Forty Thieves by Thomas Perry

they both watched the side windows. When he reached the end of the road he turned to the right, the direction the car had gone. A quarter mile ahead of them was the dark-colored car, sitting beside the road. “That looks like the one,” Sid said.
    He accelerated toward the car, but the driver pulled out and drove off quickly. As Sid sped up, so did the dark car, moving off now at a high speed.
    “Interesting,” said Ronnie. “I guess he isn’t in a mood to chat.”
    Sid kept accelerating. “I am now.”
    “Me too,” said Ronnie. “But if that’s not possible, I’d be satisfied to get a picture of their license plate.” She took out her cell phone and prepared it to take a picture.
    They were slowly gaining on the car ahead of them. Ronnie steadied her phone on the dashboard, and then decided that she could hold it steadier in her hands at this speed.
    Ronnie said, “Get closer. I want to get a license number when he goes under a streetlamp.”
    They were gaining. Far ahead, Ronnie saw the shape of a human torso extend itself out the passenger window of the car. “Wait a minute, Sid. That looks like a—”
    They saw and heard it at once, a flash from the car far ahead of them, a bang and a sound like a hammer hitting their car, an explosion of glass into the front seat that sprayed Sid’s neck and chest and stung his face. There was now a big spiderweb crack in the windshield above his head with a bullet hole in the center.
    Sid took his foot off the gas pedal and let the car coast while he feathered the brake pedal to slow it without losing control.
    The dark car’s tires squealed as it spun around the next corner, leaving a small gray cloud from the burning rubber.
    Sid stepped on the gas pedal again, heading for the place where the car had disappeared. Ronnie said, “Sid!”
    “I know. But now we really want that picture.”
    The air was so still that the cloud from the burned rubber hung over the intersection long enough for the Abels to drive through it into the turn.
    No car was visible. Sid slowed down and they coasted onto the new street. It was a deserted street ending in a cul-de-sac. “What the hell?”
    “I don’t know,” Ronnie said. “I’m looking.”
    “Most garage door openers have a lightbulb that stays on for a time after they’ve been used. Look for a glow at the edge of a garage door.”
    They drifted along the street looking for any sign that a car had been driven into a garage, but they saw no lights and no motion. When they reached the end of the street, Sid stopped the car and they got out.
    Ronnie said, “He knew we were going to catch up. How did he manage to disappear?”
    “I’m beginning to think he does this for a living,” Sid said. “I’ll take this side and you take the other.”
    “Be extra careful,” she said. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”
    “You too. If you see anything at all, signal me and wait.”
    They took their positions and began to advance back up the silent, deserted street. There were SOLD signs on most of the lawns, and the few houses that didn’t have one seemed not to be completed. None looked occupied. Sid and Ronnie walked across front lawns with their guns drawn, each of them keeping one shoulder close to the front of each house, stopping at the end to look around the corner, then crossing the driveway or the lawn to the next one. If a garage had a window they aimed a flashlight into it. They directed their flashlight beams down the spaces between houses, trying to detect a place where a driver might have hidden a car.
    They were on opposite sides of the street, about three houses from the corner, when Ronnie signaled Sid with her light, and he ran to join her. “What have you got?” he whispered.
    “This.” She aimed her flashlight beam between two houses. In the beam Sid could see that a car’s tires had flattened the side lawn in two ruts. She said, “Some of the others have fences or trees between them. He found one