An exploding air bag engulfed him as he was thrown forward. Much to Hardare’s surprise the car did not hit bottom, but sank fifteen feet before gently settling to rest on the swirling bottom. He looked at his wife. She was unhurt.
“Crys, you okay honey?”
“No,” his daughter said.
His daughter’s nose was smeared with blood, and she gingerly touched it with her fingers.
“Does it feel broken?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jan undid her shoulder strap. “Vince, we’re going to run out of air.”
“He’s still up there. If we surface right away, he’ll slaughter us. I’m going to hold my breath. That should leave enough oxygen for you to use. We wait five minutes, then go up. Hopefully the driver of the eighteen-wheeler saw what happened, and called the police. Sound like a plan?”
His wife and daughter both nodded.
“Good. Here we go.”
Hardare filled his lungs to capacity, his chest puffing out from exertion, then fell back in his seat and tried to relax. He could hold his breath for six minutes if he wanted to, although it would produce an excruciating headache the next day.
Closing his eyes, he saw the monster and the head. Now he knew what Sybil Blanchard had experienced before she’d died. Wondero had said that Death was elusive, and he knew that criminals did not get that way by acting careless. Soon Death would have to leave, or risk being caught.
After five minutes his skull was pounding. He glanced at his wife and daughter. They were gasping for air. It was time, and he kicked open his door with his foot.
He was going up first.
He swam out of the Volvo, waited for Jan and Crystal to safely exit, and pushed himself off the spongy bottom of the reservoir. If Death was up there, he was going to take a different approach and take the offensive. If he could get a jump on the bastard, just get close enough to touch him, he would have the advantage. Years of doing escapes had made him unbelievably strong, and as his head burst above the surface, he realized that this was his only choice. He could show no compassion or sympathy. Not when his family was involved. Just kill the bastard.
The shore was deserted. He heard Jan and Crystal pop up a few yards behind him. He swam in quickly and then staggered out of the water, his wet pants legs sucking his legs together.
“Where are you?” he bellowed angrily. “Come out here in the open.”
Behind a mountain of brown dirt he heard a low growl. Tensing, he charged up the hill like a demon. In the back of his head he heard a voice. What are you doing? He didn’t know; he’d never acted like this before in his life.
Another dog, this time a vicious German shepherd, met him at the top, its paws scrambling as it came up the other side of the hill. The dog leapt on his chest, sending Hardare backwards down the hill. Together they rolled to the edge of the reservoir. Hardare jumped up with the dog clutched in his arms, and with a violent twist of his body, threw the dog twenty feet out into the water. He spun around, anticipating Death.
“Holy mother of God.”
Two burly state troopers plowed down the hill with guns drawn. They stared at him, then his family. Finally one said, “We got an emergency call. Somebody phoned in a burning car.”
Hardare pointed at the reservoir. “It’s on the bottom. A madman threw a Molotov cocktail on our roof.”
“Well, you got lucky,” the trooper said. “This is the only reservoir for thirty miles.”
His partner went to fetch their dog. As it came out of the water it shot past his legs and scurried up the hill with its tail between its legs. “Well I’ll be goddamned,” the trooper swore.
“I think we better get you folks to a hospital,” the second trooper said.
Hardare became dizzy as the desert began to spin around him. The Neanderthal in him had gone away, leaving a dark hole where his soul had been. With a loud whumph! he sat in the dirt.
“I think that would be a good idea,” Hardare said.
Chapter 5
L.A.
Barstow was barely large enough to be called a town. But the local hospital also served the nearby Indian reservation, and the facilities were first rate. While his daughter was being X-rayed, Hardare called Caesar’s management, then the Homicide Division of the LAPD. An hour later, Wondero and a second detective, a short man with a paintbrush moustache, walked into the waiting room. Hardare tossed down a year old People and stood up.
“Your psychopath attacked us on the highway. He killed a motorcyclist while trying to run us off the road and then fire-bombed our car. He was watching my hotel last night; he saw us together and thought I was helping you.”
Wondero said, “You spoke to him?”
“We shouted at each other, then he threw a women’s head at me. That’s when I lost it.”
Without missing a beat, Wondero said, “Can you describe what he looked like?”
“Stone evil,” Hardare said.
“I mean physically.”
His partner interrupted him. “I’m Detective Rittenbaugh. Are your wife and daughter going to be all right?”
“My wife’s fine, my daughter banged her nose. The doctor wants her to take it easy for a few days.” As he spoke, Wondero nervously bit his fingernails. Finally Hardare could not stand it and said, “My height, broad shoulders, really muscular. He was dressed in leather and wore shades and a hat. I never saw his face.”
“We need to search the crime scene right away,” Wondero said excitedly to his partner. “Maybe he left some clues.”
“Right, Harry. Mr. Hardare, you still look shaken up. Like some coffee or a soft drink?”
“A cup of coffee would be good,” Hardare said.
“How do you take it?”
“Black.”
“I’ll be right back.” Rittenbaugh walked down a freshly mopped hallway past a semi-conscious man lying on a stretcher, and found a bank of concession machines by the pay phones. He bought three coffees and took them back to the waiting room. Wondero and Hardare were gone.
“Harry, you crummy bastard,” Rittenbaugh said, the cups burning his fingers.
“You should be angry,” Wondero said, walking with Hardare past the parking lot to a children’s nursery with metal swings and a large curving slide. “Most people who are victimized feel an immediate desire for revenge. It’s only human.”
“We were supposed to be working Vegas another week,” Hardare said, “but Caesar’s let us out of our contract. We have a big engagement in Los Angeles coming up, and I called you because—”
Wondero held up his hand like he was directing traffic. “Understood. Twenty-four hours a day. You, your wife, your girl. We’ll guard you like the crown jewels. But at the same time, I want you to consider something.”
The blurry image of a car racing across the desert a few miles away stopped Hardare dead in his tracks. When it was out of sight, he said, “What’s that?”
“Help us.”
“How?”
“I want to set a trap for Death.”
“And what do we do? Act as bait? No thanks.”
“My partner and I think Death saw the Tonight Show, and like me, believed your prediction trick was the real thing. We think he’s frightened that you’ll expose him.”
Hardare played back their confrontation. “He called me a fake. He was pumping me for information to see how much I knew about him.”