by The Eurostar
Edulcore Cicciotto:
"Hand me the keys!" I shout, laughing and running.
"No way!" laughs Turner.
"Hey, I had one of these beauties!"
"When?"
"Well, seven years ago!"
"And when was the last time you drove any car?"
"Seven years ago."
"No way!" laughs Turner, sitting at the wheel.
The Ferrari speeds on the Strip, while many men holding guns run out the casino and get into three black Mercedes.
I am looking at them from the rear windows. "No match!" I laugh.
But on the crowded streets of Vegas, the edge our car has over the dark German one does not show. Turner slips among cars stopping at traffic lights, but our pursuers manage to not lose us.
"We need a less-busy road," says Turner, his eyes dancing from the driving mirror to the main window.
Suddenly, without braking, he turns ninety degrees on a secondary road. The sign reads: Albuquerque-Flagstaff-Kingman-Henderson.
The foot of Turner is heavy on the accelerator. The Mercedes cars now are far away, but they don't leave us.
"Why don't you fry them?" I ask.
"Faraday cages."
"Huh?"
"Cars are like Faraday cages, just like you're safe from lighting by staying inside a car. The electrical charge dissipates through the metal frame to the ground. I'm no physicist, so I don't know how it really works. But they're safe from my power."
"But you could stop their engine."
"No, I can start engines, controlling the electrical plant, but I have no powers over internal combustion engines. Sorry!"
"Well, it seems we don't need them, after all," I say, just as the cars disappear in the long distance. We are running through the desert.
"I don't think they'll give up that easily," says Turner, while I stuff all the money inside a bag, which Turner prudently bought with the car and the clothes.
Turner was right. Now we see three Corvettes speeding toward us. "Junk," I whisper.
"Uh... Seems you're right -- they can't match our speed," says Turner, half-smiling. But the black-dressed men inside the cars begin to shoot at us. The rear windows breaks, hit by a bullet.
"Who are they?" I ask.
"Mafia. Tony's kids."
Mafia! Now we have the police and the Mafia on our tail. And how did Crasher call it? A... Hood, too.
The sun is setting. The Corvettes are still behind us when Turner gulps.
"What now?" I ask.
"Gas is out," Turner says tersely.
"Shouldn't you add 'fuckety-fuck'?"
"Maybe. Could work. Gas is out. Fuckety-fuck! Happy now?"
"Yes, it sounds better. What's that?"
"What?" Turner asks.
"That line, near the horizon," I say, pointing. "Seems that the plain ends abruptly."
"It's the gorge. The Colorado River runs down in it. There is a tall bridge over it."
"I see something there."
Turner glanced at me briefly. "I can't see anything. Too distant."
"I see it clearly now. It's a truck. And there is one standing above it. The truck is closing the way, right at the middle of the bridge. A trap."
"Not Tony's style. It's someone else."
I see it. It is like I have magnifying vision. It's a man with a Gaia backpack, a strange-looking rifle at his side, looking at us with a binoculars. Could he be... the Hood?
Our car is losing velocity. The Corvettes are coming closer. Bullets whistle everywhere around us.
We are on the bridge. The man on the truck is aiming the rifle.
I hand the money bag to Turner. "Jump!" I order.
He stares at me. I take the wheel and turn it suddenly toward me. The car flies off the bridge. I hear the crash of the Corvettes over the truck, a BANG!, an explosion, then screams.
I see Turner jumping outside the falling car, opening his arms and legs to somehow slow down the fall, the bag of the money still in his hand. I, too, exit the car.
The air is my element; I smile. The gentle push of the air is over my face. The rays of the rising sun stroke my skin. I calmly take off the jacket, untie the necktie, unbutton the shirt. Then I spread my arms, and the feathers sprout out. The underside of the wings, white, glow in the sun. I am born again.
I close the wings and dive. I reach Turner. "Hang from my legs!" I shout. He takes the bag with his teeth and embraces my legs. I spread the arms, the feathers fully spread. I feel the hot, rising air pushing them from the underside. And slowly, making wide circles, we gain altitude, flying away, far toward east.
Below us, the magnificence of the Grand Canyon.