Chapter 10 racing champion

The motorist found it hard to explain why he was giving a lift to the man who was standing by the side of the road sticking his thumb out. Stories about individuals or families picking up strangers on the side of the road - a dangerous terrorist who ends up in tragedy, are often heard, lucky, just lost the car and personal belongings, unlucky, will become the guests of the mortuary , Some people were only hit by a bullet, which is not too tragic, while others were brutally killed, and their deaths were horrific. Maybe it's because I'm so lonely?He started driving at five o'clock that afternoon, and it was past nine o'clock in the evening.

His car was new, with just a thin layer of dust covering the shiny exterior, but the radio on the car was a little buggy, and when he flipped it on, it just made a chi-chi-snap, so no human Talking voice to relieve his loneliness.In front of the headlights is a continuous ribbon of concrete road, disappearing kilometer by kilometer under the wheels. And then, maybe thinking that when I was young, I used to stand on the side of the road and give people a lift with my thumb all over the country. Many times, people did him a favor and stopped to give him a ride.He clearly remembered the predicament when he still hadn't reached his destination after dark.

He had just passed a tax card called "Spring Valley", and the waiter at the tax card told him that there were no vehicles or pedestrians on the road, at least not in "Ayuba Town".The forecast calls for light rain between Ayuba and Utica, but to him, that's nothing to worry about.He grabbed the ticket, stuffed it on the back of the sun visor, and drove into the darkness, the only light on the road was the reflective milestones on the side of the road, four every tenth of a mile, and the milestones were like cat's eyes, shining. Swish past him.For the next 400 miles, he doesn't have to worry about passing vehicles or crossroads hindering his journey, only the four milestones every tenth of a mile accompany him.

As the highway narrowed behind the tax card, the headlights caught a man standing by the side of the road with a cheap duffel bag at his feet.As the car passed him, the man waved his thumb with a questioning look on his face. Impulsively, the driver stopped the car. Before he restarted the car, the man ran up to him and asked through the open window, "Sir, can I take a ride?" The driver turned on the roof lights and looked at the man.He's wearing a jacket and tie - which doesn't look bad - although he needs a haircut, unlike some of the thugs with luggage on their shoulders.The man smiled at him a little shyly. "Get in the car," said the driver.

The man opened the car door, put the luggage on the floor of the car, let out a long and exhausted breath, and sat on the chair with ease. The driver turned off the lights above his head, and drove into the middle of the three lanes heading north. .The needle of the car speedometer quickly climbed sixty yards. "Where are you going?" the driver asked. "Ayuba Town," the man said. "Please don't turn off the road until you get there. I have a job there, but I have to be there by eight o'clock to-morrow." "We'll get there, I'm going to drive all the way to Buffalo, but I'll stop at the Ayuba exit ramp and let you go down." "That's great, I'm sure you can hitchhike into town there. "

They drove silently through the night for a few minutes before the driver finally asked, "Young man, what's your name?" "Mike, Mike, Jerry, I'm not young, I'm twenty-five." "Twenty-five is young to me," said the driver. "You know, Mike, if you have a job in Ayuba, I'd be happy to help you; but it's illegal to hitchhike on the highway, don't you know?" He heard Mike fidget in his seat. Come and go. "Are you going to take me to the police station?" Mike asked in a low voice. "No, don't worry, in fact, I don't know how I said that, when I was young, I also gave a lot of thumbs up and hitchhiking, but back then, people trusted each other and I could go anywhere , with little difficulty."

"I'll just stand where you picked me up after dark and wait," Mike said, "and I'll hide in the bushes when I see a car that looks like a police car coming. I mean, I have to do something tonight, I can't Caught by the traffic police." The car drove forward quickly, and the little lights in the darkness indicated that they were approaching a village. The driver said: "That's the Seifen Exit. Let me tell you, there is a restaurant in the past from here. Let's take a rest there and breathe a sigh of relief." , have a cup of coffee." "I don't want coffee," Mike said.

"Is it inconvenient? It's okay. How about my treat?" "I don't want coffee," Mike repeated. "I don't want anything." "Oh, then please don't mind waiting while I drink my coffee. It won't be long, and I like it hot." There was a sound of clothes shaking, followed by the sound of a zipper being unzipped. The driver thought that maybe Mike had some money in his pocket, maybe... "Sir, we won't stop." Mike's voice rolled in his throat. "Listen, this is my car. I can do as I please. What right do you have over me..." "Sir, I have the right, and that's all."

The muzzle of the pistol pressed hard against the driver's ribs, and there was a stabbing pain. He couldn't help but jerk the steering wheel, causing the car to slide towards the dividing line in the middle. "Be careful!" Mike said dismissively. The driver pulled the car back into the middle of the lane and tapped the brakes lightly. "Don't stop," Mike continued, "keep going, don't go too fast, don't go too slow, drive well, drive normally, understand?" They passed the restaurant and entered the empty outskirts of the village.For the fifteen miles to the Harriman Interchange they spoke in silence.

"The highway narrows to a two-lane here," the driver finally said, his voice dry. "So what, we saw less than half a dozen cars along the way, and if you see a police car, don't make a fool of yourself. Don't signal with lights or anything, I've got a murderer in my hand. "Mike waved the pistol in front of the driver's eyes. "Where are you going to take me?" The driver felt a knot of terror in his stomach, and he couldn't help wondering if he was going to vomit.He held the steering wheel with one hand, and slightly loosened the seat belt and shoulder straps that were tightly wrapped around his body with the other hand.

"Far enough. The farther I go, the less likely the police will find me. It's a pity, I really like that place." Then, tapping the instrument panel heavily with the butt of the gun, he added softly: " That damn old woman." "Old woman, you mean your mother." "No, I mean the old woman in the house near Spring Valley. When I saw the man and woman taking their children out, I thought there was no one in the house. I could break through the empty door and search it. And the back door is not locked, which is not very convenient. huh? How did I know they would keep an old lady at home? I searched the ground floor and got a lot of things, portable TV, typewriter, and a lot of cash, and this gun is also from there. Then, just As I was about to leave, she showed up, standing on the stairs in her dressing gown, she looked like she'd been damned ten years ago, but her lungs were fine, and she was screaming loud enough to wake the town people." "You—what's the matter with him?" asked the driver. Mike rubbed the pistol between his hands thoughtfully, and said, "I'm just sure she can't bark anymore." "So, you have fled the scene, what are you going to do now?" "It's up to you, calm down, do whatever you want, maybe you can live in peace, if you do something wrong, your body will be picked up from the stinky ditch, anyway, it's no loss to me. " "I don't give a damn. I don't want to die." "A lot of people don't want to die, sir." The car drove many miles, but the driver couldn't control the shaking all over his body.He didn't want to die, but that was why Mike had the gun on him, and Mike didn't want to die either. At the Newcastle Interchange, a truck with a trailer came out of the entrance ramp suddenly. The driver slammed on the brakes. Mike gasped and slammed his feet on the floor, as if he could stop the car hard alone. Same. "Fool!" Mike cursed viciously as the truck rumbled away into the darkness at eighty yards an hour as the car regained control and continued on the road. The driver didn't react, but instead peered thoughtfully at the shadows cast by the headlights on the road ahead.Then he flipped a switch, bringing the lights on the instrument panel to light.He glanced at the passenger, who was touching the shoulder straps on the car that were attached to the door. "Don't touch it!" The driver yelled, Mike was taken aback by his command tone, and instinctively pulled his hand away, and then slowly laughed. "You're wrong," he said softly, "I'm calling the shots, not you." "Listen to me, listen carefully, or we won't have to argue over who's calling the shots, because the Highway Police will carry our bodies from under a tree or the embankment of the road." "Go on, sir, that will help us pass the time." "First of all, keep your hands off the seatbelt and shoulder straps, don't try to buckle that thing." Mike shrugged helplessly. "I haven't touched those two things, I've gotten so far away from them," he said. "OK, keep your hands where I can see them, because, if you don't, I'm going to smash this car into the first hard object I find." "You don't have to worry about me," Mike said. "After all, you'd be the same in that crash. Seat belts don't help at seventy yards." "But that's the difference between you and me, I'm going to die anyway, right, Mike?" "Look, I told you a long time ago, if you don't play tricks, I will let you go. I just want this car. " The driver shook his head slowly, "I don't believe your story, you have already killed a person, your only chance to escape is to hide where the police can't find, if you let me go, I may supply The police have enough information to hunt you down. Now it doesn't matter to you to kill one or two more people." "Damn it, can't you drive slower? We're going about eighty yards." "Quick, this is my weapon, Mike, you don't dare to shoot at eighty yards per hour." The driver stepped on the accelerator, and the car drove faster. "Be careful, if your tire falls into a low spot in the side of the road, you will lose control and we will fall." "Don't worry about my driving skills, Mike, have you read the newspaper's sports coverage, the column on racing." "I'm not interested in that stuff." "What a pity you've probably heard my name - O'Smith, you're having the honor of riding in the same car tonight, a two-time national racing champion, I've never rolled over in my life and certainly don't intend to now Do." "What are you going to do, be careful, you almost hit the oncoming truck just now." "That gun, Mike!" "How about the gun?" "Throw it out the window, only then will the speed be reduced." Mike giggled, "You must think I'm crazy, if I throw away this gun, you'll send me to the police station and face murder charges. But if you crash your car , maybe I still have a chance to escape, I want to keep the gun." "Aside from racing," said the driver, "I'm also a safety consultant for a car company, and I bet you don't know that." "So what?" "So, you can try to think about the chances of escape after a head-on collision at a speed of 80 yards per hour. Maybe I can help you. We have done some tests on the test track. Of course, the fastest speed of the test car is 50 kilometers , though, that will give you an idea of ​​what's going on. "For the first tenth of a second after the car crashes, the front bumper, cooler and all kinds of machinery are crushed into a mass of metal. The second the hood shatters and explodes in front of the windshield, at which point , the rear wheels would jump off the ground. You know, by then, the front half of the car would have come to a stop, but the back half would have kept going, and instinctively, you'd be sitting up straight, like that truck coming out of the ramp , your reaction is the same. Your leg bones will all snap at the knee." Stop talking nonsense, old man. " "You don't want to know, how are you going to die? At the third second, your body is going to rush forward due to inertia, and the instrument panel will smash your knees. At the fourth and fifth seconds, you And the rear half of the car will still be going thirty-five kilometers an hour, and your head will be banging on the dashboard. "At the sixth second, the body of the car will flex, and before that the instrument panel will crush your skull, your feet will crunch across the floor, and the force of the sudden stop will flow from your Slam your shoes off your feet." The driver paused. "That's about it," he concluded. "Then the door pops open, the screws are ripped off, the front seat is ripped apart, the rear seat comes in and crushes your body. But you don't have to worry because you're dead by then." "You—saw this happen," Mike asked. The driver nodded, "Look at the slow-motion movie of the team on the test track. Of course, with my racing experience, I have seen many horrible accidents, Mike, that is not very good." Mike forced a fragile smile from his parched mouth. "You know, for a while, you got me into my head," he said. "You ain't going to crash, though, unless you're cornered. What's going to happen, old man, if I'm smarter than you, sooner or later Your gasoline will burn out." "I beat you, I'm a racing champion, remember? Every part of the car is my bread and butter, think about why I don't let you wear a seat belt." "What do you mean?" "At a certain speed - not really fast - I can hit something hard and this seat belt I'm wearing will keep me safe, maybe bruise my chest, but I can control the car ...on the other hand, you're going to dash forward, and that dash has a lot of interesting possibilities. Maybe you'll hit the instrument panel and lose consciousness, or you might knock your head out of the glass, and that, maybe smash your head , or cut the throat. Either way, I'll be fine, and you... please don't touch the seat belt." The car moved in a detour like a demonstration, and Mike put his hands on the instrument panel and grasped it tightly. "Now, Mike, drop the gun." Mike clutched the pistol tightly. "I'm going to..." He pointed the gun at the driver.Neither of the men spoke, only the sound of tires rolling over the road and the wind whistling outside the car window. The driver could feel that Mike was weighing the pros and cons in his head. If he was arrested, it would be easy to prove that he was the murderer.When Mike opened the safety, the pistol clicked, and the driver's sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. At speeds approaching a hundred yards an hour, however, it was dangerous to fire a gun, and the result would be like a battlefield, with jagged and twisted metal cutting into flesh and blood, making the living man bloody and inhuman. Mike cursed, rolled down the window, dropped the pistol, a gust of wind blew into the driver's face, sparks from the pistol landed in the mirror, and the driver slowed down to the legal sixty yards. After passing the town of Kintuton, in an underpass, he found a police car with the door open and the red round lights turning on. He drove the car next to the police car. The car was so close that Mike could not open the door and escape. When the police handcuffed Mike, the latter spat disdainfully and said: "O Smith, a racing champion, it took 18 lifetimes of bad luck to get in your car. You don't look like a racing car at all." The champion is thin and slender" "The car doesn't need strength, Mike, it only needs quick reaction." "If you weren't a professional race car driver and didn't know the consequences of a crash, I'd be getting away with it by now," Mike cooed. "The police would never find me—or you." The cops push the murderer away and pack into the police car, then the cops go back to where the motorist stood. "I've heard him mention O. Smith. I've seen him a few times on TV. One thing's for sure, sir, you're not him." "No, I'm not," replied mildly. "My name is Johnson, I run a small bookstore in Philadelphia, and I'm going to Buffalo to visit my daughter and grandchildren. In fact, I'm going to Send the grandson with a book, I think it's worth reading and interesting, but maybe Mike would be interested too." As the driver spoke, he took out a thick paperback book from his pocket, and the policeman took it. I glanced at the title of the book: (Driving Safety Instructions), author - O. Smith. On the cover was a photo of a handsome young man looking down at him in racing goggles. "I took out what was written in the book," the driver said, "to scare that guy," and then added: "Reading more books will be beneficial, and there are safety measures in the book."