Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov

42

“Fuck! I’ll call you back.” Sal floored the pedal, but his truck didn’t exactly offer super car acceleration, speed or handling, and he was not going to wrap himself around a tree trying to catch up to that damned Porsche.

He speed-dialed Jack’s phone, but the man had his hands full driving at, fuck, much faster than 130 miles per hour.

At that speed, he didn’t want Jack to answer the phone.

No response.

Sal slowed down, even though that meant the Porsche was rapidly getting smaller, and speed-dialed Spadaro.

“Yes.”

“Jack’s just … fucking vanished.” Wrong. He was running, just when everything had looked like it would work out. Where had he gone wrong? Pushed too hard? Humiliated him? He’d fucking promised they’d talk, and surely Jack knew by now that he always delivered on his promises. “Not vanished. Running. He’s driving. Fast. I need to catch him.”

“Where to?”

“He’s taken the highway headed northwest.” Now, if Jack fled in a straight line, that would take him past Port Francis and straight to …

“Airport,” Spadaro said. “Is he driving his usual car?”

“Yes.”

“Nice.” A hint of glee in Spadaro’s voice. “I’ll call when I got him.”

Fucking speed demon, but at least Spadaro was on his side. “Great, meet you at the airport.”