room for your bag, too. What’s your cell number?”
Will told him. He pressed his duffel down into the well on a patch of carpet covering the floor, then curled his body around it. A tight fit, but he just squeezed in.
“Pull down the strap and hang on to it,” said Nando. “Mute your phone and put your earbuds in. Gonna hit’chu on the cell.”
Will pulled the hatch closed and disappeared in darkness. He thumbed on his phone, filling the well with faint white light. Black molded metal boxed him in all around. He heard the van inch forward, tires crunching on pavement just below him. Will’s phone buzzed. He answered, then heard Nando’s voice in his ears.
“Four cars to go. Chill now, we got this. Gonna put this on speaker.”
He heard Nando set the phone on the console and switch on a Lakers game. Every twenty seconds, the van rolled forward a few more feet. Will slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and focused on what he could hear: a power window opening, traffic moving north toward Ojai. They rolled forward and stopped one more time. He heard footsteps, then an authoritative male voice.
“Where you headed tonight?”
“Got a pickup at LAX, Officer.”
“Would you lower your rear windows, please?”
“Of course, sir.”
Will heard Nando power the windows down and the scrape of the patrolman’s boots as he stepped toward the rear of the van.
“The roads closed up ahead or anything?” asked Nando.
“No,” said the patrolman.
Will heard a second set of footsteps. Something rolled beneath the van. He pictured a wheeled security inspection device with angled mirrors. It stopped directly under the well where he was lying.
“Are you carrying a spare tonight?”
“Always, sir,” said Nando.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car, sir.”
Will coiled tensely, expecting a hand to bang on the well and order him out. But the silence was shattered instead by a sound that set his heart pounding—a raucous, unmuffled V-8 roaring up behind them on the highway. It accelerated wildly as it raced at them. There was an eerie pause, followed by a massive shattering crash; then the engine growled away. On the far side of the checkpoint.
“Whoa,” said Nando.
The Highway Patrol officers yanked their mirror from under the van and ran, shouting into their radios. Moments later, their cruisers peeled out, sirens screaming as they gave chase to the south.
“Hang tight,” said Nando into the phone. “We’re back on the move.” The van edged forward, slowly picking up speed. “You should’ve seen it. That was crazy.”
“A hot rod doing about ninety that jumped the roadblock?”
“Dude went Evil Knievel on ’em. Airborne, baby! Over three cruisers, sticks a landing on the roof of a fourth one, rides down the hood onto the highway, and takes off like a rocket, and the whole time I’m like, Are my eyes seeing what I’m seeing? ”
Will heard the turn indicator. The van eased to the right, and he knew they’d branched off onto the road that would take them northwest to Santa Barbara.
“Come on out, Will. All clear.”
Will pushed open the hatch, stretched out a cramp, and settled back in his seat. They were alone on the road now, moving through the dark.
“So you seen that Prowler before?” asked Nando, glancing at him in the mirror.
“Earlier today. In town.”
Will heard a ding in his earpiece. He looked at the phone. Words appeared:
GET AWAY. FAST. I’LL FIND YOU .
Not a text. Just big block letters, by themselves. From Prowler Man?
“Who is that guy?”
“I have no idea,” said Will. “Think they’ll look for me at the airport?”
“They’re gonna be chasing that Prowler for a while. Dude’s probably in downtown Oxnard already. Waiting at the drive-through for In-N-Out.”
They both laughed a little. As the words on Will’s phone faded, it hit him: Prowler Man’s Australian. That was the accent I couldn’t place . Then another question: Do I want him to
Will told him. He pressed his duffel down into the well on a patch of carpet covering the floor, then curled his body around it. A tight fit, but he just squeezed in.
“Pull down the strap and hang on to it,” said Nando. “Mute your phone and put your earbuds in. Gonna hit’chu on the cell.”
Will pulled the hatch closed and disappeared in darkness. He thumbed on his phone, filling the well with faint white light. Black molded metal boxed him in all around. He heard the van inch forward, tires crunching on pavement just below him. Will’s phone buzzed. He answered, then heard Nando’s voice in his ears.
“Four cars to go. Chill now, we got this. Gonna put this on speaker.”
He heard Nando set the phone on the console and switch on a Lakers game. Every twenty seconds, the van rolled forward a few more feet. Will slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and focused on what he could hear: a power window opening, traffic moving north toward Ojai. They rolled forward and stopped one more time. He heard footsteps, then an authoritative male voice.
“Where you headed tonight?”
“Got a pickup at LAX, Officer.”
“Would you lower your rear windows, please?”
“Of course, sir.”
Will heard Nando power the windows down and the scrape of the patrolman’s boots as he stepped toward the rear of the van.
“The roads closed up ahead or anything?” asked Nando.
“No,” said the patrolman.
Will heard a second set of footsteps. Something rolled beneath the van. He pictured a wheeled security inspection device with angled mirrors. It stopped directly under the well where he was lying.
“Are you carrying a spare tonight?”
“Always, sir,” said Nando.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car, sir.”
Will coiled tensely, expecting a hand to bang on the well and order him out. But the silence was shattered instead by a sound that set his heart pounding—a raucous, unmuffled V-8 roaring up behind them on the highway. It accelerated wildly as it raced at them. There was an eerie pause, followed by a massive shattering crash; then the engine growled away. On the far side of the checkpoint.
“Whoa,” said Nando.
The Highway Patrol officers yanked their mirror from under the van and ran, shouting into their radios. Moments later, their cruisers peeled out, sirens screaming as they gave chase to the south.
“Hang tight,” said Nando into the phone. “We’re back on the move.” The van edged forward, slowly picking up speed. “You should’ve seen it. That was crazy.”
“A hot rod doing about ninety that jumped the roadblock?”
“Dude went Evil Knievel on ’em. Airborne, baby! Over three cruisers, sticks a landing on the roof of a fourth one, rides down the hood onto the highway, and takes off like a rocket, and the whole time I’m like, Are my eyes seeing what I’m seeing? ”
Will heard the turn indicator. The van eased to the right, and he knew they’d branched off onto the road that would take them northwest to Santa Barbara.
“Come on out, Will. All clear.”
Will pushed open the hatch, stretched out a cramp, and settled back in his seat. They were alone on the road now, moving through the dark.
“So you seen that Prowler before?” asked Nando, glancing at him in the mirror.
“Earlier today. In town.”
Will heard a ding in his earpiece. He looked at the phone. Words appeared:
GET AWAY. FAST. I’LL FIND YOU .
Not a text. Just big block letters, by themselves. From Prowler Man?
“Who is that guy?”
“I have no idea,” said Will. “Think they’ll look for me at the airport?”
“They’re gonna be chasing that Prowler for a while. Dude’s probably in downtown Oxnard already. Waiting at the drive-through for In-N-Out.”
They both laughed a little. As the words on Will’s phone faded, it hit him: Prowler Man’s Australian. That was the accent I couldn’t place . Then another question: Do I want him to
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