Richard Hawke - Cold Day in Hell

This was it. She felt certain that this was it. She flexed her fingers, stretching them wide, and dropped her hand on the seat. An old habit. A signal to Helen.

“Hand, please,” she muttered. She took a beat, then wrapped her fingers closed and squeezed as tightly as she could.

This was it.

THE BLACK SUBURBAN WAS going too fast. I swore under my breath as it passed. Just because they’re sitting high and mighty, people think they’re in some sort of damn protection bubble. The Suburban cut abruptly back into my lane, forcing me to hit my brakes. The rental started into a slide, but I righted it.

“Jerk.”

There was a tractor trailer in front of the Suburban, maintaining a safe speed. The Suburban pulled out to pass the truck, but it remained too close. As it began to overtake the truck, it skidded to the right, bouncing off the rear wheels of the trailer.

“Shit!”

I pumped my brakes to avoid the skid. The two vehicles moved away from me, and as I watched, the cab of the truck angled to the left, directly into the path of the Suburban. The trailer, which continued moving straight, began to shudder. It rocked sideways several times then seemed to lie down almost gently on its side. The instant it hit the highway, it sent up a cloud of snow and bounced in the air. As it did, the Suburban went into a skid, spinning nearly 180 degrees. When the trailer bounced back down on the road, it landed squarely on top of the Suburban.

The jackknifing continued as the Suburban rolled out from under the trailer, which then seemed to fold itself into an embrace around the vehicle. Sparks leaped from both the vehicles as their metal gouged into the pavement. It was almost beautiful, except that it was horrible.

I managed to come to a stop some fifty feet from the two vehicles. Immediately, I looked in my rearview mirror, where I saw the VW behind me swerving to avoid rear-ending my car. I saw a flash of headlights as someone did rear-end the VW. Horns were going off. More headlights. A car slid sideways off the highway. A crunch . A bang . A thud . I remained with my grip tight on the steering wheel, holding my breath. No one hit me. I twisted around in the seat for a look.

Cars at all angles. It looked like a parking lot of drunken sailors.

ROSS SAW THE LIGHTS up ahead, the glow of pulsing red and yellow lights filling the air. He gently pumped the brakes.

“What is it?” Tracy craned forward as if the few extra inches would bring any additional vision.

“Accident.” Ross shifted to the right lane and continued to slow down. Up ahead were at least a dozen vehicles, maybe more. All stopped. A tractor trailer had jackknifed and was on its side. It looked in the whirling snow like a large beached whale. A partially crushed vehicle was tucked up against the truck. Baby whale. Ross checked his rearview mirror. Traffic was coming in slowly behind him. In another minute, he’d be trapped.

“Hold on.” Ross put the car in reverse and flung his arm over the back of the seat to look behind him.

Tracy was alarmed. “What are you doing? Are you backing up?”

No, I’m doing the fucking Charleston.

That’s it, Ross thought as he maneuvered partway onto the shoulder in order to squeeze past a pickup truck, I’m having nothing more to do with this simpleton. She’s been nothing but trouble ever since I first heard her goddamn name. His eyes went to the backseat, where he’d laid his overcoat. The edge of the crowbar that he’d fetched from the trunk when they were in the airport parking lot was showing. Ross stretched back farther and flipped an arm of the overcoat over the metal bar. The car swerved dangerously close to the far shoulder of the road, but he pulled the wheel in time to avoid the ditch.

Tracy asked, “Are you going to try another road?”

Ross kept his voice level. “That’s right. The exit’s about half a mile back. It’s bound to be slower. But if we sit here, we’re dead in the water.”

He stole a glance at the woman. She was sitting straight up, eyes wide, jerking her head to look in all directions at once. Poor, stupid, silly thing. She didn’t know it yet, but she was already dead in the water.

THE SKY WAS dark gray and growing murkier by the minute when Ross finally pulled into the driveway. He had a moment of panic, fearing that the car might not make it through the unplowed snow. The last thing he needed was for his car to be hanging out for anyone passing by to notice. There’d been another accident, this one on Route 27A. Nowhere near as large as the tangle on the LIE. This one had involved only three cars, but it had still brought traffic to a standstill for nearly forty minutes. Ross had not enjoyed a single one of them.

The automatic door rumbled as it opened, and Ross pulled the car in to the garage, next to his prized cream ’68 Caddy. Ross turned off the car and lowered his hands to his thighs.

Stillness.

Tracy let her head fall back onto the headrest. “Gosh, it seems like we’ve been driving for days. You did great.”

Ross remained silent. He sat stone-still, gazing through the darkened windshield at the images flashing in his brain:

Cynthia Blair bumping into him as she emerged from Marshall’s building.

The Rossman girl, so fatally gullible, getting into his car.

That unfortunate young woman’s huge Christmas tree.

“Alan?” Tracy twisted to look out the back window at the darkening day. “Um, where is everyone? When’s the party supposed to start?”

Now.

Ross leaned his shoulder into the driver’s-side door. “They’ll be here. We’ve got to set things up. The caterer should be here any minute. Come on. There’s something I want to show you. It’s going to be the big surprise.”

He got out of the car and pulled open the back door, fetching his coat as well as the crowbar hidden in its folds. As Tracy got out, Ross put on the coat and dug his left hand into the pocket, slipping the crowbar under the coat so that he could hold it in place under his arm.

Tracy met him at the back of the car. She was shrugging into her stylish blazer. “What’s the surprise?”

“It’s out in the boathouse.”

Tracy hugged herself and performed a parody of shivering. “Maybe we should go inside first and get me a sweater or something.”

Ross brought his right arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. She responded with a small giggle. “Ah, you’re a tough kid,” Ross said. “I’ll keep you warm. Come on. It won’t take long.”

The two left the garage, Ross activating the automatic door to close it behind them. They started around the side of the huge house. What with the snow and the fast fading of the day’s remaining light, the water was only vaguely visible. The boathouse, newly painted the summer before, was the sole piece of color visible as the two made their way across the large backyard.

“Alan, my shoes are already completely soaked. They’re going to get ruined. Let’s just go inside. I’m sure Gloria’s got some boots or something I can use.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Quick detour into the house and then head straight back out. But Ross was tired. Now that he was no longer behind the wheel, the full weight of his fatigue was coming down on him. He wanted to sleep. He wanted a peaceful sleep. It didn’t matter if it was only a five-minute detour, enough was enough already. He scoffed at the notion that he’d even considered enjoying himself with this girl before wrapping things up.

“Alan?” Tracy lowered her shoulder and attempted to squirm out from under his arm, but Ross was quicker, and he held on to her. “Alan. Let go! Stop it.”