The Baron's Thriller Novel : Part 7

Still Zurich, who really cares what time, let's just say it's dark out.

After what seemed like hours of searching, but what was likely exactly 5.3 minutes, Roy located a suitable vehicle for his escape. A teal 1992 Ford Escort.

It was not that Roy was particularly impressed with the vehicle's top speed, handling, styling, interior, amenities, performance, reliability, crash worthiness, maximum torque, braking distance, visibility or odor, but that he was sure it would be easy to steal.

Roy approached the car and quickly scanned the front seat. Copious fast food wrappings, empty cans, old newspapers and assorted filth littered the floor. Importantly however, there was not a single condom, used or otherwise or any item which might have belonged to a woman under any circumstances.

This vehicle, like all Escorts, was undoubtedly owned by a solitary geek, a miscreant with no real friends and a healthy appetite for everything internetized.

Roy scanned the surrounding residential buildings for an unusually high density of data cables. On the 3rd floor of a nearby hovel, he spied a thick bundle of black wires snaking through a partially open window and perceived the characteristic glow of the neon lights designed to show off the innards of a computer.

Roy quietly jogged to the sidewalk below the dwelling and searched for a suitable stone. He rummaged in the gutter for a few seconds and came up with the chipped corner of some ancient brick. Gingerly, Roy tossed the stone at the cable-raped window. With a surprisingly loud crash, the small stone plowed through the evidently very cheap glass and clattered to the floor within.

"What ze fuck!" came the cry from within, conveniently in English and not Swisshili.

The man poked his ponderous, pimple encrusted face from the window suspiciously pivoting his deeply sunken pig-like eyes.

"You going to pay for that window asshole?!" the man bellowed down at Roy.

"Even better, I'm going to do you a gigantic favor."

"Oh and why shouldn't I come down there and kick your ass instead?"

"Well for one, I'm guessing it would take you about 45 minutes to get down the stairs, and for two I'm willing to take your car for free."

"Who the fuck do you think....Wait, you'd take that cumbucket of an Escort off my hands, no questions asked?"

"No questions asked."

"And I wouldn't have to pay you?"

"Not one thin mark."

"What's the catch?"

"Just don't tell anyone you saw me."

"Hmmm, so I save the 3000 mark Escort disposal fee...."

"And all you do is give me the keys and keep your mouth shut."

"Deal."

The pudgy man waddled back into the depths of his apartment and reappeared moments later dangling a set of keys from the window.

Without any hesitation the nerd dropped the ring. They clattered to the sidewalk and Roy quickly scuttled over to pick them up. They were extremely light, no doubt made of the cheapest available metal. Roy stood and motioned to thank the filthy geek, but he had retreated back into the depths of his no doubt highly malodorous dwelling.

"Thank you, sweet prince." Roy muttered, already jogging towards what could just barely pass as an automobile.

Roy unlocked the driver's side door. As he removed the keys, the entire locking mechanism pulled free and he struggled to dislodge it.

"Stupid cock-raping piece of shit!" He hissed, finally removing the clinging jumble of gears and cogs from the keys.

Roy lowered himself gingerly to the lawn chair that passed as the driver's seat. With a sinister hiss a foul cloud of dust and spores escaped from the thin padding within. He turned the the ignition and a terrible screeching sound emitting from under the hood. With a clattering of gears and a tremendous puff of blue smoke the car settled into an uneven idle rife with backfires and near stalls.

"Wow, this thing is in great shape" Roy mused checking the odometer "yup, only 200 miles, guy must have only driven it to the porn store on Sundays."

A sharp splintering sound disturbed Roy's revelry.

"What the fuck!?"

Roy barely had time to react before the second and third bullets crashed through the rear windshield and embedded themselves in the cheap, plastic dashboard.

Roy slammed the accelerator to the floor, trying as best he could to keep his head out of the line of fire.

With a deafening scream, the car lunged to 15 miles an hour in only 45 seconds. Roy wrenched the wheel to the right and with a momentary delay the car surged around the corner.

Several more bullets zinged into the trunk before passing all the way out the front of the Escort, narrowly missing Roy's legs. It was as if the car was constructed of cardboard, or metalized cardboard of some kind.

Roy dared a glance in the mirror at his attacker.

A man was sprinting down the street firing an enormous pistol. He passed beneath a street light and he was briefly illuminated.

The man's neck was crooked at an unnatural angle, purplish and bruised. His face was a mask of rage. The hair on Roy's neck stood painfully upright. It was the probe man.