Counterpoint (3 page)

Carla saw the blank faces and knew
surprise was possible. She fidgeted and made herself more
comfortable, whilst coupling the ends of her seat belt over her
waist. The men next to her looked at her questioningly, but she
looked back unconcerned and faintly smiled.

Blankness returned to the men’s
faces.

It had been about an hour ago that they
passed the camper and had about two more hours to go before they
got to Marco’s home.

Staring fixedly ahead, Carla studied
the road as the car swept around a left hand bend and into a right
hand curve, the lights briefly revealed a tunnel in the distance.
The car would enter the tunnel with the steering wheel turning
slightly to the right.

They were 10 seconds away from the
tunnel when Carla struck. At the speed of a striking mamba, she
jabbed two fingers of her right hand into Steve’s eyes, dragging
her fingernails down his eyeballs at the same time. He screamed
with pain, covering the gouged and bleeding orbs with his hands,
his head and hands buried into his legs.

Instantly she swung to her right.

Pepe was drawing his gun from his
shoulder holster with his right hand. He released the safety catch
just as his hand started to clear the edge of his jacket, pulling
the slide back to cock the pistol with his left, at the same
time.

With her left hand between his chest
and the gun, she clutched the gun and slipped her finger under his,
on the trigger. As she thrust herself between him and the seat, so
he could not hit her effectively with his free left arm, her right
hand pressed against the side of the barrel pushing the muzzle into
the centre of his chest.

Pepe’s right wrist was now bent nearly
90 degrees; he could not straighten it or properly control his
fingers.

Carla’s body weight prevented him
pulling his gun arm away.

She squeezed the trigger, the gun fired
at point blank range, and the bullet passed through his chest, just
above the sternum and out behind his armpit.

Pulling the gun from the dead hand, she
pushed away from him, turned, and fired at the back of the driver’s
seat, catching Vincent in the spine, just between the shoulder
blades. His legs went into spasm and floored the accelerator. The
car shot forward, his head fell back against the head restraint,
and he lost all interest in steering.

The car swerved to the left pointing
towards the flimsy barrier, the only thing between them and thin
air.

Philippe had now drawn his gun and was
swinging the muzzle towards Carla, who flung her body behind his
seat making it impossible to kill her outright. She could still
fire back.

The lurching car became a greater
priority for Philippe.

He grabbed the top of the steering
wheel and pulled it towards him. He followed through with his right
hand, still clutching his gun and yanked the steering round another
90 degrees. It was not enough; with the back of the car swinging
out, the car hit the mouth of the tunnel, on the side near the rear
passenger door. The front of the car was in the tunnel, but not the
rear half. The impact was enormous throwing everyone sideways and
forward from the sudden deceleration.

The car slid along the wall of the
tunnel with Philippe’s face pressed against the shattered window of
the door. The car glanced off into the tunnel in a shower of sparks
and shrieking metal, finally coming to a halt.

Light from the one remaining headlight
reflecting off the stone and concrete tunnel, provided enough light
for Carla to see that Steve had broken his neck against the front
seat, and Pepe was wedged between the driver’s seat and passenger
seat. She released her seat belt, pulled Pepe out of her way, then
kicked open the rear door, and slid out onto the road. Carla was
uninjured, just sore on her hips where the seatbelt had restrained
her. Although splashed with someone’s blood, she was not cut or
bleeding Fragments of glass twinkled on her clothes, as they caught
the light.

Looking at the carnage, she realised
that killing Vincent first, rather than Philippe had been the right
choice. Vincent would never have stopped the car; he would have
driven non-stop all the way to Marco’s, even with a gun to his
head. Shooting Vincent while in the tunnel or on the road would be
certain death, one way or another, the car would end up on the
valley floor, Vincent would have made sure of that!

Carla breathed deeply, cleared her
mind, and explored the wreck. The car had fared quite well, except
for the site of impact. Whilst the car was a write off, it appeared
to be driveable.

Exploring at the far end of the short
tunnel; just outside was a small lay-by cut into the face of the
mountain for parking machinery during the construction of the
tunnel.

Checking her watch, she reckoned it
would be about an hour before the camper van arrived. She needed to
hide the Mercedes and bodies, clean herself up and destroy all
evidence that she had been in the car.

She looked into the open boot, pulled
out her travel bag containing some clothes and female essentials.
Rummaging around in the boot, she found tools, first aid kit and
full petrol can.

By rearranging the bodies in the back
of the car, she was able to drag Vincent out of the driver’s seat,
into the back.

She did the same with Philippe. As she
rolled him over in the dim light, it looked as though his head was
smashed in. His hair and ear on the left side of his head was
scraped away to the bone, smeared on the tunnel wall. She searched
his pockets for anything useful or valuable, keeping his wallet,
bulging with cash.

To protect her clothes, she placed the
carpet from the boot, over the blood soaked front seats, and
slipped behind the steering wheel. Getting into the driver’s seat,
she noticed Philippe’s brief case, so she kept that, as well.

The time had come to try to move the
car. She switched the ignition off, and then on again, to restart
the car. The engine fired, but immediately died.

"Damn!" She exclaimed as she realised
the petrol pump had shut off, due to the impact.”

Putting the car into first gear then
switching off all lights she used the starter motor to propel the
car. The car slowly lurched its way forward, the twenty metres to
the end of the tunnel. The steering was extremely stiff without
power assistance, but taking a wide arc, she covered a further 10
metres, into the darkness of the layby.

Four years previous, she had worked as
service receptionist at a large garage in London and had learned
many useful things about cars. She took the job to copy master keys
on new luxury cars, passing them on to criminals with the
customer’s details, so the car could be stolen at leisure. She made
a lot of money in the six months she was there, before she had to
go on the run.

Reaching under the bonnet in the light
of the headlamp, she pulled out several lengths of wire and with
some pliers from the toolbox, joined them together electrically.
One end of the wire connected to the live side of the battery
terminal, the other to a piece of chrome trim pulled off the car,
and wedged under the front suspension on the good side.

To check the circuit, she scraped the
trim on the steel suspension until the mud and paint burned away in
a shower of sparks. The wire hissed as the powerful current flowed,
and acrid smoke poured from it. Some Band-Aids held the wire in
place and covered the wire joints to prevent shorting out on the
car body.

Placing the petrol can so one of the
exposed wire joints was over its open spout, she taped the wires
into place. She modified the wire joint, so only three strands
formed the connection and draped a piece of cloth over the strands,
and down into the petrol. This acted as a detonator to her
incendiary bomb.

In the dimming headlight, and using a
broken off wing mirror to inspect herself, she stripped off her
clothes, cleaned the blood from her face and hands using spit and
her old T-shirt. She dressed in clean jeans, a blouse, and her
favourite denim jacket. She threw her old clothes in the car.

After combing her hair into a ponytail
and checking her appearance, she unscrewed the dust cover to the
tyre valve of the front wheel. Using the pliers, she carefully
squeezed the brass valve until it started to hiss. She wanted to
set up a slow air leak, so after about half an hour or so, the
suspension would settle down on the chrome trim contact, causing
the wire strands to glow under the wick, and set the petrol in the
can, alight. This would destroy all traces of her if the police
should get to the car, before Marco and his men did.

She checked her watch; the camper might
be here in about 20 minutes, and she still had a lot to do.

Running back through the tunnel she
noticed the glint of broken glass and shiny black patches of blood.
Nothing she could do about them, but she kicked some pieces of
metal and plastic laying in the road, over the edge.

In the far distance below, she could
see the lights of a vehicle. It must be the camper, she
thought.

By climbing down the service steps with
her bag, and Philippe’s case, to the road far below, she hoped to
get a lift in the camper van. She intended to divert the driver’s
attention away from the blood and glass as he went through the
tunnel.

Accelerating out of the hairpin bend
and moving into second gear the van slowly gained speed. The
advancing headlight beam immediately picked out the unexpected
figure of a young girl stood by the roadside with a canvas holdall
bag in one hand and a black briefcase in the other. Anywhere else,
she looked like she was waiting for a bus, but here it was nothing
short of bizarre.

Max slowed down as he approached; she
put down her luggage and waved him down. There was no cover for
bandits to hide, so he stopped.

She opened the side door, and the
interior light came on. Max exclaimed, “Young lady, what on earth
are you doing way out here?”

“Oh please help me!” She cried. “I have
had a bust up with my boyfriend, and he has dumped me here.”

“You have got to be joking! What kind
of scumbag would do that to a girl?” Said Max.

“One who thinks he can take me on
holiday with him and use me!” She said. “Well, not this baby!” She
spat and then started sobbing.

“Hey! Hey! Come on, you don’t need to
cry, I can take you on to somewhere where you can get help, just
hand up your luggage, and we will get going.”

Carla calmed down and handed up her
bags, Max placed them on the seat behind him.

As he climbed back into the driver’s
seat, she turned to face him. Her angelic face radiated a warm and
sincere smile. Tears twinkled in the light as she softened the
intensity, of her sapphire blue eyes. She deliberately held her
gaze into Max’s blue/grey eyes, so he could study her, and become
entranced. Carla knew how to bewitch, and manipulate, the hardest
male heart. Max, immediately fell under her spell, his soft, warm
heart, doubled its beat. She deliberately leant close to him, and
he could smell her warm skin and perfume. There was nothing he
would not do for her, now.

“Can I have a shower?” She asked. “I
take it, you have one?”

“Oh! Yes, by all means, let me get a
towel for you. Use my stuff if you like.”

She thanked him and he started moving
again.

Whilst introducing herself as Carla
Day, and exchanging pleasantries, she looked casually around the
van. Single man, fifty-ish, some sort of professional on a long
touring holiday she surmised. The man is organized, everything neat
and tidy, all the comforts of home, including Mobile phone,
computer and G.P.S. No sign of a woman, or children, in his
life.

She spread out the contents of her bag
as the van rounded the final hairpin bend on the stretch leading to
the tunnel.

“We will go through the tunnel in a few
minutes.” She thought. “I hope he keeps his brain in his dick like
most men.”

“You don’t mind the internal light
being on do you?” She asked.

“No, no problem.” Max replied, “I will
drive very steady, so you don’t get thrown around in the
shower.”

“Thanks!”

“This is it,” she thought.

Standing in the centre of the van she
slowly removed her outer clothes, carefully placing them on the
seat. Her movements were slow and deliberate as though she was on
her own, stripping for an imaginary lover. She could see he was
watching her in his mirror, but she did not let on.

The tunnel was now in the lights. She
turned to face the front and removed her bra. Max could hardly tear
his eyes away from the mirror; she appeared not to notice his
stare. When Carla saw his eyes move and focus on the road in the
tunnel she called out.

“Let me know if I can do anything for
you!”

Still facing the mirror, she slipped
off her panties. When his eyes returned to the mirror, she slowly
turned her back on him, and he was transfixed hoping she would turn
to face him again.

He exited the tunnel and blurted out
“No! No! It’s my pleasure, anything for a damsel in distress.”

Carla smiled to herself and stepped
into the shower.

When she was finished, she stepped out
with the towel around her. Although covered and respectable, she
still looked and moved invitingly. Walking up to him and standing
between the front seats, she lent close to him. He breathed in the
fragrances of fresh, clean skin, shampoo, body lotion, and
toothpaste. It was quite erotic.

Carla asked Max if he was going to stop
soon, or drive until they got to town.

Max wanted to stop and climb into the
sack with her, immediately, but before he could answer, she said,
“I must get into Piedimonte Matese by 6.00am tomorrow if you could
do that for me?”