The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey) (19 page)

*****

“All right, all right!” shouted Holland as he handed Porter the phone. 

“W
hat’s the number?” asked Porter. 

“T
he 436 area code,” was all Holland could utter before Porter pushed the knife deeper and turned the blade a half rotation.  Holland's scream was violent and the pain debilitating.

"Y
ou sure?" screamed Porter.

In agony, Holland yelled
, "Yes! It's the only 436 number!"

Porter's inner driver alerted him
that he had not put the car in park when he hit the brakes.  He looked out the windshield and saw the limo careening towards the concrete column supporting the overpass.  In an instant, he retrieved his knife, punched Holland again, and grabbed the steering wheel.  Paul's limp body now occupied most of the front floor board making it difficult for Porter to reach the accelerator.  When he did, he had just enough space to swerve hard left onto Pennsylvania Avenue South.

*****

"Wrong way!" shouted Connie.  "Your team has to get on 64 East!  The car just went hard onto Penn South."  Covering the microphone on her earpiece, she gave commands to her driver.  "Get directly behind them.  I don't care if they see us.  And when they get on the Interstate and past the bridge, pull alongside them and force them off the road."

*****

Having regained control of the vehicle and veering left into interstate traffic, Porter searched the rear view mirror for Holland but could not find him.  “Holland?” barked Porter.  No response. “Holland?” he yelled again.  Still nothing.  "Shit!" he said as he glanced behind him only to be met with a policeman’s night stick across the bridge of his nose. 

The intens
ity of the blow caused Porter to retreat towards the windshield and momentarily lose control of the vehicle.  Unable to clear the water from his eyes, he was blind until the front of the limo was ten yards from clearing the metal trusses of the I-64 bridge over the Kanawha River.  Porter checked his rear view mirror once more, only to find Holland lunging forward again with the night stick.  Instinctively, Porter swerved hard right to throw Holland off balance and in doing so plowed into the concrete barrier separating the drivers from the river.

*****

"NO!" Connie screamed; a guttural pleading to change the reality she was observing.  "They just hit wall!  They just hit the wall!"  Connie jumped from her SUV and raced to the driver's door but could not see anything as the front and side window airbags had deployed.  "No, they're not over yet," she said into her earpiece.  "The limo's front cleared the wall but the wheels are hung and it's teetering like it's about to head over into the river." 

Connie banged on the driver's window as she yelled, "Porter!  Porter!" but no sound came from inside.  She grabbed the door handle and
frantically tried to open it, without success.  Banging on the window once again she noticed the limo move.  "No," she pleaded again, realizing the auto was slowing inching over the edge.

Backing away a few feet as though her action would keep the vehicle from the 60 foot plunge into the Kanawha, Connie observed the side airbag move.  She rushed closer as the window rolled down.  When it stopped, she yanked at the airbag to
peer inside, only to find Holland with his left arm wrapped around Porter's neck and his right hand pushing a gun into Porter's temple.

"911
," Holland ordered through his blood-soaked teeth.  Connie stared in shocked disbelief at Holland's mangled face and the helpless look in Porter's eyes.  "You obviously know Mr. Brown so don't get any ideas about a rescue.  Call 911 then grab the rear bumper."  As if on cue, the SUV inched slightly closer towards the river.

"N
ow!" ordered Holland.

Connie ended her call and pulled her phone out to dial the emergency services.  Before they picked up, she looked into Porter's eyes. 
As he met her gaze, she did not see the strong, confident eyes she had known for two decades.  Gone was the joy that emanated from them when he spoke of Paloma or his family.  In its place was the frightened look of a 14 year-old whose sister was being violated on the other side of a door.

"911 operator.  What is your emergency?"

Connie hung up before answering.  Slowly she approached the vehicle and gave Porter the same smile she had the first day he sat at her table.  "I love you Porter," she said sweetly as the tears began down her face.  Fighting to keep her smile bright and her words strong, Connie inhaled deeply before she said, "Remember who you are."

Porter's countenance immediately changed.  His lips formed the faintest smile, as he quietly mouthed, "I love you too," then drove his head into Holland's shattered nose
.  Surprised by Porter's move, Holland pulled the trigger a millisecond late and the bullet buried itself in the driver's seat.  As Porter wrenched the gun free, his legs pushed against the driver's door causing both men to slam backwards against the passenger door.  Their weight on the overhanging side of the vehicle provided the necessary push to force it over the edge.

Understanding their imminent fate a
s the metal undercarriage screeched over the bridge's concrete wall, the two released their grip on each other. Holland turned his focus out the window to the river that would soon envelop him.  Connie could not see his panic, as her sole focus was exchanging a final glance with her Porter.  His calm eyes and wide smile comforted her release of him to Heaven.