Bullit's Chase Read online

rear quarter panel.

  Tay waited until the last minute, then savagely kicked at the clutch and brake, slamming the gearshift into third and popping the clutch all in one fluid motion. The nose of the GT500 dipped sharply as it entered the curve, engine screaming like a banshee as it fought to bring the revs from 9000rpm down to 7500rpm. Tay turned the wheel to the right and held it grimly as the rear tyres squealed white smoke through the bend. The GT500 shuddered a little until the rear tyres bit down onto the bitumen and Tay countered by aiming the car slightly to the left. The car fishtailed dangerously for a moment, almost out of control, before Tay got it under control again.

  The Mustang had dropped back a little through this corner, with only the slightest hint of oversteer visible as it exited the corner at a slower speed than the GT500. It began closing the distance to the GT500, inches at a time. The two cars, engines screaming, thundered along the road leaving a warm wake of gasoline fumes. By now the road had levelled out and the cars were facing the uphill climb out of the valley.

  Tay piloted the GT500 into the first corner on the incline with surgical precision; the GT500 banked sharply, facing the inside barrier. Tay let it go for a millisecond, then counter steered and floored the throttle forcing the rear wheels to lose grip with the tarmac. Drifting perfectly, the car exited the curve positioned dead straight for the next section. A few seconds of rapid acceleration later, Tay pumped the clutch and slammed the gearshift back up to fourth gear. The GT500 surged forward with newfound torque, all eight cylinders greedily gulping air and fuel as it began accelerating up the hill.

  The Mustang driver seemed to know his way around this section. The pursuer drifted through the corner, poised to take advantage of his superior position now that his target was ahead and slightly above him. Another gunshot rang out and another neat hole appeared on the GT500.

  Inside the GT500 Bullit was desperately grabbing for his seatbelt. Tay was slick with sweat, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to leave marks on it. He briefly looked into the rearview and noted the Mustang closing in before turning his attention to the right-hand hairpin bend up ahead. He grabbed the handbrake with a right hand that was slippery with sweat and readied himself for the corner. At the very last moment he came off the throttle and stood on the brakes with all his might while yanking on the handbrake hard enough to pull a muscle in his arm.

  The GT500, the front wheels doing their best to hold back the big car thanks to ABS while the rear wheels locked and unable to gain any traction, slid momentarily out of control towards the hairpin bend. Tay spun the wheel clockwise with one slippery hand as the tractionless car slid into the bend, putting a clockwise spin into the cars momentum. Halfway into the bend as the entire car continued to spin clockwise he thumped down the handbrake, depressed the clutch and swiftly changed down to second gear. The rear wheels, once unlocked, spun up a cloud of angry white smoke, burning rubber as the GT500 fought to find traction again.

  Once again, the rear wheels bit into the road, stopping the car’s clockwise spin and turning its high-pitched shrieking into a roar as the car was propelled out of the turn by the powerful V8. The tachometer needle bounced up to the redline with the screaming engine before Tay changed up to third gear, then repeated its performance as Tay raced the car up to fourth gear and the next curve, a sharp left-handed curve at the top of the incline.

  The Mustang, less than a car length behind the GT500, drifted through the curve with the rear end almost spinning it out of control missing the steel barrier by fractions of an inch. With seemingly no difficulty it straightened out and, as the driver poured on the coals, accelerated after the GT500.

  Tay once again waited until almost the last instant before jumping on the brakes and down-shifting to third. The tachometer needle danced briefly at 7500rpm and the car wobbled dangerously around the curve. The car’s turbo chittered loudly as all eight cylinders attempted to bring the revs under control once again in the absence of throttle. Tay heard a gunshot ring out but ignored it - all of his concentration was focussed on controlling the sharply banking car through this corner and preparing to exit as fast as possible. Finally the corner was over and a long straight road stretched out in front of him, disappearing over the hill. Tay redlined each gear up the hill, turbo whining like a demon out of hell at every engine peak.

  The GT500 crested the hill in sixth gear and hurled itself into the receding sunlight at well over 200mph, all four wheels momentarily losing contact with the tarmac as the car floated briefly in the air before slamming back onto the tarmac with a bone-jarring thud. The sudden contact with the road caused a loss of control and the car weaved erratically at 190mph, crossing over into the oncoming lane. Up ahead an approaching big rig saw the danger and the driver slammed his brakes, all of them, at once. With a juddering of tyres and booming of exhaust brakes the big rig began to slowly jack-knife, the trailer slowly, almost comically, attempting to overtake the tractor.

  Tay slammed his foot into the brake pedal and turned the wheel hard right in an effort to avoid a collision. The GT500 spun clockwise in a sickening manner and hurtled sidewards towards the truck. It never got there. The front end of the car, now facing the right hand side of the road, clipped the barrier at over 170mph. It was enough to punch the car into the air.

  The black and yellow-striped car pirouetted on its nose like a graceful metal ballerina, and spun an uncomplicated dance in the twilight air while still hurtling forward at over 150mph. The setting sun’s light twinkled delightfully on the glass and steel high up, oh so very high up, from the ground. A moment later the GT500 met the tarmac for the last time in a violent crash, shedding glass and metal and oil and blood as it tumbled down the motorway.

  The red Mustang appeared over the hill and glided to a halt before the debris now strewn across the road. The drivers door opened and a tall man with a revolver stepped out into the twilight. He gazed at the bits of debris littering the road and ignored the wild gesticulations from the driver of the big rig. Whistling a song under his breath he carefully made his way to the remains of the GT500. On his way he lazily reloaded the revolver in his hand, taking unnecessary care to lovingly slide each bullet into the gun. He stopped at the wreckage and spun the revolver.

  “Are you Bullit?” he asked, almost pleasantly considering the carnage around him.

  Tay, a bloodied mess of broken bones, lifted his glass-speckled face to the stranger. His consciousness was leaving him along with blood from a dozen different gashes. He managed to shake his head.

  “Other side,” he whispered hoarsely, “Who are you?”

  “I was a father,” said the man, “Until yesterday, that is. My boy died in school you see.”

  He walked around to the other side of the mangled heap of metal. Bullit was not so lucky - he had already expired and his cooling corpse was half out the wreck. The man looked at the corpse in sadness. In this twilight silence the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the Mustang’s engine as it started cooling down.

  The man aimed his gun at the corpse for only a moment before squeezing the trigger. He continued squeezing even after all six rounds had been fired and the revolver clicked empty. Dropping the gun, he turned around and surveyed the scene.

  The strange man slowly made his way back to the Mustang, roughly brushing away his tears with the back of his hand.

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