chapter one hundred and three

It was humiliating to be hung up on by the very man that was supposed to be hanging on my every word, at least in my perfect world. I was also sick and tired of being cooped up in a conference room moving papers from one pile to the next while criminals roamed around freely, threatening my friends and colleagues. My head hurt, my stomach was empty, and I was pissed off. It was slightly unrighteousness indignation, and for better or for worse, it spurred me into action.

I marched out of city hall, jabbed the keys into my scratched navy sedan’s ignition, slammed the car into gear, and drove off in a cloud of hazy exhaust fumes. Secretly, I was hoping that the car would magically navigate itself to the criminals’ lair where they were keeping Viola. My wrath and I drove through the city streets for an hour before I finally ran out of gas, emotionally and literally. Depleted and defeated, I pulled into a corner gas station which also promised the best coffee in town. I was filling the car with super, just in case a high speed chase ensued, when a red sporty car screeched to a halt behind me. A woman with a blonde wig started to lean on her horn, eager to nab my place at the pump. I glared my most icy glare back at her high and mighty impertinent blondeness, then proceeded to screw the gas cap on like an eighty-year-old with severe arthritis. I made sure to inch my way into a parking spot off to the side before sauntering inside to pay for the fuel. As I passed the red car, now chugging petrol, blondie showed me one of her fingers. I gritted my teeth, kept on walking, and concluded that perhaps today was a good day to become a coffee drinker. A few minutes later, I had befriended a large vanilla cappuccino and an apple fritter.

I set the coffee on the hood of my car and leaned against the front fender, chewing the sugary apple treat while I forgave the rude female and tried to focus on more important matters like rescuing Viola. Driving in complex geometric configurations all over the city wasn’t proving to be a big success, but neither was sitting in city hall with my nose buried in papers. Oh God, could I please just accomplish something worthwhile for a change? I gazed over the busy intersection right in front of me, knowing that Viola was somewhere out there in the city. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack or a mouse in a giant maze.

I polished off the fried treat and took my first sip of the coffee. It was surprisingly tasty, and I wondered why I had held a grudge against coffee for so long. I stood there, sipping slowly and letting the scene in front of me blur as I went over the events of the last few days in my mind. Either the caffeine suddenly found its mark, or an angel poked me in the head with a very sharp finger, for my neck snapped abruptly to the left as my eyes lighted on a black sedan cruising through the intersection in front of me. What looked very much like Viola’s face was pressed against the back window. God almighty, could it really be? I frantically scrambled into the car, squeezed the blessed cappuccino into the broken cup holder, turned the key, and punched the accelerator. The chase was on.

The drive-home traffic had just begun, so over the next few blocks I found myself speeding and braking and changing lanes frequently while I tried to keep the sedan in view. After a mile or two of this and one too many unfortunate light changes, I lost sight of my prey. By this time, the terrain was starting to looking familiar; I was nearing the subdivision where the Holy Spirit had visited Richard Sanders. I thought that surely the location was too obvious to be the destination, but perhaps that was what the kidnappers were hoping everyone would assume.

I pulled onto Sanders’ street cautiously. Yes, a black sedan was parked in the driveway of the bungalow, the engine still running. My guess was it was not going to be a long visit. I parked my blue pursuit vehicle across the street a few houses down and wondered what to do next. I knew I should call Cameron, but I had no phone. Well, there were a dozen phones on the street; I just had to access one. I ran up a random walkway and banged on the door. No one was home, so I traversed a patch of lawn and assaulted the next house. A teenager opened the door and stared at me with apathetic, bored eyes.

“Phone. I need to use your phone!” I urged. He disappeared for a moment and returned with the requested item. After he wordlessly deposited it into my open palm, he sauntered back to the couch in the front room and resumed his video game.

At the news that I had tracked the bad guys back to Viola’s house, Cameron’s voice became tight. He assured me that he would be right over and emphatically insisted that under no circumstances was I to approach the house alone. Before I had a chance to respond to his directive, he was gone. Well, I most certainly wasn’t going to hang out with the teenage video champion while Viola was less than one hundred feet away. I tossed the phone onto the couch and left the kid to his virtual battle; I had a real one that I needed to fight.