trouble.
CHAPTER TEN
Hurtling down I-35 and weaving through traffic, I sent a text message to my wife, to tell her that everything was fine and going according to schedule, nothing to worry about here. Felt a little guilty for doing that, but I promised myself I’d give her the full update next time we talked.
Wind whistled through the bullet hole in the windshield. Omar popped the glove box and took a length of duct tape from a roll, then sealed the hole. Looked ghetto, but at least it made the car quiet.
As I drove, Omar checked behind us, updating me on suspicious-looking cars or anyone that followed too close. I didn’t think Glenning or any other IntelliCraft people would be behind us. No, they’d want to scare us, then see where we were going.
Then it occurred to me that the bullet they’d fired at the car probably wasn’t meant to harm us. They’d probably launched a GPS tracker into the car. Or maybe that was paranoia.
“Omar, can you check the back and look for the bullet hole?”
He unbuckled his seat belt and crawled into the back, then checked around the cushions. “What am I looking for?”
“A hole, I guess. Torn fabric or something.”
“I do not see anything.”
Maybe there wasn’t anything back there. A GPS bullet sounded too sci-fi; I didn’t know if those things even existed. No, if IntelliCraft wanted to track us, they would have found the car earlier and stashed a GPS on it.
“Does anyone know you have this car?” I said as Omar crawled back into the front seat.
“I do not think so. A few people at the house, perhaps. I go out sometimes to start it up, to keep the battery fresh. But I have never shown anyone where it is.”
Maybe we could pull over and search the undercarriage. But, maybe they could track us with satellites and didn’t even need something attached to the car. But if tracking us was their goal, why had they shot at us?
An idea formed. “We have to sell your car.”
“What? Why?”
I sent a text to Zeke, to find out if he was still in the Austin area. He replied almost instantly, and I asked him to text me his location because we needed to meet.
“We just do, that’s all,” I said to Omar. “It’s for your safety.”
Omar turned his head away and watched the parade of towering billboards and outlet malls as I looked for the next exit. We turned off the highway and I used Zeke’s info to find him at a Super 8 Motel just south of town.
He was outside, sipping a large energy drink and leaning against his Honda.
I parked next to him, and he held up a hand to block out the sun.
“Do you have the title?” I asked Omar.
He fished in the glove box and handed it to me. “I do not know if this is a good idea. Kareem bought me this car.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that, but we’re in serious danger. Trust me, this is our best option right now. Stay here, please.”
“Hey man,” Zeke said once I’d gotten out of the car. “You missed a killer show last night. They did this thirty-minute Grateful Dead tribute in the middle of the show. I was in tears.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
“Alright, then, what’s so important that you’re texting me all panicked in the middle of the day?”
“I need to buy your car. Well, trade for it, actually.”
“You want to what?” he said, laughing.
“I want to trade this Camry for your Civic, straight up. This Camry has low mileage, and it’s at least ten years newer than your car.”
Zeke drained the last of his energy drink, let out a belch, then strolled around the Camry. He leaned in close and ran a hand over the paint. “Why would you want to do that?”
I eyed the parking lot and the surrounding streets for onlookers. Couldn’t find anyone. “I just do, Zeke, please. It’s important.”
He kicked one of the tires. “This car’s nice. Is it stolen, or something like that?”
“No, we just can’t be seen in it anymore. Please, I
CHAPTER TEN
Hurtling down I-35 and weaving through traffic, I sent a text message to my wife, to tell her that everything was fine and going according to schedule, nothing to worry about here. Felt a little guilty for doing that, but I promised myself I’d give her the full update next time we talked.
Wind whistled through the bullet hole in the windshield. Omar popped the glove box and took a length of duct tape from a roll, then sealed the hole. Looked ghetto, but at least it made the car quiet.
As I drove, Omar checked behind us, updating me on suspicious-looking cars or anyone that followed too close. I didn’t think Glenning or any other IntelliCraft people would be behind us. No, they’d want to scare us, then see where we were going.
Then it occurred to me that the bullet they’d fired at the car probably wasn’t meant to harm us. They’d probably launched a GPS tracker into the car. Or maybe that was paranoia.
“Omar, can you check the back and look for the bullet hole?”
He unbuckled his seat belt and crawled into the back, then checked around the cushions. “What am I looking for?”
“A hole, I guess. Torn fabric or something.”
“I do not see anything.”
Maybe there wasn’t anything back there. A GPS bullet sounded too sci-fi; I didn’t know if those things even existed. No, if IntelliCraft wanted to track us, they would have found the car earlier and stashed a GPS on it.
“Does anyone know you have this car?” I said as Omar crawled back into the front seat.
“I do not think so. A few people at the house, perhaps. I go out sometimes to start it up, to keep the battery fresh. But I have never shown anyone where it is.”
Maybe we could pull over and search the undercarriage. But, maybe they could track us with satellites and didn’t even need something attached to the car. But if tracking us was their goal, why had they shot at us?
An idea formed. “We have to sell your car.”
“What? Why?”
I sent a text to Zeke, to find out if he was still in the Austin area. He replied almost instantly, and I asked him to text me his location because we needed to meet.
“We just do, that’s all,” I said to Omar. “It’s for your safety.”
Omar turned his head away and watched the parade of towering billboards and outlet malls as I looked for the next exit. We turned off the highway and I used Zeke’s info to find him at a Super 8 Motel just south of town.
He was outside, sipping a large energy drink and leaning against his Honda.
I parked next to him, and he held up a hand to block out the sun.
“Do you have the title?” I asked Omar.
He fished in the glove box and handed it to me. “I do not know if this is a good idea. Kareem bought me this car.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that, but we’re in serious danger. Trust me, this is our best option right now. Stay here, please.”
“Hey man,” Zeke said once I’d gotten out of the car. “You missed a killer show last night. They did this thirty-minute Grateful Dead tribute in the middle of the show. I was in tears.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
“Alright, then, what’s so important that you’re texting me all panicked in the middle of the day?”
“I need to buy your car. Well, trade for it, actually.”
“You want to what?” he said, laughing.
“I want to trade this Camry for your Civic, straight up. This Camry has low mileage, and it’s at least ten years newer than your car.”
Zeke drained the last of his energy drink, let out a belch, then strolled around the Camry. He leaned in close and ran a hand over the paint. “Why would you want to do that?”
I eyed the parking lot and the surrounding streets for onlookers. Couldn’t find anyone. “I just do, Zeke, please. It’s important.”
He kicked one of the tires. “This car’s nice. Is it stolen, or something like that?”
“No, we just can’t be seen in it anymore. Please, I
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