Perfect Crime by Jack Parker Page B

complicated puzzle.
    “Sure, don’t you?”
    Her dry reply was cut off by the sound of a ringing cell phone. Tessa retrieved it from her purse and answered. A few words in Italian were exchanged, but it was soon evident that their drive-by did not go unnoticed. Scott didn’t need a translator to understand the glow of quickly advancing headlights reflected in the rearview mirror.
    He came to a stop at another light. Tessa pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at him. “It’s Cy. He wants to talk to you.”
    This was unexpected. He looked at Tessa for a second, hoping for some hint on the latest request, but found nothing in her slightly irritated expression. He extended his hand and took the phone. Somehow in the exchange, Tessa managed to grab the postcard.
    He wasn’t going to wrestle her for it, yet.
    “Yeah,” he said into the phone.
    Cy didn’t favor him with Italian obscenities; he got straight to the point. “Turn the car around, and bring her to the restaurant.”
    “No.”
    “What did you say?”
    Scott drove forward, even though the light was red. The car behind followed without hesitation. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he couldn’t tell if the driver was talking on the phone, or even if the mysterious Cy was indeed behind him. His money was on Cy still eating his linguini, and some nasty henchmen being in the blue Audi.
    Pressing the gas, Scott continued, “Your little welcoming committee changed my mind. You want to do things the hard way, I’ll accommodate you.”
    “You’re a dead man,” Cy growled into the phone.
    Scott disregarded the threat; death didn’t really scare him. He’d dealt with Cy’s kind before. “So, why are we having this conversation?”
    “I want that postcard. And I want it now.”
    “One hour. I’ll call you back—let you know where to meet us.” Without a final salutation, he clicked the phone closed and handed it back to Tessa. “Regent Street, eh?” The speed continued to climb. “Hang on.”

Chapter 8
    Social Studies
    Screeeech
    A squeal of tires on the road caused Scott to snap his head to the left. The Audi was no longer following sedately behind him; the blue car swerved to the side, loudly peeling into the next lane. Scott didn’t press down on the accelerator of the Mustang. Already speeding, he tried to catch a glimpse of the other driver.
    The Audi surged ahead, then jerked to the side, trying to cut them off. Anticipating the move, Scott braked. He narrowly avoided the collision, his body rocking forward even as his hand grabbed the gearshift and slammed the car into reverse. The wheels spun in protest. He switched gears back to drive, making a wide U-turn that the other car— which came to a stop at an angle—would struggle to follow.
    “You okay?” he asked Tessa, flooding the engine with fuel by pounding a foot on the accelerator.
    “Been better,” she mumbled, twisting to look at the other car. It would need to reverse before turning around, costing valuable seconds.
    Scott didn’t waste the advantage. He gambled and ran the red light at the end of the street, surging the car through the intersection with nary a glance to either side.
    The sudden acceleration pressed Tessa back into the seat. Her eyes caught sight of Scott’s hand moving as he twisted the wheel, the other hand mindlessly palming the stick shift. His eyes stayed trained on the road. There was that unmistakable tone, a tiny hint of variance to the trained ear, when the transmission tells the driver when to shift; Scott took each cue like a pro.
    His quick reaction and keen maneuvers gave them a slight lead. Though in this game, a half mile, rather than a few mere blocks, would have been a more comfortable edge. With one-way streets, their path wouldn’t be hard to predict. Scott made a quick right, and then a left, continuing towards the interstate. Traffic did not impede their progress, but that being the case didn’t necessarily work in their favor