Low Slung Mazda

The low slung Mazda seethed across the desert like a silver bullet, raising the dust off the sun bleached road in short-lived clouds. The tires whistled as they sped along the asphalt.

Leighton had been trying to match the pitch the tires made at 110 miles per hour, and found that it was a diminished 5th off C sharp. He slowed down a little until it matched C, and he hit the cruise control. At that speed, the roar of the engine and the wind and the tires set up a beautiful, mournful chord that sounded somewhat like a gasoline powered pipe organ. He was happy with it, and hummed lithely in harmony, dancing up and down the scale, throwing in new pitches here and there to change the nature of the tone.

After about 10 minutes, he tired of it and turned up the techno again. The speakers in the back thumped wildly in electronic-driven ecstasy. Boom Boom Boom.

The music made him concentrate a bit. Focus. He focused momentarily on the fiddly bits on the dash, wondering what they did. He focused on the dials on the radio, and tuned them experimentally for a brief period trying to get better sound quality.

He focused on the rearview mirror, looking for black sedans, which would signify feds. He looked for black SUV's, which would signify the mob. 150 miles out of Barstow, Arizona, however, there were not likely to be any of these, but he looked just in case. Leighton was rather disappointed, really, to see nobody else on the road. Boredom was not something he was used to; it was something to be shunned and avoided, and if it came around there were people he could pay to cure it.

The cellular phone rang. Good. People. Talking. Maybe threats.

"Leighton, how can I help you?"
"Leighton, you crazy fuck.."

It was Kranz. A good sign. Leighton had suspected he might be dead.

"Christalmighty, Leighton… Do you know how many people have been out here looking for you? I mean… Jesus!"

Kranz was calm, but there was an edge in his voice that signified trouble.

"Kranz, look, it's ok. They're good guys, they just need to be placated."
"Placate them then."
"Hey, look, they just don't know they need to be placated yet. That's all."

Leighton shifted uncomfortably in the leather bucket seat.

"I just need a place to lay low while I get this sorted out, ok?"

The silence oozed out of the phone like crude oil.

"Ok."

The CD stopped. Tim considered restarting it for the 5th time, but he knew all the songs and was getting pretty sick of them. The car rocketed along in near silence.