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| BACK to Me and my Shadow supercar: Driver logs | An introduction to J. Staute and Shadowfast |
"Well Roddy, I hope you got something better than Caleb to throw at me, because I just left him and his boyfriend as a greasy spot in the road. This is fun! Could I have some more of you to smear over my road please? My handle's King of the Road. What's yours? Piss-ant up my leg?"
Yeah, it wasn't eloquent, but it was the best I could do off the top of my head.
I wasn't really that good at talk meant to enrage others.
Then Headhunter chimed in.
"Goddamn! Somebody call the ambulance! There's been a terrible wreck here. Arms and legs just laying all over the place!"
That was all Headhunter said. When others requested more info he pretended he didn't hear them or else had switched channels.
It was obvious Headhunter's voice had been a different one from mine. So he sure enough might have been an eye-witness on the scene-- at least in the minds of some.
It was great theater!
The chatter on the channel got fierce for a couple minutes, with multiple people talking over the top of one another.
"Come on Roddy! Send me more fresh meat! I'm waiting! You guys aren't running off already are you?" I chimed in again, when the chatter had declined some.
That caused the chatter to spike once more, mostly with death threats to me, as Caleb's radio silence was starting to make the reality of it sink in for them.
"Yeah, you're all a bunch of little girls! All talk and no action! Caleb was the bravest one of you and now he's lunch for the crows! Come on! Surely there's one or two of you left with some balls out there!"
I kept pouring gasoline on the rhetorical fire every time I could think of another good line-- with my language getting coarser by the moment. I was on a roll!
I paid no attention at all to the frothing at the mouth threats I was getting in return now. I just kept pumping out more taunts as I thought them up. Knowing that lots of the kind of characters Roddy had rounded up for this didn't take such insults easily. Hopefully I was ruining his control over his gang. They'd be easier to handle one at a time than all together.
Then a new voice came over the radio.
"Hey King of the road. Got your ears on?"
I didn't respond. I didn't recognize the voice. And unlike the other baddies it sounded calm and collected.
"If you can hear me King of the road, I'm your man. Just let me know where you are."
I still didn't respond. But I was heading lickety split towards the posse entire.
"I know all about you Staute. That's my job. I know these days you're usually working a guard detail run between Montgomery and Atlanta, and you were headed back that way today. I know about your car and its little tricks. But they won't work on me. I retire guys like you all the time. You think you're an outlaw, but that's a laugh. You haven't seen a real outlaw before. Not until you meet me."
I still said nothing. I figured this must be the dreaded Gannon. He seemed to be trying to make himself sound like a hit man. But that didn't impress me.
I hoped this was Gannon. For it'd mean Headhunter wasn't. Yay!
And the new voice didn't sound like one Headhunter could easily impersonate. Or vice versa. Of course, there was still no way to be absolutely sure. The stranger continued talking.
"I usually retire them quick. But I'm being paid extra on this one to make you linger. I'm just going to cripple you up and turn you over to my employer. I hear he's got big plans for you--"
I decided to interrupt him.
"Oh wow! You've really got me scared now, shit-head! Ha, ha. I just left Caleb in pieces behind me and you're telling me you're going to do the same to me? So far lots of guys just like you have tried, and their pieces are now in coffins eight feet under. What makes you so special?" I actually didn't know how many men had died trying to hurt me. But I figured several for sure.
"I'm Green Beret."
"So that's my cue to be scared? Hmm. Let me think about it for a minute-- no, I'm sorry. It don't work for me. Wait 'til I get there and I'll give you something to be scared of..."
Gannon didn't say anything else.
Then Headhunter came back online.
"Hey! You Green Beret bastard! Still got your ears on? I'm with Special Operations myself. Maybe we've met?"
"Who's this?" Gannon asked.
"Aww, just somebody you probably didn't expect to see here. Somebody who heard of a Gannon who washed out of Green Beret training not long back due to his slimy nature and plain old incompetence."
"You're not S.O. You're bull-shitting," Gannon came back.
"If I'm not S.O. then somebody sure sprang a hell of leak somewhere! Ever hear of a little gal by the name of Rachel Hodge? Word is what you did to her was what got your ass kicked out."
After that moment Gannon never spoke another word over the radio.
"King, don't you worry about that guy claiming to be Green Beret. He's lying. He's had some training sure, but much of it didn't take apparently. So he was shit-canned with a vengeance. As soon as he shows his ass it's mine," Headhunter assured me. Which sounded absolutely great to me! In more than one way! For it now appeared that Headhunter and Gannon truly were different people! Strike up the band, boys!
But I also wondered what it'd be like to have something approaching two full-blown military commandos involved in our little war here. Yikes!
At least it was unlikely they had any military armament with them. Right? Uh oh. Gannon likely came loaded for bear, while Headhunter probably didn't.
I hoped I hadn't got Headhunter into something that'd be the death of him!
Man if Headhunter wasn't turning out to be one hell of a guy!
Whoa! What if I hadn't raced him? I'd be all by myself now, maybe facing some crazed commando drop out!
I gathered from the ongoing chatter that several carloads of baddies had now broken off from the main body and were headed to meet me, against orders.
Great! My little tirade had worked! But now what the hell would I do with them when I met them?
At least they were unlikely to present a solid road block against me, I figured. For that required a bit of patience and passivity. No, if I had them mad enough they'd want to play it something like a road version of jet combat fighters, swooping past each other and then maybe chasing one another, all the time trying to cause the other to crash and burn.
Or maybe it'd all boil down to something far simpler: a deadly game of chicken.
I'd played chicken before. Unfortunately, here my opponents were not only likely to be crazy or stupid or both-- they were also mad as hell.
So maybe my only chance in playing chicken with them was to both surprise and terrify them...but how?
Hmm. A previous road stunt came to mind. One I'd performed by pure accident the first time, then by subconscious instinct or memory the second. Now I was pretty sure I could consciously do it. And it seemed like it had a fair chance of success. I was pretty sure none of my present opponents had played a game of chicken against the tactic I had in mind.
Of course if it didn't work I could be in a major crack up. Hmm. If I paid close enough attention though I believed I could pull myself out of the stunt almost anywhere along the way. Or abort it, if it didn't appear to be working. But making out what was happening might be tough with the landscape whizzing horizontally across the windshield that way...oh well!
I rounded another curve and there they were on a straight, having just come around their own bend. I saw three of them before I began my maneuver.
I'd recognized two of the cars from before.
This straight wasn't the ideal battle theater for what I had in mind, for the terrain to either side of the road was relatively gentle and forgiving of mistakes. So anyone who went off might still be able to come back again. On the other hand that also meant Shadow and I might survive going off the highway too.
I had to make my move immediately; there was no distance to waste. I saw them, they saw me; everyone knew the fight was on.
Just as I began wagging my steering wheel and punching my brakes I saw they had their own strategy: they'd staggered their formation to cover both lanes of the road so I had nowhere else to go.
But that might only make my own plan work even better. For I'd been worried before what might happen if the cars behind the first didn't see what I was doing until too late-- and cause us all to mash together out of ignorance.
The world began spinning about me as I set Shadow into a series of high speed 360 degree spins, taking up the entire highway with our length in a different manner than our enemies. Our momentum though kept us headed straight at them (I'd made sure how our inertia was set before starting).
Imagine what my foes saw in that moment: Shadowfast apparently completely out of control, coming at them at around 100 mph spinning end to end, taking up the entire road. This was no longer a game of chicken for them: it was a massive crash in progress, and they had to avoid getting caught up in it!
I was doing my best to track their reactions from my vantage point, but it was tough! Sort of like a slow strobe light effect where once a second or so you saw something in stop motion, but had to guess to fill in the gaps. Plus there was some blurring too.
At the same time I was watching them of course I had to also make sure I wasn't accidentally taking us off the road with an errant turn of the wheel. Yikes! That proved tougher than I expected!
Apparently this maneuver is much easier if your subconscious mind rather than conscious one is controlling it. Agh! At least it'd seemed easier last time I did it.
Did I have to abort? No. I ended up not pulling out of the spins until the entire road had been voluntarily cleared by my enemies at relatively high speed.
I was a little dizzy by that point, which made pulling out of the spins again harder than originally expected. But I managed it. Then as my head swayed involuntarily to its own continuing internal spin, I made a few glances around and behind to gauge the aftermath, even as Shadow and I continued on down the road, now in a much more normal fashion.
One of the cars was lost to sight entirely. I couldn't tell what had happened to it. Which was puzzling on the largely flat and even terrain surrounding the road.
Another car had apparently flipped on its top and skidded pretty far off road, its wheels still spinning in air. The third car seemed to have the wheels on one side stuck in a ditch or trench made invisible by foliage.
Five cars down. Unknown number to go.
I immediately returned to the radio.
"Hey Roddy! I need more guys! Those last few you sent me just shit on themselves and ran off the road on me. I haven't got time to chase you guys through the woods on foot! Either come out and play or quit wasting my time! I've got better things to do than teach you girls how to squeal! That's what your mommas' for!"
The CB chatter went up again. This time including a few voices apparently from the cars I'd just run off the road, expressing disbelief that I could still be tooling on down the road unscathed by the events of past minutes. They related to the others how I was a wreck in motion coming at them, etc., etc. Finally some of them started expressing the view that I'd gone off my rocker, and might now be unpredictable.
Ah! Just what I was shooting for!
Of course cooler heads prevailed, unfortunately. And I heard indications of road block trap preparations being made, and watchers being posted to help alert them when to sew it up.
They obviously expected me to come barreling in at high speed at which time they'd hit me with a barrage of gunfire, while also blocking my way for retreat. Then they could just close in for the kill...
Then something odd began happening. The posse started noticing that there were members disappearing on the radio that were nowhere near me.
Headhunter! Bless his soul! I just hoped he survived this!
Now Headhunter was chewing on them from the other side as I did my thing on this one.
Well, I guessed I'd have to crank it up a notch.
Now that they thought I'd lost my mind, it was the perfect time for a little cold and calculated behavior. And more scare tactics.
No way I was going to fly straight into a stronghold road block and have my way behind closed off. I needed some way to bust the posse up some more. So I pulled off the road into a shallow hidey hole to make a few adjustments to Shadow and our preparations. It only took a few minutes, which I figured I had the luxury of at the moment.
I had three self-contained pen-type marine flares on-board, in addition to my flare pistol and associated rounds. I firmly duct taped two of the pens to my driver's side door rear view mirror, and one to the passenger side. In the little elbow-like spot between mirrors and doors. All pointed ahead of the car. I tried to fix their aim a little high of level horizontal. Then I removed their screw caps, exposing their chain finger pull triggers. For this trick the pens seemed better than the pistol.
I next made sure my .38 revolver, shot gun, and some extra ammo for both were handy for quick access. I loaded my long gun with two slugs from its stock sock supply, then with all six slugs from my vest supply. For any more slugs than that I'd have to dip into my onboard ammo box. My stock sock and vest still held scatter-shot rounds though. Plus another couple full loads for my 38 beyond the five rounds I also inserted there at this time, before slipping the pistol, safety-on, into a pants pocket.
I pulled back onto the road and headed back to where I'd left those posse members scattered behind me.
I came again to the straightaway where I'd left them, and there they were. They'd made surprising progress at getting themselves back on the road again. Except of course for the car still on its top.
And either there had originally been four rather than three vehicles, or another posse member had shown up from somewhere-- for now there were three machines either on the road or near to getting on.
I immediately turned on my siren as I sighted them. For I wanted to make sure they saw me coming. I wasn't going very fast as I entered the straight though.
The two cars already on the road took off wheels a spinning straight at me, leaving some of their ride-alongs stranded on the side of the road with the remaining vehicle.
No way they'd fall for the same 360 spins again. Oh yeah, they'd scatter for self-preservation-- but not in a sheer uncontrolled panic like before.
It was somewhat comical. Both cars stayed in the same lane, one behind the other. I guess the second driver wanted a buffer between me and him.
I swerved over in the same lane they were coming at me in, floored Shadow's normal throttle (the nitro would have been overkill here, plus I couldn't have handled the wheel properly) then leaned over and yanked the chain on my passenger side flare. Then I immediately switched hands on the steering wheel, swerved back to the right about half a lane width, and pulled first one and then the other of the flares on my driver's side.
Wow! Quite a few sparks flew in my windows from all that! But the driver's side was the worst. The sparks stung the skin, and I instinctively tried batting some spots afterwards to prevent a fire erupting inside the car.
The sudden unexpected actions on my part had the desired effect. My attackers saw me swerve over as if to ram them and suddenly accelerate tremendously-- then beheld something like a small rocket fire at them from my passenger side. On the heels of that they saw me swerve back a bit as I aimed at them, and fired in quick succession two more rocket-like things from my driver's side.
(Note I couldn't have done this with my flare pistol, as it was a single shot I'd have been forced to reload manually while driving.)
Yes, I reckoned the entire posse had been either briefed in regards to most of my tricks and gadgets-- or else experienced some of them before, first hand. Including my flare gun use. But none had seen or heard about something like rockets being fired from Shadow-- or seen the amazing 360 degree spin that had rattled this particular bunch only minutes before.
The last one or two flares had maybe been unnecessary, as both cars ran themselves off the road again at considerable speed, trying to avoid being blown up by imaginary rockets.
All the video on TV news every night about guided rockets being used in Vietnam probably didn't hurt my gambit either.
My flares bounced a few times along the road and sat there sizzling, trying to melt holes in the pavement.
I avoided letting my tires hit the hot spots as I sped over them: I was afraid they might stick.
Yeah, the pen-flares weren't really much of a threat to anyone the way I'd used them. But they offered a nice visual surprise for my purposes.
I pulled a fast stop and parked beside the road, surveying things. For the moment the drivers of both the freshly ditched cars seemed occupied, and their companions with the third down the way watching in uncertainty about what was going to happen next.
I was hoping at least one of them was radioing all this in to their main body.
I left Shadow idling and got out, pulling my shotgun free. It had a short slug barrel on it with a rifle-like sight. It could shoot scatter shot too of course.
I usually kept a mix of slugs and shot rounds with the gun. This occasion called for slugs. I'd preloaded the gun a few minutes before.
I found a good spot to rest myself and the gun just atop Shadow's driver's side windshield corner post, and took aim at the car I deemed most likely to get moving again any time soon, then blasted a big chunk out of it with a slug.
Or tried to anyway. My target was somewhat further out than I usually practiced with my Remington and slugs.
I practice fired slugs much more often than shot. I liked to cut down small trees with them, among other things.
A 12 gauge slug is a pretty big and robust shell.
My first, then second slugs missed, due to me getting accustomed to the new range. After that though all my shots but one would be more or less on target.
The sole occupant of my first target vehicle immediately took cover when they realized I was shooting at them. The sound of the shots alerted the others to do likewise.
I wasn't aiming for the drivers of course. Just at the most vulnerable spots of their cars, in order to put them out of commission. Scaring the shit out of those in or around the cars was just a bonus.
I sure hoped someone among them was reporting all this over the radio.
I tried to avoid hitting anyone's battery or dashboard, and thereby putting their radio out of commission. But using slugs at such a distance as this was a bit messy no matter how you did it. I just hoped I didn't injure any of the men too badly with a ricochet or shrapnel along the way.
Where possible I wanted to send my slugs right through grills, hoods, and fenders and into the vicinity of the cars' relatively fragile radiators, carburetors, and distributors. For those would be much harder to repair than a blown tire or two.
After one slug into the vicinity of the first car's gas tank (it's all I could get at that angle), then two into the engine compartment of the second, I noticed the guys with the car just off the road not a part of the last melee had found their guns and begun shooting at me. Or found pistols rather. At this range and firing wildly like that I wasn't too concerned with their efforts. But I didn't take kindly to it at all. So I buried a slug in their own engine compartment by way of the radiator.
The slug impacts in their immediate vicinity must have been pretty impressive. For the posse contingent's return fire was all over the place. Of course it is tough to aim when you're cringing in nearly a fetal position. Behind whatever solid cover you can wrest from your similarly frightened companions in the face of fire which could easily take your whole head or a whole limb away in a single shot. In those days there were few non-military type rounds available which could take as big a bite out of a victim as a single 12 gauge slug.
And remember those guys had no idea I was only aiming to disable their cars.
With the last two slugs at my immediate disposal I did my best to insure none of these vehicles would return to the road today, as well as further terrorize the folks associated with them.
Then I packed back up (quickly refilling my shotgun's eight round magazine with the remaining at-hand shells which all consisted of scatter-shot), turned Shadow around, and left.
Of course my victims could not know if I might return again to harass them.
Now I could conveniently eavesdrop on the posse over the CB again. Good! My recent target practice victims had indeed reported the whole thing to posse central. Once again Roddy lost a few more troops to insubordination, as they broke ranks to come help their now completely immobilized and possibly further endangered companions.
Time was running out for the posse of course. For civilian reports of the ongoing carnage had to be starting to trickle in to police somewhere. Roddy and the posse had to know time was running short. Plus Headhunter and I seemed to be successfully winning a war of attrition at the moment.
But there was still a bit more fighting to do I reckoned, before the dust settled. It now seemed I had another bunch coming to relieve those stranded beside the road and all shot up. The posse now knew I had a shot gun and was using it, plus some sort of fireworks I could spray in front of the car (they didn't realize those were flares, or that I'd used up all my pen flares store in that one volley).
Meanwhile I was running out of tricks myself. I'd successfully persuaded another bunch to come at me on their own again now. But damned if I knew how I was going to handle them. It'd be far too risky to try the same moves already reported to them by their compatriots.
But what did I have left?
What the hell!?
A lone, non-helmeted motorcyclist zoomed past me as we abruptly met in a blind curve. I instantly deemed him posse due to the long gun strapped to his back. I got a brief follow up glance in my 180 degree rear view mirror before he vanished around the bend. The gun had a scope, making it appear to be a hunting rifle. Or sniper's gun, maybe.
The very second we'd cleared the curve I stomped down on my emergency brake and pulled a 180 degree turn, figuring that would be the last thing the cyclist would expect of me-- as he was probably doing his own version of the same maneuver with a lot less mass to lug around. I had not a second to spare. I couldn't afford to let this guy get too far from me if he was a trained sniper sent to kill me-- for he could then at leisure blow my head apart with no warning whatsoever.
Just as soon as I had Shadow facing the proper direction I yanked the brake release under the dash and flipped the nitro on and off again for the biggest spurt I thought we might handle in the circumstance, as I also floored Shadow's conventional throttle.
Smoke poured off Shadow's screaming rear tires, with a slight breeze making some of it envelope us and even get ahead by a bit. I switched on the siren and every forward facing light we had, including emergency blinkers. As the siren took a second to get to 100% howl, the timing of its scream was almost perfect as our nemesis suddenly came back around the bend at horrendous speed, one knee almost scraping the pavement as he banked to cope with the physics involved.
And there we were right in his face, driving lamps and headlights ablazing, emergencies blinking, smoke boiling, tires and siren screaming-- and that whole mess coming straight at him in the middle of the road at God-awful speed.
The guy knew how to handle his bike though, and laid it down completely flat on the road, skidding out of the ramming zone and into the foliage off to the side. He hadn't lost his cool in spite of the sudden horrendous racket and massive threat.
Shadow and I continued on around the bend, then pulled a repeat of the previous 180 turn, and headed back around again to see what was what.
I had no choice here. A sniper is the most dangerous threat of all-- even worse than a bomb-maker or poisoner in some ways. I had to make sure he was out of commission.
I came back around the curve as fast as I dared and screeched to a stop where the cyclist had hit the trees and bushes off-road. Luckily there was sufficient clear space on the road-side that Shadow wasn't blocking the curve. Unluckily, with my need for haste, I'd have to leave Shadow terribly exposed there for any passer-by-- innocent or malevolent-- to see.
I hurriedly flipped off all my light and noise-makers, grabbed my shot gun-- now filled with scatter-shot rounds-- and went in looking for him, knowing this could be my end, one way or another. But the only alternative was to get splattered by him later from a distance with no chance at all. Damn him! I was going to have to actually shoot somebody to death here in self-defense-- if I lived through the next few seconds. And maybe get ambushed right after that by more posse members, if they came by while Shadow was sitting there in the open like that.
But fortunately the emergency slide into the trees and rough terrain had broken the rider up pretty badly, making him no longer the imminent threat I feared. Especially after I found his seemingly undamaged sniper rifle and took it into my own possession. I also found he had a shoulder holstered 45 semi-automatic and an ankle holstered 32 caliber on his person. Plus a big knife. He probably had a few more small items of the sort on him, but I was uncomfortable staying too close to him for more of a search, even though he obviously had at least one leg and one arm broken.
His pistols and knife I threw away as far as I could into the brush. The rifle though I figured I'd keep, as I currently owned no such beast in my personal arsenal. Those babies were expensive. I had no plans to turn sniper. It's just that a complete arsenal should include a high powered rifle for both hunting and defensive purposes.
"You Staute?" The sniper asked me, in-between brief grunts of pain.
"Yeah. Who are you?" I asked as I pointed my shot gun directly at his mid-section from around five or six feet away, my finger on the trigger. My shot wouldn't cut him in half-- he'd just wish it had.
"Gannon," he told me. That made me examine his face really closely, in case I might need to describe him later to someone, or maybe watch out for him in the future. For I had no intention of killing him unless he forced me.
"You know you're lucky I got to you before Headhunter, right?" I asked him.
"Yeah. Lucky. You're the lucky one, you son of a bitch. I can't believe I let you catch me in that curve like that. Not one guy out of a million could have doubled back on me like that...how the hell did you do it so fast?" He coughed, painfully. "You turned that car as quick as I did my cycle! I didn't think that was possible!"
I didn't smile. I was still in danger. Watching Gannon like a hawk. Even if he didn't qualify as a real Green Beret I knew he'd still had lots of deadly training. And had to be tough as nails to even get to the testing stage for such a group.
"I've got nitrous oxide. Plus, I've been doing this for a while now," I told him.
Gannon seemed to cough and laugh at the same time. I'm not sure if he knew what the heck I meant about a nitrous oxide system, as mainly just hard core hot rodders were familiar with the stuff.
"I don't want to kill you Gannon. But you told me how dangerous you are. And I believe you."
"So this is it, huh?" was Gannon's response. "You never killed anyone in cold blood before. I've seen your file."
What file he was talking about I had no idea. And didn't really care.
"Yeah. You're right. So far as anyone but me knows," I replied ominously.
I let him think about that for a moment, then I pulled my 38 Special out of my pants pocket, took off the safety, and shot him in the knee of his remaining good leg. He grunted really loudly at that. Then I shot him again in the elbow of his least injured arm. That grunt was a little less audible, as I'd done him the favor of spacing the agonies so close together.
I'd firmly held the pistol in both hands, only a couple feet away from the targets. I didn't want the kick to spoil my aim and force hellish retries.
The 38's blasts were awful loud here in the close surroundings of the woods. I hoped no posse members were close enough to hear them.
Then I put on the safety of my shot gun and smashed all the fingers on both his hands repeatedly with the stock, making sure to break most of them, maybe in several places. That took a gut-wrenching couple of minutes as Gannon near-gagged with pain. I hated doing it, even to Gannon. But such injuries would hopefully make it much harder for him to stalk and kill anyone else -- including me and mine-- even after he'd healed up.
Of course the only absolute way to guarantee his disappearance from my life would be killing him. But I just couldn't do that under those circumstances. Or wouldn't, anyway.
With Gannon deemed safely disabled I left him for a couple minutes to better conceal Shadow off the side of the road from the bad guys I knew to be on their way, as well as retrieve my first aid kit and one other item. I kept my 38 in my pocket and my shotgun slung over my shoulder, just in case.
Then I returned to Gannon's predicament. Carrying-- among other things-- my own big scary knife from Shadowfast's store.
Fortunately Gannon was still conscious.
"Gannon, I guess I should take out one of your eyes too so you'll lose depth perception..." I said, even as I made motions like I was preparing to do so. I was really hoping he'd say something to stop me...else I'd have to act like I'd changed my mind on my own...
"No! Goddamn no! Leave me my eyes, please!"
"Gannon, I'll do you that favor if you'll do me one in return."
"Anything! Yes! Damn it!"
"I've leave you both your eyes if you swear you'll never ever come after me again. You understand?"
"Yes! I'll leave you alone! I'll never bother you again! Just leave me my eyes, for God's sakes!"
I knew such deals made under duress weren't necessarily worth much. But I figured the damage to his limbs and fingers should slow him down for life. I would have used the shotgun on his major joints rather than the pistol, but I was pretty sure the shot gun at close range would have cut his lower leg and fore arm completely off the rest of him. And re-attachment probably wouldn't have been done at the hospital.
I didn't want to turn him into a multiple amputee. Just make him unsuited for future hit man duties.
"Gannon, you do know I used the pistol instead of the shotgun so you could keep your arm and leg, right?"
"Yeah. I figured. Thanks," he winced. I was sure his pain had to be incredible. And I suspected his lucidity was slipping away.
I opened up my first aid kit.
"What are you doing? I swear I won't come after you if you leave me my eyes!" Gannon exclaimed.
"Calm down Gannon. It's all right. You're just bleeding so much I figured I better apply some tourniquets to you."
"What?" Gannon asked in disbelief.
"Tourniquets. I have to put some tourniquets on your arms and legs to keep you from bleeding to death. But I'll need more supplies than my own kit has. You have any on the cycle?"
"Tourniquets? Tourniquets. Yeah. Check the left-hand saddle bag."
I dug through the bag and used what I found along with my own supplies to tie up all Gannon's limbs. He had other, less important injuries to be sure, but I was no nurse. I just wanted him to last long enough for better attention to get to him.
By the time I'd finished it was already time to loosen the first one I'd applied.
You have to loosen tourniquets periodically or the limb beyond might get starved of blood and die. At least this was the training I'd gotten in my own youth. The use of tourniquets would undergo some rules changes in the decades to follow.
"Gannon, you need more help than I can give you. Anybody in particular you want me to contact over the CB?"
Gannon's eyes were staying closed for ever longer intervals now. He was likely close to his own personal limits pain and endurance-wise. The only pain-killer I had with me was aspirin. But I was sure it'd be useless to Gannon for his present suffering. After all, this cycle crack up-- plus being shot-up!-- was far beyond a headache!
"Yeah, man. Tell Sonny I'm down and need evac, and where; he'll know what to do." Gannon told me.
"OK. But I can't stay here to loosen your tourniquets. Will you be able to do it yourself?"
"I'll manage. I still got my back and teeth to work with...plus I shouldn't have to loosen them more than once or twice more."
"OK," I got up to return to Shadow and make the call.
"One more thing, Staute," Gannon stopped me.
"Yeah?"
"You're not going to ambush Sonny are you?"
"No."
"You swear?"
"Yeah, I swear Gannon. I really don't want you to die. I just want to be left alone. That's all." I told him.
He really had no choice but to take my word and actions at face value. He sighed.
"OK, when you call Sonny tell him that I personally said the area's clear-- and that his momma's always going to be my bitch-- you got that?"
"OK." I figured that last comment was some inside joke between Gannon and Sonny which would confirm Gannon's words to be voluntary in nature.
"Thanks."
Gannon seemed to pass out after that. He was one tough bastard. I hoped to God I'd never see him again. And that he truly would be able to loosen his tourniquets when needed. Otherwise the docs might have to take his limbs after all. If he lived.
Well, Gannon had surely known the life of an assassin was high-risk when he took it on.
Then and only then did I put in the radio call to Sonny. So I could make sure to have time to vacate the area myself.
This would be one of the few times I'd have blood other than my own spilled on me in my escapades.
Sonny sounded surprised by my message, but took it seriously after I gave him a quick synopsis of events, and the nearest thing to exact quotes I could from Gannon about everything. I made sure that our location was the very last thing I gave out over the radio.
So I'd done what I could to tie up Gannon's bloody ends and call his buddy in to help him. Including tying a large blood-stained piece of cloth on a tree limb in plain sight of the road as a marker for Sonny. And just given aid and comfort to my larger posse enemy in the clear, over the radio.
But hellfire: I couldn't just let Gannon die. Even if it did undermine much of my propaganda strategy with regards to the posse at large.
I'd cleared out of Gannon's location in Shadow even as I spoke to Sonny over the radio, headed back at the posse.
I was sure I'd pass Sonny coming this way.
But before Sonny had a chance to get there I encountered the rogue elements of the posse I'd split off in the most recent shenanigans-- it was close, too. I'd barely got back on the road again when they came into sight. Yikes!
There were at least two cars and three pickup trucks, and they were weaving across both lanes so I'd have nowhere to go. So I pulled a panic stop, shoved Shadow into reverse, and gunned it backwards as soon as the transmission engaged, crossing over into the wrong lane so I'd be unlikely to hit anyone coming around the curve in the proper direction.
As soon as I'd cleared the bend I pulled a 180 degree turn, shifting into drive, and gunning it again, with all the enemy vehicles behind me-- some sprouting arms holding guns.
I flipped on the nitro and left them eating my tire smoke.
But that was it. I was now out of the good stuff, according to my gauge.
With the posse now out of sight I determined a good temporary hidey hole and ducked into it. It helped that this was now like my fifth or sixth run over this piece of road. Then I watched the posse flash by.
I pulled back onto the road and headed toward the wider end of the funnel again.
I figured it likely I'd meet Sonny on his way next.
I'd promised Gannon no ambush, but I'd damn well defend myself if Sonny instigated anything.
Of course if the next posse member I met wasn't Sonny, he'd have a free pass at trying to kill me. One. I got my pistol ready, figuring I'd try to shoot somebody right in the face as we passed if they'd done anything towards me before that.
I passed Gannon's bloody marker on the road-side once more.
Another couple minutes later a dull-colored family sedan approached, looking pretty normal. The guy in it sported a military crew cut, and we both looked very intensely at one another as we passed by. But he didn't try anything. I figured that must have been Sonny.
I hoped I'd never see Sonny again either.
Then I finally got some good news. The racket from the CB indicated the road block was breaking completely up now, as cops seemed to be on the way. Plus Headhunter's efforts were surely ruining their day too.
So there was no block by the time I got there. No Z-28 either.
Shadow was nearly running on fumes by then, so I had no choice but to get gas at that awful looking station before the interstate I'd seen before.
Although I was still anxious about stopping there, so far as I could tell the posse had scattered to the four winds.
I just got half a tank, as I wanted to put as little as I could in from that place. I had a bad feeling about it.
And I was right of course. Shadow would soon be acting like half of what I'd put in him was water. Agh!
Fortunately I carried some alcohol around for that in the trunk. But I wouldn't realize the need for it until it was too late. For it took a few minutes for the contaminated gas to get from the tank to the engine.
I'm unfamiliar with the ways of modern 21st century automobiles, but in the old days if you had water in your gas adding some alcohol would mix with the water and help it burn in the engine, causing you fewer performance problems while you were so plagued. But too much alcohol in the mix and you'd wash the oil off your cylinder walls, possibly damaging your motor.
Shadow began running terribly by the time we'd attained the interstate. He kept threatening to die completely at anything under 55 mph-- and he just couldn't go much over that without being terribly racked with engine coughing.
Man! I hoped to hell it was all over-- because Shadow was sick as hell from the bad gas.
I tried calling Headhunter on the CB a few times, on both the posse channel and eight. Then other likely channels. But got no response. I hoped like hell he was OK. I knew I might not have made it out if not for his help.
I also tried to keep an eye out for his Z-28 being crashed or burning off the side of the road. But it was nowhere to be seen.
Shadow's defenses were so depleted that I decided to head back to my hometown rather than work for reloads.
I knew probably the entire posse-- or what was left of it-- was headed the same way too. But they'd had a head start on me. Plus, with rising law interest in our little dust up, and Headhunter and mine's decimation of their ranks, I thought surely they'd had enough.
I was wrong though.
Roddy wasn't happy about the spectacular failure of his plans. Still worse, it'd happened in view of lots of witnesses: his own minions, as well as other recruits from our hometown.
His failure here would be very bad for his business. Maybe even for his own survival. For he'd now be seen as vulnerable. Heck: a goodie-two-shoes from the local neighborhood had now put him in his place!
Yeah, I was in no way considered a toughie in my hometown. I may have had a nifty trick ride, but that was about it. I had no gang I ruled over, no drug trade, no car theft ring. No money, and no powerful connections personally in local politics or law enforcement. I was a lightweight in a fist-fight too, with no natural talent at all, and zero formal training. I was basically a nobody who sometimes annoyed the real power brokers in those parts.
So Roddy just had to try one last move on me.
He apparently hid somewhere near the entrance ramp to the interstate, knowing I'd have to come through there sooner or later.
He surely knew of me stopping for gas too then. I guess hearing about me using my shotgun on his men and vehicles-- and dispatching Gannon-- made him too skittish for a direct confrontation where I could easily grab my gun and shoot back.
No, he wanted me to have my hands full with other matters when he personally shot at me.
But no way he could sneak up on me in his red Trans Am. Fortunately he did have several guys left from his posse riding in a van to help.
I noticed the van coming up fast from behind in my 180 degree mirror. It was a Ford, splotched with the green and gray of bondo and primer. It was fairly dark inside but I could make out two men in the front seats. Was it posse remnants? If so, I could just speed off and leave them behind indefinitely.
If only I hadn't picked up that load of water in my gas tank from that old station, that is. Shadow was hacking and coughing terribly as the new adulterated fuel made its way through the engine. It now appeared I had to keep him revving at least high enough to maintain about a 55 mph speed or he might quit entirely. And yet taking him up to 75 mph seemed to be our new ceiling with the watered-down gas. Damn!
I badly needed to put some alcohol in the tank.
But I'd realized all this too late, and now I had few options velocity-wise with Shadow. Even slightly robust road maneuvers might cause him to die too, leaving me at Roddy's mercy.
I didn't want to stop and shoot it out. But I couldn't outrun the van in this state either. And here it came.
Maybe I could figure out something else...but dodging around the civilian traffic might put families at risk. And my restrictions on acceleration made such weaving risky simply from traffic realities alone, even if guns weren't anywhere around.
The van's only side windows were in its driver and passenger side doors. I figured the passenger was going to shoot at me like before.
.38 or flare gun? .38 I decided, pulling it out of my pocket. I hadn't reloaded since shooting Gannon, so I had just three rounds left in the pistol. Not many at all to waste trying just to scare somebody off.
I took off the safety as the van came up on my driver's side, trying to keep in mind I couldn't know for sure this was posse: it might just be two country boys in their beat up van listening to rock'n roll.
I kept my left hand on the steering wheel, trying to be acutely aware of everything going on ahead and behind and beside me all at once, even as I held my pistol in my right, out of sight of the van occupants.
The van pulled alongside, but I saw no guns. The passenger did give me an annoying smile, which seemed possibly malevolent or goofy at the same time. I just couldn't tell which.
Then the van slowly moved ahead, in a couple minutes easing into my lane, to get in front of me. I slowed a bit to increase the space between us, but as I said before the bad gas was really squeezing me in terms of speed options. If I slowed too much my engine might die; speed up too much and I might damage the engine or stall out that way.
Everything else around me still seemed OK. Although on rare occasion it seemed I saw a flash of red maybe ten cars back in traffic. I was getting pretty tired by this time, and this new tension wasn't helping matters.
The van now ahead of me had double-doors on the back with a small window in each. I thought I saw movement inside, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, I kept telling myself. I was terrified that the recent attacks might get me so paranoid I'd shoot up a family or something. I kept telling myself I had to calm down!
I was about to put the safety back on my pistol and put it into a nook behind my passenger seat when the twin tail doors on the van flew open and a couple guys with shotguns became visible.
With my pistol still in my right hand I added my right's grip to my left on the steering wheel and ran off the highway, bouncing into a ditch and out again, then up a rough slope alongside the road. As my finger was still inside the pistol's trigger guard and the safety off I'm amazed I didn't accidentally fire the gun and shoot out my own windshield as I struggled with the jumps in the steering wheel accompanying our sudden off-road jaunt.
I'd instinctively meant to run around the van at high speed and get ahead of them, but a second after I gave Shadow lots of gas he almost died, and took much of our acceleration with him.
The somewhat sideways detour up the slope and the engine-faltering combined with the van's movement to quickly put something less than fifty yards distance between us and the enemy vehicle. The van driver had slammed on the brakes and moved into the emergency lane-- I figured to stop and back up for a better shot at me. Fortunately all this really threw the shooters inside around, and they hadn't yet hit me with anything that I could tell.
I didn't have many options here. But so long as our speed was zilch and the engine was about to die anyway, I pushed the shifter into reverse, playing the gas pedal furiously in an attempt to keep my badly sputtering motor going. The van crew was quickly getting themselves back into order, coming to a complete stop up ahead in the emergency lane.
My trans re-engaged and I spun the rear wheels to get us out of there, back down the slope and towards the road, Shadow coughing terribly the whole way.
I had no choice but to descend as the slope was simply a spot where the interstate bisected a small hill here.
With Shadow threatening to die any moment I knew it'd be risky to try a 180 degree turn on the fly to get facing forward again-- but it'd be even more risky to do it any other way.
There were open grassy fields past the hill slope. I was thinking I might have to try heading cross-country, away from the interstate, to lose the van. Or at least gain enough distance on them so I could find a decent spot to make a stand gunfight-wise.
Then I saw Roddy's red Trans Am pull up into the emergency lane close by. So that Roddy was now ahead of me in my present backwards course, and the van behind.
Damn it all to hell!
Even as I steered us with both hands backwards down and off the bumpy hill I was badly wanting to take a shot at somebody-- or maybe try to somehow one-handedly switch my pistol out for my more potent shotgun-- when the situation changed.
The blessed cavalry had arrived!
|
 |
Headhunter's Z-28 came in for a fast dust cloud throwing stop between me and the bad guys, surprising I believe everyone there. He seemed to appear out of nowhere. In an instant I knew this was it. The stand. I skidded to a stop myself, letting Shadow's motor die, and stomping on the emergency brake rather than throwing the shifter into park: I didn't have time to wait for a complete stop here. Shadow was still settling to zero velocity as I brought my arms up to rest on the window sill of my driver's side door, aiming my pistol as carefully as I could at the van, and trying to be relaxed as I sighted and gently nudged the trigger. Although Roddy was now actually closer to me distance-wise than the van, I figured it best to leave him to Headhunter, due to his Z-28's proximity to the Firebird. |
I squeezed off my last three 38 rounds at the van, actually striking it at least twice from this distance-- which was maybe a personal best for me, given all the factors involved. As soon as the last bullet was gone I threw the pistol into the passenger seat and drew my shotgun, then vastly ramped up my bombardment of the van with its scatter-shot shells. At this distance my every shot pretty much impacted simultaneously the entire outer surface of the vehicle facing me, making it very risky indeed for the occupants to do much more than stay hidden inside. I did try my best to time the shots so as to avoid hitting passing innocents on the highway, but I felt badly pinched by the necessity. My enemies of course cared not a whit for innocent casualties. Fortunately my present height above the highway likely prevented much shot from ricocheting over into the opposing traffic lanes with more than BB velocity. I hoped, anyway! For I was afraid to slack off enough to fully protect the far lanes too from the effects of my attack.
If I'd been loaded with slugs instead of scatter-shot at that moment I could probably have forced the shooters to flee the van altogether. But I might also have turned one or more of them into raw meat sitting in a big red puddle. Unintentionally. Scatter-shot's very helpful about limiting penetration in such instances.
A brief glance in Headhunter's direction beckoned by a different sound showed Roddy's Trans Am getting the hell out of there after getting a couple windows shot out by what seemed to be a 45 caliber semi-automatic pistol in Headhunter's hands.
With Roddy speeding off Headhunter dropped an empty clip and shoved in a new one to continue firing, only now at the van. It seemed he got off one shot while there was technically no clip in his gun-- the first time I'd seen that happen in real life under fire.
Roddy's retreat and our now concentrated fire convinced the van guys to leave too (the 45 slugs-- unlike my scatter shot-- were likely penetrating the van sheet metal with every hit). I was sure glad they left, as my shotgun struck empty at that moment, and it might have taken me a couple of hairy minutes to reload, seeing as how I'd by now spent all my most easily accessible ammo and would have to resort to the main store onboard (a military surplus ammo box) for more.
"You hit, King?" Headhunter yelled at me from below.
"No! How about you?"
"A few scratches from some of their friends is all," he told me, as he motioned towards some bullet holes and scatter shot damage in the body of his Z-28. His car glass displayed multiple impact spidering as well. Headhunter himself seemed uninjured, and his car still functional, so apparently they'd neither suffered serious damage. But I still felt bad that Headhunter had had to face the bandits without any armor protection at all. And it seemed my nitrous boosted acceleration power had protected Shadow and I completely from any gunfire hits; for I never found a single one from this episode, amazingly enough.
As the battle finally seemed over now, I made my way down the remaining slope to him, on foot.
We shook hands.
"Glad to finally meet you King," Headhunter said.
"Damn glad to meet you, Headhunter! I think you may have saved my ass just now."
"Oh, I don't know about that. From what I heard over the air you might have whupped this whole bunch even without my help. Who the hell are you, anyway? You're not military. I'm damn sure of that."
"No. I've had some ROTC training, but that's it for the military stuff. I've basically trained myself. Built my car. And tried to make a buck here and there."
Headhunter laughed.
"Damn, son! If you like making money the hard way you should sign up for 'Nam!"
"Thanks, but one thing I learned in ROTC is that I'm not very good at taking orders."
"Well hell, son! The way the war's going we may need more like you that takes the initiative and fewer like this bunch we just scared off, who just eat the shit they get handed."
I laughed. Then I brought up more sobering matters.
"You hear about Gannon?"
"Yeah. Good thing you got to him before he got into position."
"Yeah, I figured that. I was damn lucky."
"I'd keep an eye open in the back of my head for him if I was you," Gannon warned.
"Yeah, I know that too. But I tried to make it tough for him to come back as a hit man in his next life."
"Snipers only need eyes and a trigger finger," Headhunter reminded me.
"Yeah, well, I broke his fingers," I replied.
Headhunter smiled. "You might should have just finished the job."
"Well, this is America Headhunter. You're innocent until proven guilty. And even if you are guilty you should be suitably punished and get a second chance. People can change, after all. And I can't actually say that Gannon injured me in any way. Only threatened to. If he took me to court, he could probably have me thrown in prison!"
"Some people can change, maybe," Headhunter said skeptically.
"Yeah. I just don't like wasting anything I guess. And a human being is about the biggest waste of all when they're killed unnecessarily. To my way of thinking anyway."
"Gannon wouldn't have spent no time at all on such stuff. He'd have killed you or tortured you with not a care in the world."
"I know. But after he's laid up a while he might become a better person. I've seen it happen before."
"Let's hope you're right. So what about the bastard in the Pontiac?" Headhunter referred to Roddy.
"Thanks for not killing him, Headhunter."
"You're welcome-- I guess. Name's Tom, by the way. Tom Reynolds. Only reason I didn't kill him was I didn't have to. But won't you have to worry about him later, too?"
"Not necessarily. I'm not in my hometown much these days. And he might actually be more worried about me-- or you!-- coming after him, after all this," I happily waved my arms around. I couldn't help but marvel at how well things had turned out.
This had been much easier than certain other recent adventures, after all.
"Point taken. What say we get out of here before the law shows up asking questions, and get us some eats?"
"Sounds great to me! And I'm Jerry. Jerry Staute."
I retrieved some alcohol from my trunk and fed it to Shadow's tank while Tom waited for me. Shadow was so stove up though I had to use a smidgen of starter fluid too to actually get him running again. Damn watered-down gas. It'd almost gotten me killed!
Tom thought it funny though. Considering all else which had transpired that day.
Tom and I found us a greasy spoon away from all the shiny fast food places near the interstate, just in case more posse remnants were still around. Man, but that was some of the best tasting but otherwise God-awful food I ever had. It gave me some really bad gas pains and a bit of explosive diarrhea later that night. But I wasn't sick for long. Luckily it didn't hit me until I was well within emergency range of a bathroom at my parents' place. Even then though I barely made it!
I hoped the same thing didn't happen to Tom after he resumed his trip! Yikes!
I tried my best to avoid greasy spoons after that. And just took my own sickness-- so closely timed with Shadow's bad gas ordeal-- as another sign of how intertwined our fates were.
I'd felt mighty obliged to Tom for his aid in the latest fracas, and so revealed a bit more of Shadow's tricks to him than just about anybody else had ever seen but for me and dad. Even my friends Steve and Will never knew of all Shadow's special talents back then (I admit it: they weren't really that interested, either).
There was also the fact that I often itched to brag about Shadow and his gadgets to someone in those days, but couldn't. So Tom got nearly the full tour in the greasy spoon parking lot.
But what he really liked hearing about most was the nitrous. For that meant I had indeed cheated to blow his doors off in our race.
(Well-- not really. Blind racing is racing, after all (by blind I refer to the wordless challenge from Tom which had allowed no opportunity for him to learn I had nitrous). But the existence of the nitrous would be an acceptable fig leaf for the tale when Tom might relate it to his buddies later.)
We traded some addresses and phone numbers before parting ways, but Tom's own marching orders and my hop scotch living arrangements meant it'd be quite a while before we spoke again...
In gradually compiling all the background info on this incident over the years since, I also heard from more than one person that Roddy had promised a pretty hefty reward to whoever he deemed most responsible for destroying Shadowfast and/or badly injuring or killing me.
What was the ultimate reward? Two thousand dollars, supposedly.
Yeah, I know that doesn't sound like much in 2007. But it was quite a shiny sum in 1973, in my impoverished hometown.
I was surprised by Roddy's end when I heard of it. Not surprised that someone had killed him. Just by how they did it. Apparently someone had done to him exactly what he'd threatened to do to me-- shot him in the face while he was sitting in his car (not the Trans Am, but some import I believe). A friend of his had discovered him soon after and rushed him to the hospital, but too late.
It was pretty gruesome. The friend had had no choice but to slide the seat rearwards and sit in Roddy's bloody lap to drive him to the hospital as quickly as possible. For apparently he was unable to move Roddy out of the driver's seat and no one else around was immediately able (or maybe willing) to help in the matter.
And no. It wasn't me who killed Roddy. Although anyone who knew of Roddy's parking lot threat to me (and various other matters as related here) might have suspected me. But so far as I know the police never learned of our parking lot impasse. Though I did tell Steve and a few others about it at the time. I never told anyone but a few of my fellow convoy members about the run-in with Roddy's posse though. Until now.
And Roddy's murder happened years after he'd pointed his own gun at my nose and sent his henchmen to cripple me up or kill me. I'm not even sure now if I was in Tennessee when Roddy died there.
What became of Gannon and Caleb-- and Caleb's ride-along in his Charger? I honestly don't know. To this day (late 2007) I've never seen or heard anything about any of those guys again (I never did know the identity of Caleb's ride-along). They might all be alive and well-- or long dead. Recall I had to return to convoy duty again almost immediately after all that, so I couldn't monitor the local newspapers for such things. And I couldn't very well alert friends and family to do so either, without telling them far more than I wanted them to know. Hopefully those former enemies are all alive and good and peace-loving folks now.
Just to be on the safe side though I try not to tempt any would-be sniper with an easy target. Even now, decades later. No matter where I am or what I'm doing.
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