J. Konrath - Dirty Martini

“Someone drove it in.” I forced myself to touch the trailer. “Maybe we can drive it somewhere safe. Anyplace around here that might work? Jim, Skokie is your town.”

“I… I don’t know. Look, we all should leave.” Jim was sweating, and he looked ready to bolt. “When this thing blows-”

“Answer the question.” Herb’s voice was hard.

“There’s… um… there’s a few golf courses…”

“What’s around them?” Murray asked.

“Um… houses. Residential areas.”

McGlade snorted. “This entire town is one big residential area. If you’re going to dump this someplace, at least pick a rich neighborhood. They’re insured.”

Herb scowled at him. “You got any better ideas, Lefty?”

“Lake Michigan,” Harry said. “The water absorbs the energy of the blast, and it also creates some new beachfront property.”

Jim shook his head. “The lake is too far away. You won’t make it in time.”

“Rivers?” I asked. “Big holes? Tunnels? Stadiums?”

“Bomb shelters?” McGlade added.

“A river would be good,” Murray said. “ANFO isn’t water resistant. If it’s soaked, it might limit the force of the blast.”

“How close is the Chicago River?” Herb asked.

“It’s about-wait… the plant. The Northside Water Reclamation Plant.”

“What is that? Sewage treatment?”

Jim nodded. “Yeah. It’s about two miles away. It’s big. And it’s all concrete. Some of those settling tanks are deep too.”

“What’s around it?” Herb asked.

“Some offices, south of Howard Street. On the west, homes, but not too many. North is a country club, east, a factory, but it will be closed today. So will the offices.”

“Okay, Jim, listen carefully. You need to get in touch with the plant, clear them out, and have someone from there call me. You also have to warn the country club and the residents in those houses. Evacuate them, or have them get in their basements.”

I gave Jim my phone number, and he programmed it into his phone and began making calls.

“You’re the one going?” Herb’s chubby face was pinched with anger.

“Yeah,” I said.

He folded his arms. “Since when can you drive a semi?”

“How hard can it be?”

“Can you even drive stick shift?”

Now I folded my arms. “I’ve seen other people. I think I can figure it out.”

Harry shook his head. “Even if you can drive stick shift, a truck is an entirely different animal. It’s a ten-speed manual transmission, and it’s not synchronized like a car.”

“Can you drive this semi?” Herb asked him.

McGlade waved his robotic hand in Herb’s face.

“Sure I can, Einstein. I’ll shift gears with my ass.”

“How about you use that big mouth of yours instead?” Herb said. “I bet it’s been on quite a few gearshifts in the past.”

McGlade’s eyebrows creased, and then he started to laugh. “That one was actually pretty good.”

I put my hand on Harry’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “What if I helped you shift?”

“It’s too hard, Jackie. You have to match the engine revs with the transmission revs. There’s a rhythm to it. You mess it up, you can stall out, or even strip the gears. Plus steering the damn thing is a bitch.”

Herb said, “You’re a coward.”

McGlade nodded. “There’s also that.”

“Harry, if you save forty thousand people, half of them cops, I’m sure the mayor would let you have a liquor license in the middle of the goddamn Lincoln Park Zoo.”

A sly grin formed on Harry’s unshaven face. “In the zoo? You think?”

“I’ve done some calculations.” Murray had a calculator in his big hands. I guess bombies didn’t travel without one. “You’ll need to be a mile away after you leave the truck, so if someone follows you in a car, you’d need at least ninety seconds to get out of there to have a chance at surviving.”

Herb nodded. “I can do that.”

I asked, “Do what?”

“I’ll meet you guys there, drive you to safety.”

“Herb…” Bernice and I said in unison.

“If you two can get the truck to the plant, I’ll be there to pick you up.” Herb kissed his wife on the forehead. “It’ll be okay, dear.”

Bernice put her hands on his cheeks. She’d begun to cry.

“I’m warning you, Herb Benedict. If you get yourself blown up, I’m going to date younger men.”

McGlade raised his hand. “I’m younger. And with me, there’s no risk of smothering to death.”

“How safe is this stuff to haul?” I asked, eyeing Herb to make sure he didn’t shoot McGlade.

“ANFO is pretty stable,” Murray said. “It won’t ignite even if you fire a few bullets into it. It should be safe to transport. Just try to avoid any major collisions.”

“We’ll try our best.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” Murray asked.

“Clear a path from here to the street. We need to get these people out of the way so we can get through.” I looked at Harry. “Are you out or are you in?”

“You sure I’ll get a liquor license?”

“I guarantee the mayor will be there for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.”

McGlade grinned. “Ten-four, good buddy. Let’s get it into gear and put the hammer down.”

“Okay, it’s a go.” I looked at the cab and frowned. “Does anyone know how to hot-wire a semi?”

9 MINUTES

WE WASTED TOO MUCH TIME trying to start the truck. McGlade tore open the steering column housing and tried crossing several different wires, but all he accomplished was turning the dashboard lights on and off.

Herb stuck his head in the door. “It’s the red wires.”

“I’m crossing the red wires. It isn’t doing anything.”

I watched the timer count down and felt myself getting sicker and sicker.

“Are you sure they’re crossed?” Herb said.

“They’re crossed! You want to squeeze your fat ass up here again and take a look?”

“You’ve got the truck in second gear.”

“It’s supposed to be in second gear. If you don’t stop bugging me, I’m going to stick my claw so far up your-”

From behind us: “Is there a brown wire?”

Someone else had joined the party. A tall woman, young, brunette, tattoos on bare arms, named Renée Davidson. Bernice had apparently gone off and brought back someone who knew what the hell she was doing.

“Yeah,” McGlade said. “There’s a brown one.”

Davidson climbed onto the foot platform, next to the driver’s-side door.

“The red ones are the ignition wires, the brown one is the starter wire. Strip the brown one and touch it to the reds.”

“Stripping is kind of a problem one-handed. Porky had to strip the other ones, and he almost got stuck.”

“Let me give it a try,” Davidson offered.

“Sure. We won’t have to grease your hips first.”

McGlade scooted over. Davidson removed the folding knife clipped to her belt, bent under the steering wheel, and five seconds later the truck coughed and roared to life.

“The steering column is still locked,” she said. “You won’t be able to turn unless you break the mechanism. It’s in the ignition.”

“That I can do,” McGlade said. He held his claw over the key switch and said, “Close.” His hand crunched down on the mechanism and cracked it off.

“Can you drive a truck?” I asked Davidson.

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m here with my kids. I can’t take the risk. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look too sorry, but I really couldn’t blame her. I thanked her for the help and watched her jog off. Herb checked his watch.

“I’ll meet you there, Jack. My car is parked about three blocks away. I have to get moving.”