Page 51 of Velvet and Valor

“I know,” he says.

“So, stop!” I demand.

“I can’t,” he says.

Anger boils inside of me.

“And why not?” I say stiffly.

“Because if I slow down, the other fake cops will catch us.”

“What?”

I twist around in my seat as much as I can and crane my neck until I can see out the rear window. At first, there’s nothing but the road, partly obscured by a plume of dust. Then, another SUV, much like the one we’re in careens around the bend. I can’t make out who’s inside it, but it’s obvious they’re trying to catch up in a hurry.

“Are you buckled up?” Axel asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. It’s about to get a whole lot freakier. Sorry.”

Axel shifts up and the trees blur past in a verdant rush. I feel myself being pressed into the seat from the tremendous acceleration. He shifts up again, and the engine growls like Godzilla. I can feel it throbbing so hard it vibrates the entire car.

“Where is it?” he growls. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” I ask. “The exit?”

“No,” Axel says. “The gear! It’s got a six-speed gearbox and–there we go!”

The engine still growls, but it doesn’t sound so labored. The trees are really blurring past, and the car is shaking a lot.I’m afraid we’ll shake right off the road and plunge down a mountainside.

“Found it,” Axel says. “Man, I thought old Renaults were hard to shift! Who designed this Gearbox, the guy from the Saw movies?”

“Jigsaw,” I say, peering behind us.

“What?” Axel says.

“Jigsaw. That’s the guy from the Saw–never mind. Axel, they’re getting closer.”

“What?” He looks in his mirrors and curses. “Great. They must have a custom turbocharged engine, too. Well, that’s fine.”

“How is that fine?”

“Because now our vehicles are equal, so it all comes down to skill.” Axel beams a smile at me. “And I’ve got this guy cold.”

“Oh good, the frat boy is back,” I mutter to myself.

“What?”

“Never mind, just try not to get us killed.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Despite Axel’s bravado, his face is a mask of gritty determination. He keeps the wheel in nearly constant motion as he guides us down the steep mountain road snaking in and out of pines. At one point we come around a bend and a hairpin turn is just right in front of the bumper.

Axel grabs the handbrake, pulls it back and throws the wheel hard to the right. The front end of the truck doesn’t move much, but the back end slides out wide. I scream, thinking we’re toast, but the truck glides around the sharp turn like a figure skater at the Olympics.

“Yeah,” Axel says as the car is pointing straight ahead once more. “Women have the little black dress; men have the handbrake turn.”