He reached the end of the alley and gently edged forward to check the traffic. The road looked clear, so he pressed a little harder on the accelerator, inching forward. Before he could move more than a few feet, a large black car came out of nowhere, it flashed into his periphorary and surged past with a roar.

  Patrick slammed on the brakes and uttered a curse 'Fuck!' as the car narrowly missed the front of the Toyota and sped off down the road, the deep rumble of its engine rattling the windows of his small car.

  “Where the fuck did you come from?”

  He checked the street again, double-checking this time, then pulled out and headed toward the main road.

  At the intersection, the black car sat in the right lane waiting for the light to change. Patrick pulled up alongside it on the left and flicked on his indicator. He could feel the vibrations from the other car’s engine in his stomach.

  It was a model he had never seen before, clearly built at the height of the 1960s muscle-car era. It was bigger than most modern cars—fuller. Power emanated from every curve of the body; the matte black finish seemed to absorb light.

  The body of the car looked sculpted from a single piece of metal. Its long, sleek lines flowed into one another with silky curves that were hard for the eye to follow. At some point, the gaze simply slid off and was lost in pitch black. Despite its beauty, the car carried an unmistakable aura of menace.

  The tinted windows were impenetrably dark; all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him.

  He met his own eyes in the glass and quickly looked away.

  The traffic lights turned green, and he made a left onto the main road, and the black car turned right, and Patrick felt a sense of relief.

  He couldn’t believe how quiet it was. Even with the heat, there should have been at least a few brave souls soldiering through. But there was only one other car heading his way, and it turned off toward the city centre at the intersection ahead.

  The sound of screeching tyres behind him made Patrick look up into the rear-view mirror. It seemed the driver of the black car had changed his mind about which direction he was heading. Smoke billowed from the tyres as the car spun in a violent U-turn and fishtailed toward him.

  It came up fast, quickly filling the mirror.

  Above the front bumper, the chrome grille shone like silver teeth in a wicked grin.

  The sight of it looming behind him made Patrick’s skin crawl. A chill passed through him, reaching the very tips of his teeth.

  The car tailgated him, no more than a few centimetres from his bumper. The driver revved the engine, and it roared with aggressive impatience.

  Patrick flicked on his indicator and pulled as far left as he could, leaving plenty of room to pass. Despite the clear opportunity to pass, the black car stayed glued to his rear.

  “What the hell do you want, asshole?” Patrick whispered. “Go around.”

  He waved his arm, signalling for the driver to pass. Instead, the engine roared louder, and the black car edged closer still.

  Patrick didn’t know why, but the driver was clearly furious with him. Had he pulled out of the museum parking lot too far before noticing them coming up the street? They'd been speeding; they must have been for them to have come out of nowhere so quickly. If Patrick had nearly cut them off they had no one to blame but themselves.

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  The car behind swerved from side to side but stayed close to Patrick's rear bumper.

  A few hundred metres ahead, the turn for the freeway was approaching—a ninety-degree right turn onto a four-lane stretch that would lead him straight back down the peninsula.

  The driver of the car had already changed course to play out this little road range scene. Would they follow him down the freeway and continue to harass him? How long would they stay at it? 5 minutes? 10 minutes? 20 minutes? The entire drive back to the Peninsula?

  Tailgating bumper to bumper on city streets was annoying, but on the freeway at 100km an hour, that was dangerous.

  Patrick needed to take that turn. Missing it would add another twenty minutes to his drive. But the thought of getting on the freeway with this lunatic behind him turned the small knot of fear in his stomach into a flash of anger.

  He growled and pushed his foot harder on the accelerator, momentarily pulling away.

  “Fuck you, dickhead!”

  He kept the Toyota as far left as he could and continued to accelerate. The little car was no match for the black one, but the surge gave him confidence that she could pull off what he had planned.

  As the speedometer crept higher, the black car matched him effortlessly. Patrick knew that if he even brushed the brakes, those chrome teeth would bite into the back of his Toyota.

  The speed limit was forgotten as the freeway turn approached. Patrick stayed left as long as he dared.

  When he made his move, he hoped the driver wouldn’t react in time.

  The anger pumping through his veins left no room for fear.

  At the last possible second, Patrick spun the wheel hard to the right and took the turn.

  Tyres screamed across the asphalt as he blasted through the intersection. He kept his foot planted, refusing to slow. For a moment, he was certain the rear end would break loose and send him spinning into a power pole—but despite the screaming rubber, the tyres held.

  He came out of the turn doing eighty kilometres an hour. The car rocked on its springs as it straightened, and Patrick exhaled as control returned.

  He checked the rear-view mirror, expecting to see the black car following. The driver had hit the brakes hard and come to a stop, but it was well past the intersection. It would take time for it to turn around if they decided to pursue.

  The car sat still in the rearview. Patrick could feel the driver weighing their options.

  If the driver wanted to pursue him, he would need to find a place to make another U-turn or reverse the 10 to 20 metres back into the intersection.

  The driver decided against reversing, and the car moved forward, continuing along Queen St. It would be a few minutes before it would be able to find a break in the central traffic island wide enough to make a U turn. By then, Patrick would be kilometres away.

  He reached the hundred-kilometre speed limit—then pushed ten over. The city steadily fell away behind him.

  Within minutes, his heart slowed to a normal rhythm. There was no way they would try to follow him now. He shoved the unease aside and focused on the road ahead.

  The roads were still eerily quiet.

  It felt like driving out of a country town rather than a major city.

  With four lanes all to himself, Patrick stayed 15km/h above the speed limit, still wanting to put distance between himself and the driver of the black car. The GPS on his phone provided plenty of warning about any fixed speed cameras he passed along the way.

  Forty-five minutes later, Patrick parked behind Stanton & Wilson’s Antiquities, the black car forgotten, his only thought, to get from cool interior of the car through the heat, and into the cool interior of the store.

  Three customers browsed aimlessly in the showroom. Behind the counter, Scott was finishing a phone call.

  “No, don’t worry, I’ll pick up a pizza on the way home.” He spotted Patrick. “Listen, I’ve got to go—Patrick’s just walked in.”

  “Sarah says hi,” Scott added.

  Patrick leaned toward the phone.

  “Hi, Sarah.”

  He couldn’t hear her reply and raised an eyebrow.

  “She wants to know if you want to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

  Patrick didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to. Thanks, Sarah.”

  “She says to come early—Toby wants to show you his new train set before bed.”

  “Sounds perfect. Tell him I’m looking forward to it.”

  Scott ended the call.

  “It’ll be good to catch up.”

  “Yeah. The little man misses you. He asks about you every day.”

  “How was Alex?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. The little fears that were buried deep in patricks mind fought to find a way to the surface, but their victories were brief and incomplete.

  At a quarter to six, Scott stepped into the car park and waited while Patrick locked up.

  “Same time tomorrow?” Scott asked.

  “I’ll be here—bright and early as always.”

  “If by some miracle you get a full night’s sleep, I’ll be pissed if you interrupt it to come to work.”

  Patrick smiled warmly.

  “I mean it, go home got to bed as early as you can and don’t set your alarm.”

  “Don’t worry—I won’t. Give that beautiful wife of yours a kiss for me.”

  “No chance. Get your own wife.”

  Patrick chuckled.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Scott drove off, and Patrick climbed into his car, heading the opposite way.

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