"Hey," I hollered again, but stopped. I could hear the truck going into gear and looked through the gap between the railing and the road to see it being turned straight again. The gunman who'd been shooting at us dived into the back, which was still open. The truck smashed into the Cordoba, crunching in the front part. Then the driver shoved the clutch into first and got it churning uphill again. The fool was going to try to get past the bobtail on one side. I went over the rail, holding onto the shotgun.

The driver went to the left of the bobtail where there was some space. He slowed down, then revved up, hitting the bobtail smack on the corner. He was gonna do it like a bank shot on an eight ball. The bobtail's rear end swung toward the mountain, then stopped. The damn thing was too heavy to ram like that. Me and Nap had put sandbags in the cargo part to give it extra weight. I let loose with a round from the shotgun, only hitting the side of the truck.

The driver souped the truck again and shot forward. This time he clipped the bobtail just right with a lot of force. The gunman in the back lost his balance, though, and dropped out on the roadway, landing on his side. As he got to his feet, Danny caught him square in the lower leg and he went down again.

The bobtail had been knocked straight enough to allow the garbage truck almost enough room to pass. Now the truck was chugging steadily upward, scraping the side of the bobtail as it tried to get past. Goddammit, stupid-ass Danny must not have shot out any of the tires. The garbage truck turned to the left again, tearing up railing like it was tin foil. Smart motherfuckah.

The dude in the roadway tried to get up and run for cover but his wound was too bad. He fell back down, holding onto his gun. I stood up and he drew down on me, but Danny clipped him from the side where he was hiding next to the Cordoba. The cat went over like he was a piece of cardboard in a strong wind.

I took another shot at the truck. But a return blast came from the driver and I went flat in the road, rolling to my right. Good thing he was busy trying to get the garbage truck away He went back at it, the truck half climbing over the rail as it ground the thin metal under its weight. The tires smoked and the gears made loud whining sounds.

The bobtail shook and rattled as the garbage truck bumped against it. I took off the flak jacket, dropped the shotgun, and started booking. They were weighing me down, and I was gonna need all the speed I could stoke. As I started to run up the hill, the driver steered the truck out toward the edge of the roadway Then right when it looked like it would go over the edge, he swung it back and cleared the bobtail.

My hip was absolute Jell-O, a hot shiver going up and down my leg. But I had no choice, I had to catch that truck. There was way too much to lose. Much more than I already had lost. The fibula and all that shit in my hip started to grind, but I couldn't take the time to care. Five, maybe six million dollars was gonna disappear around the top of the rise, and that damn sure couldn't happen. My future was in that garbage truck.

The thing was making its way up the hill, garbage spilling out the back. The truck would soon be at the top. I didn't know if Wilma was coming up from below. She must have heard the gunplay, but that was expected. We'd decided not to use cell phones ourselves just in case there was any monitoring going on by the DOJ or whoever. Maintaining radio silence that's what they called it on old episodes of Combat. I sure could use Sergeant Saunders' cool machine gun right about now to drop out of the sky and into my hands.

The truck's clutch wound up and I knew he'd slipped past second and popped it into third, hoping for more speed. A shot ripped out from the driver's side, striking the ground near me. He had to be using one hand to fire his semi-auto, keeping the other one on the truck's wheel. Good thing too since it had thrown his shooting off.

The truck was gaining speed and I wasn't. Come on, Zelmont, this is it and there ain't no more. No more chicks throwing their twat in my face, no more fine vines and bad rides, no more house in the hills. Yeah, no more house in the hills. I put to it, knowing my hip was gonna explode any second. The truck stayed in low gear 'cause he needed the torque to get the elephant of a machine up the hill.

Let's do it, Zelmont. No time left in the quarter and only one chance. I had the endurance but the hip was weak. No matter, I had to catch this fool. The truck was almost at the top and that would be my last chance. He'd have to slow up 'cause there was a turn and it was too sharp to make it like he was going.

Do it, Zelmont, do it.

I pumped and just as I was closing the gap I got wise. Rather than run up alongside where the driver was and get ganked, I'd go to his blind side and try that action. Keep going, Zelmont, keep going. I got to the truck just as he was doing the turn. Sure enough, he let loose with gunfire, knowing I was closing in on his trifling self. But I was already latching onto the unlocked rear door. The truck bolted forward, whipping around the curve and down the hill. Below us the lights were on and the city looked so peaceful, like there would be tomorrows forever.

I hung onto the door for life as it kept flapping, praying for my hip to keep functioning. If I slowed down I knew it would lock up again. I got going, climbing up the door along its edge. Twice I almost slipped down under the wheels of the rig, but somehow I got to the top of the truck. I went flat to rest and plan my next move. Below me I felt a lump, and I knew what to do.

The truck was whipping down the hill, the wind finally popping the ear that had stuffed up. The driver shot rounds into the top of the cab's roof, trying to nail me. But I'd laid back, waiting for him to do that. As we sped along I went forward again. I pulled the tab on the last flash grenade, then leaned over the passenger side of the cab and threw it through the busted-out window. It went off, blinding the driver. The truck swerved, the brakes screeching like crazy. Any second we were gonna tip over and I'd be thrown off the truck and the mountain. I held onto the frame of the passenger window, the little pieces of glass still left cutting into my hand. The truck's rear froze and the damned thing went sideways, tearing up the railing. The thing tipped over like I knew it would, the driver's side falling down on the roadway I held onto a metal ridge, my hands going numb. I couldn't lose, I just couldn't.

Part of the truck now hung over the side of the hill. The engine was still running. I pried my bloody hands off the ridge, my triceps tight like I'd just done a hundred reps. I waited, listening, but couldn't tell if the dude inside was moving around or not. I didn't have a gun or any more grenades. I looked back down the road but couldn't see Danny.

All right, do something. I leaped off the truck, landing where the underside was facing out. Suddenly gunfire tore from somewhere and I could hear the windshield explode into a million pieces. I dove flat, covering my head, almost peeing in my pants.

"Come on, hero," he teased me, "are you man enough or not?" He shot the assault weapon again, but he wasn't moving around. He was popping from inside the truck. I smiled. He must still be blinded from the grenade. I got up, my right leg almost unable to bend. But I couldn't worry about that right now. Whatever I'd done to it, I could use some of my millions to get it fixed.

I latched onto the axle to hoist myself up. My shoulder brushed against the oil pan, and it burned like hell. "Shit," I screamed.

The blind boy in the truck laughed. ''Hurt yourself, honey?" Motherfuckah.

I eased around to the front. Then the damn truck moved and my heart shot into my throat. The fucking thing was rocking on the edge. But there were no other plays I could run. The shooter's vision would be clearing up any second and I had to be in motion before that. I peeked around the corner of the front of the truck to look through the windshield. The chump was lodged in there, the steering wheel pressed up on him. He was holding the gun, swinging it this way and that.