"Richard Paul Russo - Just Drive, She Said" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russo Richard Paul)

As I drove along, she fiddled with the console, and a stream of figures
moved across the largest display. She glanced up, nodded toward a wrecked
Toyota ahead of us on the side of the road, and said, "That used to be my
car." We passed the wreck, and she returned her attention to the console.
A blue light began to blink frantically on the side of the console.
"Goddammit," the woman said. "How the hell did she find me so soon?" She
pushed another button and a small screen emerged from the top of the
console. A glowing map appeared on the screen, with two different blinking
lights a few inches apart.
"Turn right at the next corner," she said, "and hit the gas. Move this
crate."
I turned and accelerated. Traffic was light, but I still had to pay
attention to other cars.


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"Faster," the woman said.
"What about the police?" I asked. Which was a stupid question. I wanted
the police.
"Fuck 'em," she said. "Just move it."
So I stepped on the gas. I was weaving in and out of traffic now, getting
nervous. But whenever I started to slow down she jabbed the gun into my
ribs and said, "Keep moving."
She had me make a series of turns, wheels squealing with each one, then we
were on a long, open road with hardly any traffic. I was pretty sure the
river was ahead of us somewhere.
"Now floor it," she said. I hesitated, and she moved the gun from my ribs
to my head. "Floor it, goddamn you!"
I floored it.
Which was how, a few moments later, we were headed straight for barricades
and a ruined bridge at eighty-five miles an hour.

I should have hit the brakes. What was she going to do, shoot me? But I
kept my foot on the gas, the steering wheel straight.
The woman punched a few more buttons. Green lights flashed, bright
patterned circles. Just before we reached the barricades, she jammed a
switch on the front of the console.
Everything lurched sideways. At least, that's how it felt, lurched so hard
I felt sick. But we were still on the road, still moving straight ahead at
eighty-five. Except now the barricades were gone, and stretching out ahead
of us, spanning the river and glistening with bright lights, was a whole,
undamaged bridge.
We shot across it over the river, came down on the other side, and kept
going. I braked through a long, sweeping turn, barely keeping the car on
the road, then we were driving along the river road.
I couldn't see much in the dark. It wasn't a part of the city I knew well,
but I had been through it a few times, and something seemed out of place.
"Just keep going," the woman said. She was watching a display on the