us!"
"I know, but calm down." Nat sat in a metal chair beside his bed, having sustained no injuries except an achy nose and a throbbing headache. She was oddly calm, either because Angus was so upset or because a car accident wasn't as scary as attempted rape. Airbag powder dusted her camelhair coat, and she'd lost a shoe in the accident. Her wardrobe couldn't take all this excitement.
"Drunk-ass jerk. A hit-and-run. That man should be shot!" Angus said.
"Aren't you against capital punishment?"
"Except for drunk drivers. I'm making an exception."
"What about Willie? And your principles?"
"Willie is the exception to the exception, and my principles hurt when I move." Angus shifted unhappily in the undersize bed, and the top of his hospital gown revealed a sexy tangle of red-gold chest hair that Nat had been trying to ignore.
"Please, relax. The doctor told you to stay still, remember? He's worried your spleen might be perforated."
"Gross! Will it leak spleen juice? In front of the girls?"
Nat smiled. "No, but if it's ruptured, he said you'll need a splenectomy."
"I knew I needed a splenectomy! I've been saying that for years. What's a splenectomy?"
"You don't want a splenectomy, Angus. You heard the doctor. It would have effects on your lymphatic system. You'd be susceptible to infections." Nat didn't remind him of what else the doctor had said. She was hoping it wouldn't be an issue. She sensed Angus hadn't focused on what the doctor was telling him during the examination. I think they're going to admit you. You sure you don't want to call someone?"
“No one to call, except about work. I'll call the clinic tomorrow to file Willie's papers." Angus seemed to quiet, and his gaze shifted to Nat, lingering on her face a moment. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Did you call Mr. Whatever?"
"Mr. Hank."
"What did he say?"
Arg. "That's not your business." Nat didn't want to think about how hurt Hank had sounded when she'd told him where she was and that she was with Angus. She felt like she'd cheated, though she hadn't. She should have told him where she was going. History taught that the cover-up was always worse than the crime. You would think that she and Machik would learn.
"First the riot, now this." Angus flopped back on his pillow. "Is this cosmic payback, Natalie?"
"For what?"
"My life's work."
"Of course not."
"My head hurts."
"Close your eyes." Nat reached over as he complied, and she dimmed the harsh overhead lights and sat back down. "Payback for what, anyway? You represent the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. You have karma to spare. Pro bono karma."
"Yeah, right." Angus opened his eyes as if he'd just thought of something, or his rib poked his spleen.
"What's the matter?"
"More what-ifs." He shifted up in bed, wincing. "What if this was no accident tonight?"
"You mean our accident?" Nat wasn't sure she understood.
"Yes. What if that truck meant to hit us? What if it was related to the phone calls, last night?"