“Just like Jim Rockford,” Merker cackled.

“Hey, Gary, this isn’t very good for my stomach,” Leo said. “I was just starting to feel better, like I could eat something.”

“Jesus, Leo, enough.”

Up ahead, at the next cross street, a police car went screaming past from left to right.

“Yikes!” Merker shouted, and slammed on the brakes. I didn’t have time to get my fingers in between my neck and the belt and I lost my breath, gagged, as the belt cut into my windpipe. I closed my eyes a moment, wondering whether I’d pass out.

Maybe, I thought, keeping them closed was a smart idea. If we did have an accident, there might be flying glass.

But curiosity prevailed, and I opened them. We were approaching a stop sign. A small car—it looked like another Civic, not unlike the one Merker had rammed with the truck on our way to the prison—was waiting to make a right turn.

Merker might ordinarily have driven around the car, to the left, but there was a brown UPS truck there. Not enough room to get through. On the right, our path was blocked by a metal pole supporting a stop sign.

Our car screeched to a halt behind the Civic. “Jesus Christ, lady, let’s go!”

This time, his prejudice against lady drivers was at least accurate. The person behind the wheel of the Civic was an elderly woman, her hair tinted a light shade of blue.

Behind us, we could all hear the approaching sirens.

The lady’s right turn signal continued to blink while she waited for a break in traffic.

“Maybe,” I said, wanting to sound as helpful as I could, “you need to give her a bit of a nudge.”

“Fucking right,” Merker said.

And again, I closed my eyes and waited for the impact.

The car bolted forward, but we only had to go a foot or two before the bumper of the GF300 would connect with the rear bumper of the Civic. Merker wouldn’t be able to get the car up to much speed.

But it was enough.

I scrunched my eyes shut as hard as I could, threw my hands up to my neck to get them around the belt, and then we hit.

There was a soft explosion as I was jerked forward. Not that I could go that far, with Leo’s belt and all. The explosion was loud, but muffled at the same time. I felt the fabric of the passenger-side air bag brush, only momentarily, against my face.

For the few milliseconds my eyes were closed, I plotted out my moves. Move the belt back to front. Hunt for the buckle. Slip out. Open the door.

Run like hell before Merker could grasp what had happened and tried to grab me, or worse, shoot me.