I looked out my window as the bay dropped away from us like the floor of an elevator shaft.

“You lie,” I said nervously.

She held up her right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“Put both hands on the wheel,” I said.

We approached the center span and the entire configuration of yellow fins enflamed the right side of the car, bathed the rubbery windows in artificial light.

The sound of tires slapping through the rain on our left suddenly hummed through the small open space in Angie’s window. I looked left and Angie said, “What the hell?”

She jerked the wheel as a gold Lexus streaked past us, crowding into our lane, doing at least seventy. The wheels on the Celica’s passenger side bit against the curb between the road and the guardrail, and the entire frame shuddered and bounced as Angie’s arm went ramrod straight against the wheel.

The Lexus hurtled past us as we jerked back into the lane. Its taillights were off. It cut halfway in front of us, straddling both lanes, and I saw the stiff, thin head of the driver for a moment in a shaft of light from the fins.

“That’s Cushing,” I said.

“Shit.” Angie honked the tinny horn of the Celica as I popped the glove compartment and pulled out my gun, then Angie’s. I tucked hers on the console against the emergency brake, jacked a bullet into the chamber of my own.

Up ahead, Jay’s head straightened as he looked in his rearview. Angie kept her hand on the horn, but the wimpy bleat it emitted was lost when the nose of Mr. Cushing’s Lexus swung into the rear quarter panel of Jay’s 3000 GT.

The right wheels of the little sports car jumped up on the curb and sparks flew off the passenger side as it careened off the barrier to Jay’s right. Jay swung his wheel hard to the left and jumped back off the curb. His sideview mirror was ripped off the car, and I turned my head to the side as it rocketed back through the rain and crashed into our windshield, ripped a spiderweb through the glass in front of my face.

Angie bumped the back of the Lexus as the nose of Jay’s car slid to the left and his rear right wheel popped back up on the curb. Mr. Cushing kept the Lexus steady, grinding it into Jay’s car. A silver hubcap snapped off and banged off our grille, disappeared under the wheel. The 3000 GT, small and light, was no match for the Lexus, and any second it would be propelled broadside, and the Lexus would be free to push it straight off the bridge.

I could see Jay’s head as it bobbed back and forth and he fought the wheel as the Lexus ground harder against the driver’s side.