It swung off the B road and pelted down a narrower track that cut across farmland, sliding through icy mud patches that Benito’s car mowed through with ease. Up ahead, derelict outbuildings loomed in the shadows, and debris from broken-down farm vehicles littered the roadside, signalling that they were on private land now.
Though there were no signs of occupation, the prospect of witnesses eased Benito’s foot from the gas—an instinctive reaction that gave Nino Moretti the split second he needed to burn away, widening the gap between them.
Benito floored the accelerator again, but a straight stretch of road had given the BMW the advantage. It roared away, leaving Benito in its wake, then killed its lights, concealing Moretti’s escape.
“Fuck fuckfuck!” Benito pounded the steering wheel and yelled his frustration, his shout ringing out over the growl of the engine. He dimmed his own lights but kept them on half beam as his foot eased from the accelerator, wary of the scattered obstacles still cluttering the road.
His speed returned to normal, and the sweat cooled on his skin, leaving him shivering despite the warmth from the heated seat beneath him. Teeth chattering, he wiped his brow and cranked the heaters, blasting himself with hot air as he fought to calm himself down.
“Shit!” He thumped the steering wheel again, then leaned over it, assessing his surroundings properly. The BMW was long gone, but he was still on private land with a scaffold pole tucked up his sleeve.Jesus fucking Christ.Perspective returned to him, carried by a harsh wave of self-loathing. He slowed to a crawl and opened the window. After a laser glance around, he launched the pipe into a nearby ditch.
The dull thud of metal on damp grass punctured the quiet. Benito flinched and let out a slow breath. He shut the window and sped up towards what he hoped was an exit onto public roads and not a driveway to a fucking house.
Please. I need this.He gripped the wheel tighter and prayed to Rosetta’s god. Unbidden, flashbacks of the last time he’d attended mass bombarded him. Gianna’s chubby toddler hand welded in his. Roberto’s knuckles as he’d dusted Benito’s skull for shits and giggles. Benito cursed and shook his head, forcing the memories away, clinging only to the vow that if he found the road, he’d drive and drive and drive until he was a better man than Roberto.
Somehow, his prayers were answered. His reward came in the form of a busted gate. He drove over it and around a pile of hay bales. Up ahead, a sign for a town he recognised reflected back at him from across a paved road, and relief flooded him, leaving him dizzy.
He pulled onto the B road, keeping a sharp eye out for blue lights or an ambush, but in the murky gloom of the unlit road, all he saw were the upended wheels of the smoking BMW and the wild eyes of the driver still trapped inside.