"Synapse" - 7

With a jolt of the senses I returned to the present. My mind had been trying to barge through my reverie. Something wasn’t right.

A black sedan, somewhat oversize for the side streets of Paris, had become a consistent shadow. Three cars back. But unmistakable.

I eased into the left lane and stayed there through a few lights. The sedan edged into the same lane.

I bided my time until I came up to yellow… I was the first to stop. Before the opposing cars could enter the intersection I gunned the engine, turned abruptly right on Rue Legendre, and flew past scurrying pedestrians. Horns blared; voices blared. Then quiet.

For about 20 seconds.

Then more horns blaring in the distance; I looked into the mirror. My friend had ripped into the intersection in pursuit.

Secrecy was no longer his gambit. He was passing all the vehicles between us in an attempt to catch up with my grumbling Lada.

Suddenly I felt in my peripheral vision, rather than saw, two vehicles enter the Rue Dulong intersection directly in front of me; one from each side.

They stopped inches from each others’ front bumper. I hit the brakes hard; food wrappers, empty fifths plowed forward into the dash.

Behind me the black sedan was executing a 90-degree turn, effectively wedging me between it and the two cars blocking my path.

I paused for a minute to collect myself, took another swig from the flask and replaced it in my jacket pocket.

I pulled the well-worn Walther from beneath my seat, readied a round in the chamber, and waited.