“Oh, no,” said Cynthia. “Look at all the police cars.”
E. Z. pulled over to the side of the road.
Cynthia scanned the area. “I don’t see Greg’s car.”
“Good.”
“But where is he?”
An ambulance drove past them and pulled into Valerie Crench’s driveway.
“Wonder why they don’t have their lights flashing?”
Cynthia looked at her. “Because whoever they came for is already dead.”
They watched as the body was carried out of the house and loaded into the ambulance.
“Maybe it’s Sondra’s mother,” said E. Z. “Because I don’t see Sondra’s car.”
“Greg must be following her. I just wish we had some idea where they went.”
“The hospital?”
Cynthia perked up, then became frantic. “I hope we’re not too late.”
E. Z. turned around in a neighbor’s driveway and headed for the hospital.
*
Greg was tempted to run the light. This was an emergency. He needed to get to Sondra’s house before she got away. Although, he was only guessing she had gone there to pack up and get out of town. She probably figured that right about now Greg was being handcuffed and thrown into a police car.
The traffic signal finally turned green. Just as his foot touched the accelerator, a car blew through the light, barely missing his front bumper. He hit the brakes.
Wasn’t that Sondra’s car? He wasn’t sure, but he turned right and followed it anyway. If it was Sondra, had she recognized his car? Did she even know what kind of car he drove? At the motel he had parked it well away from Boomer’s room.
Greg was determined to catch her. His fingerprints and DNA were all over that motel room. All over Boomer. Normally he had confidence in the legal process. But now that his freedom was on the line, could he really trust that the police would believe his story? If he wasn’t guilty then why did he flee the scene of the crime?
*
Cynthia flipped on the light. “Are y’all okay?”
Angie jerked awake. “What?”
Edsel’s eyes sprung open and he sat up in bed. He winced at the sharp pain in his chest and held his breath.
“I’m sorry,” said Cynthia. “But we were afraid Edsel might be in danger.”
Angie and Edsel both stared at E. Z.
“No, it’s not her,” said Cynthia. “Sondra’s the one who tried to kill you.”
“That makes a lot more sense,” said Edsel.
Angie looked at E. Z. “But why were you here this afternoon?”
“Well, I… “
Cynthia’s cell phone began to ring. It wasn’t Greg’s ringtone. She flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Cynthia, my phone died. I’m calling from a pay phone. I don’t have much time, so I’ve got to talk fast.”
“Greg,—”
“—I’m following Sondra. She’s trying to get away.”
“Where are you, Honey? I’ll call the police.”
No answer.
“Greg?”
The line went dead.
“Greg’s following Sondra. She’s on the run. But I don’t know where they are. We got cut off.”
“Houston,” said E. Z. “I’ll bet she’s headed back to Houston. It’s the only place she’s every lived besides Orange.”
“We’ve got to follow them,” said Cynthia.
“She probably took Highway 87,” said E. Z. “That’s the quickest way out of town from her mother’s house. But once she gets to Port Arthur it’ll be trickier. There are three major roads from there to Beaumont. Or she might take 73 and bypass Beaumont altogether.”
“We’d better hurry,” said Cynthia.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” said Edsel, gritting his teeth against the pain. “You’re not going without me. That boy’s like a son to me.” He managed to stand up.
Angie jumped up and ran to him. “What are you doing? You can’t go anywhere. Get back in that bed.”
“Where are my clothes?” He walked gingerly toward the closet.
“Edsel, don’t be ridiculous,” said Angie, grabbing his arm.
“I’m going,” insisted Edsel.
Angie looked at the other two women. Cynthia shrugged.
“We’ll all go,” said Angie. “We can take my car.”
Edsel turned to her and was about to speak.
She shook her finger at him. “Don’t you even think about it. I’m driving.”
*
“Good boy,” said Sondra, easing the pressure of the muzzle against Greg’s back. “Where are your car keys?”
“I left them in the ignition.”
“Well, that was foolish. Somebody could have stolen your car while you were out her playing around on the phone.”
He said nothing.
“Now listen carefully. You will walk to the car, open the door, get in and move over to the passenger seat. And you will keep your mouth shut. Understood?”
“Yes.”
Once Greg was in the passenger seat, Sondra got in and started up the engine. She held the pistol in her left hand as she steered with her right.
What was she going to do with him? Take him to some dark road and shoot him? Surely she didn’t honestly believe she could get away with that. She’d end up on death row. Didn’t she realize that? Didn’t that scare her? He studied her face. What was he thinking? She hadn’t hesitated to murder a member of her own band. Why would she think twice about killing him?
She drove out of Bridge City toward the Rainbow Bridge. The 680-foot wide bridge was built in 1936, and is still the tallest bridge in Texas, at a height of 177 feet.
As she drove onto the bridge, Greg had a terrible thought. What if she planned to—.
“—you know what I’ve always wanted to see, Greg?”
Was it a trick? She had instructed him not to speak. If he answered the question would she blow his face off?
She went on. “I’ve always wanted to watch somebody dive off the top of this bridge. Ever since I was a kid I’ve pictured it.”
This is not good, thought Greg. He wished he had tried to make a run for it at the convenience store. There would be no place to run and hide now that they were on the bridge.
“Yeah, I’ve always thought that would be so cool—the screaming… the arms flailing… the hopeless plunge to a certain death. And fortunately, there’s not much traffic on this bridge at 1:00 AM.”
He knew she was right. His only hope was for a state trooper to happen by. It was a narrow, two-lane bridge. Parking was obviously not allowed. She could tell the officer that they had engine problems. But he’d probably want her to coast down the bridge. And once he stopped to talk to her, Greg would hint that he was being held against his will. But then Sondra would shoot the trooper at point blank range.
Sondra parked at the top of the bridge. “Get out.”
She walked him to the guardrail, motioning with the gun. “Over you go.”
Greg saw a car approaching the bridge from the Port Arthur side.
Sondra saw it too. “Come over here and be looking at this tire.” She pointed to the front passenger side. “I’ll tell them we have a flat. If you say anything, or try to give them a sign,” she said poking him in the ribs with the pistol, “you’re a dead man.”
*
Angie’s silver Tahoe zipped through Bridge City.
“You’re gonna get a ticket, Angie,” said Edsel.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re going twenty miles over the speed limit.”
“Well, I may get a ticket. But they’ll have to catch me first. I’m not stopping until I find Greg.”
Edsel smiled. If he’d been driving he would have done the same thing.
Cynthia and E. Z. glanced at each other. Cynthia was worried sick about Greg, and it showed. E. Z. reached over and patted her hand.
Once they cleared Bridge City, they could see the lighted arch up ahead, two-miles away. Angie floored the accelerator. Soon they were traveling at 100 mph.
*
“Thanks, but there’s really nothing you can do. The rim is bent.” said Sondra. “We’ve got a tow truck on the way.”
The pickup drove off.
“Nice job, Greg.” said Sondra. “He didn’t suspect a thing.” She took a breath. “Okay, now—where were we? Oh, yeah. You were about to jump off the bridge.”
“Here comes another car,” said Greg.
This one was coming from the Bridge City side.
Sondra was surprised at how fast the headlights were approaching. “They’re going way too fast.”
“Probably drunk,” said Greg.
But as the vehicle got closer it slowed down and pulled in behind Greg’s car. A man shouted from the front passenger’s window, “Don’t do anything crazy, Sondra.”
Sondra recognized him. It was Edsel Torkman. “I’ve got a gun.” Sondra walked Greg backwards until they were up against the guardrail. She wrapped one arm around Greg and held the pistol to his head. “And if you don’t leave right now, I’m gonna blow his brains out.”
“I know you’re the one who dropped the car on my chest,” said Edsel. “But I’m okay. So, don’t make matters worse by hurting my nephew.”
“You’ve got five seconds to get out of here!”
Angie backed up the Tahoe and slowly drove around the Bonneville.
Greg could see that Angie was driving, but he couldn’t tell if Cynthia was in the car. The back windows were tinted dark.
As they headed down the bridge, Edsel shouted, “Fly the rain, Greg. Fly the rain!”
Sondra looked at Greg. “Fly the rain? What does that mean?”
Before he could respond, she went on. “In a few seconds you’re gonna wish you could fly.” She laughed. “Okay. I’m tired of playing around. Climb over the rail!”
Greg stepped up to the guardrail and then looked back at her. “You don’t really want to do this, Sondra.”
When he heard the loud boom, he thought Sondra had shot him. Then he thought she had missed—until his right arm began to sting. “Okay!” He climbed over to the back side of the railing and held on. What did Uncle Ed mean when he yelled ‘fly the rain?’ Do they have a plan to rescue me? Was it some kind of clue?
Sondra stepped in closer. His body would disappear into the darkness long before it hit the water. But she wanted to see all there was to see. There would be no instant replay. If she blinked, she’d miss half of it. She wondered if she’d be able to hear the splash. His chances of survival were less than 1%. “Okay,” she said. “Do it!”