The Deputy by Victor Gischler

thing then started the car and headed back to Coyote Crossing.
    The drink kicked in a mile from town, like triple caffeine pulsing through my veins. Eyes open wide. I felt the juice humming through my veins. I drummed the steering wheel in time to Golden Earring. It wasn’t usually my kind of music, but my old band had done a really twisted, kick-ass cover of this song, so I let it play. A lot of these old bands weren’t so bad. I flew through the night wired on the energy drink, the music lifting the car through space and time. The full moon hung yellow in the sky like the devil’s cream pie.
    I caught sight of them in the rearview mirror a split-second before the Mustang slammed into the back of the Nova.
    I swerved, the two right tires going off the road and kicking up dust. I jerked the wheel, got the Nova back in the center. They’d blazed up behind me hard and fast with the lights off. They bumped me again, and I heard the tinkle-crunch of the back end dying. The rear bumper went clanging down the highway.
    Motherfucker!
    I stomped the gas. I might as well have been trying to escape on a Big Wheel. The Mustang slammed me again hard. I guessed they might be pissed at having to change a tire. They switched on the headlights and I winced at the brights. On the next slam, I lost control, the Nova spinning in the road, the Mustang’s headlights a bright blur across my windshield. I ended up pointed the opposite direction, hands white-knuckled on the wheel and Golden Earring still pounding the speakers.
    The Mustang roared past me so close on the driver’s side it clipped the mirror with a sharp crack. The motor had stalled, and I turned the key, pumped gas and she fired up again. The Mustang was making a slow turn and coming back.
    I fishtailed, pointed the Nova dead into the oncoming headlights and pressed the accelerator until the engine screamed murder. A good old-fashioned game of chicken. Let’s see who had the balls and who didn’t. Who’d blink first, him or me?
    Me.
    I wrenched the wheel right as hard as I could, skidding the Nova sideways. This part of the Six was elevated two or three feet, so the shoulder went down at a steep angle. The Nova tilted alarmingly, and I thought I was destined to be upside down. I fought the wheel, every muscle in my body straining, great sprays of dust kicking up on either side as I straightened out and headed back for the highway. I bottomed out as the Nova climbed the shoulder and hit the highway. I got up to speed.
    The Mustang’s headlights filled the rearview mirror in no time flat.
    I thought it was coming up to smash my rear again, but it swerved up alongside and the two cars bumped side to side. I turned the wheel toward him, put a nice dent in his passenger side door, but he came back double-hard and I almost left the road again. He came over, and I slammed the breaks, let him get in front of me.
    My turn, asshole.
    I gave it the gas before he could get set, and bashed him a good one in the rear end. One of my headlights winked out, but I killed both his tail lights. Score one for the deputy.
    My minor triumph didn’t last long. He sped up, juked and jived, braked hard and was along side me again. He careened into me hard, and this time I did go off the road, went down the steep embankment, the car started to tilt. I panicked, turned the wheel the wrong way, and the car rolled.
    The Nova became a shook-up snow globe of crap, candy wrappers and soda cans and fast-food wrappers flying as the car slid to a stop upside down, the remaining headlight flailing uselessly against the dust cloud which had swallowed the car. I felt like I’d been flung into another reality.
    I new they’d be on me soon. I unbuckled the seatbelt, uncrumpled myself. I couldn’t get the door open, so I rolled down the window, scrambled out and pulled the revolver. I coughed, blinked against the swirling dust. I wiped at my eyes, something sticking. There was a gash over my left eye, and I