Bad Traffic (22 page)

No doubt he could outrun the police car, but that would solve nothing – other cars would join in the chase, road blocks would be set up, etcetera. His only chance was to avoid pursuit long enough to change vehicles again. He pushed the car harder and the speedo crept to a hundred and twenty.

‘What’s the next junction?’

The peasant was rigid with fear. ‘You’re going too fast.’

‘The next junction… When’s the next junction?’

The lad ran a shaking finger along a red line.

‘Thirty-four. Quite soon. We can go north or south from there.’

‘We’ll get there fast and he won’t see where we’ve gone, and there’ll be four options. We’ll turn around and go back the way we came, he won’t expect that. Put your seat belt on, then help me with mine.’

The cop had started his siren, but the wail was growing fainter and the flashing lights in the rear view were
diminishing
. If they could get to the roundabout a few seconds early, there was a good chance. The tricky part would be
getting
off the road without losing control of the car.

‘There’s a sign for when a junction is coming up: three stripes, two stripes, one stripe… then you’re at the slip road. Oh, you’re going too fast, too fast.’

Jian reminded himself to breathe. He felt he was about to take off. The road was a blur of flickering lines. He wasn’t even blinking, conscious that a tiny lapse could end in
disaster. There was just the lines, all he had to do was stay inside them. He wondered how fast they were going, but did not dare take his eyes off the road to look at the speedo. A blue sign winked in and out.

‘Here,’ shouted the peasant.

Jian stamped on the brake and swung the car onto the access road and the wheels screeched in complaint.

The road canted upwards and veered away from the expressway but it was short, too short, and he was braking hard and the car shook, but still the speed was alarming and now here was the roundabout, a mound of grass and more road and lines. There was no way he could wrestle the car round it in time. He kept the car straight and a judder passed over it as it hit the mound, a rumble filled the shaking
vehicle
, and in moments they had clattered right across the grass to the other side. Jian took his foot off the brake and aimed for the nearest turnoff.

The peasant was breathing in shaky gasps. He shouted with fear and exhilaration at being alive and showed Jian the map book, which, in his anxiety, he’d torn almost in two.

Jian told him to find out where they were. He hoped there was a town coming up, so they could lose themselves in it. He had only been lucky and he was furious with himself – that was reckless. He had endangered the life of the youth.

‘You were breaking the speed limit. That’s why he wanted to stop you.’

‘The police will be looking for us. We’re going to dump the car and steal a new one.’

‘Not again. It’s impossible.’

‘What do you suggest? You want to take the train?’

‘It’s not my problem. You think of something.’

‘I could break into a house and steal some car keys.’ Jian tried not to sound as dismayed by this prospect as he felt.
He didn’t want to prey upon the innocent and he had a low opinion of housebreakers. ‘It’ll be easy. They don’t even have bars on the windows.’

They’ve got guards, dogs, guns.’

‘What does that sign say?’

‘Service station.’

‘We’ll find a car in there.’

‘
Lao tian a
… Heavens.’

‘You curse like a girl. Curse like a man. Say fuck your grandfather. Say it. Cao ni da ye de.’

‘No.’

‘
Cao ni da ye de.
’

‘Don’t say that to me.’

‘
Cao ni da ye de
.’

‘
Cao ni da ye de
,’ said Ding Ming quietly.

‘That’s better.’

‘
Cao ni da ye de, Cao ni da ye de
.’

‘Feel better?’

‘No.’

‘Is this the service station here?’

‘Yes.
Cao ni da ye de.
’

‘We’re going to steal a car, and you’re going to do your trick again.’

‘
Lao tian a.
’

Jian stopped in the darkest corner of the car park. He turned off the engine and listened to the silence and watched the illuminated dials fade.

‘Look.’

The peasant had discovered a pair of trousers in the back footwell. They had a wallet inside, which Jian took. It was stuffed with notes, more than a hundred pounds, and there was a picture of kids and a woman. In the car boot, Jian found a can of petrol and a golf bag. He emptied the clubs out of the bag and put his equipment and the map book and the petrol can inside. He put the gun in his waistband and a police spray in his pocket.

In a children’s playground he sat on the edge of a plastic fort and the peasant squatted at his feet.

‘I don’t know how to get into a car – just how to start one. And I don’t know how to break a steering lock.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You’re always worrying.’

But Jian was not confident. The car park was well lit and the service station windows looked out onto it. Video
cameras
were attached to walls and lampposts, and there were too many people around.

‘We’ll go for an old car, something clapped out. It won’t have alarms or a steering lock. I’m going for a look round. That means I’m going to leave you alone. Are you going to try anything?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll get us some food. Give me that coat.’
‘Why?’

‘So I look less like a beggar. Don’t worry – I’ll give it back. Now empty your pockets.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to see that you haven’t got any money.’

‘What do you think I’m going to do?’

‘Sneak off and phone your boss, like you did last time. Show me.’

‘See? I have nothing to my name except a dictionary and a toothbrush.’

Jian felt inside Ding Ming’s socks and around his crotch and patted him down. The lad winced when his bruises were pressed.

‘You should stop jumping out of cars. Wait here.’

There were ten or so vehicles in the car park and they were all newish models. A BMW arrived and parked close to the doors, and two men in suits got out and stretched. A woman came out of the service station and got into a hatchback and drove onto an exit lane. There was no obvious weak point to the system, and no dark corner to operate in. At least there didn’t seem to be any security guards. He wondered if the staff parked round the back, but there seemed to be no way round there.

He’d have to catch a lone traveller as he was getting into his car, squirt him with the policeman’s spray or wave a gun at him, throw him in the boot, and snatch the car. The guy could be safely disposed of in a field, trussed up to be
discovered
in the morning.

The prospect did not fill him with enthusiasm. His
conscience
nagged at the idea of brutalising more civilians, though not enough to make him change his mind.

An automatic door opened and he entered a warm lobby. The place reminded him of an airport waiting lounge. Unsettlingly
bright lights made the goods on display look appetising and the people look ill.

In a shop he filled a wire basket with sandwiches, crisps and bottled drinks, and took two polystyrene cups from a
coffee
machine. Catching his reflection in a mirror atop a rack of sunglasses, he was perturbed at how rough he looked – any security guard would certainly have him pegged as a troublemaker. Perhaps he was already being followed on camera. He picked out two England football shirts and a black hooded sweatshirt.

There was a whole rack of maps. He selected four, to cover the entirety of the fat lady’s bum. At the counter he mimed smoking a cigarette and was given a pack at a scarcely believable price, you’d think they were made of gold. He bought three lighters, too.

In a cubicle in the gents he changed into a football top. His shirt and purchases went in the golf bag.

A bald man was taking a piss. Perhaps he was on his way out. Jian took his time washing his hands and followed him, with his hand resting on the gun in his pocket. He focused on the back of his neck and imagined
threatening
to hit him there. He halted when he saw the man join a woman and a child.

The automatic doors opened and two uniformed men strolled in. One talked into a radio, the second strutted with his thumbs hooked on his utility belt. More police. Jian veered into a photo booth, pulled the curtain across and sat on the little stool. The damn security forces were
everywhere
– this whole poxy little country was locked up tight.

He peeked out. The policemen proceeded down the
corridor
towards him. He imagined the reports that had come through on their radios: be on high alert for a middle-aged
Chinese man, hostage-taker and car thief, armed, dangerous, desperate.

The bald man and his family were heading for the exit and for a moment the policemen’s view was obscured – this was his chance to move. He stepped quickly out and into the café. He joined a queue. At least that meant his back was to them. He shifted forward, keeping his head down, and smelled coffee. A blonde girl in a green apron was
addressing
him. He pointed at a display and was given a cake.

He stared at the girl to stop himself looking round for the police. She was pretty, plump with pale skin, and she smiled as she gave him his change. Strangely, she had two Chinese characters tattooed on her arm,
nu
and
li
– ‘girl strength’ – but the writing was childish and out of proportion.

He took his cake to a corner and allowed himself to glance around. He was sitting next to a young couple, the entrance doors opened for the bald man and his family, and the policemen were strolling ever closer. He couldn’t see a back way out. He assumed there would be
emergency
doors, but opening them might set off alarms. He could not recall seeing any windows in the toilets. If the
policemen
challenged him, he would have to point his gun at them. Then what? Take a hostage? He imagined the people around him running, screaming, hiding. What a mess he was making.

He opened a discarded magazine and pretended to study it, with a hand on his brow to obscure his features. There were photographs of cameras and cars and girls wearing almost nothing. It reminded him of Wei Wei’s vanity book. In his mind a grainy film ran again – his daughter cowering, a knife blade gleaming, blood pooling. Older memories
surfaced
, just as awful, of his wife’s dead eyes, blood running
down a cheek, a smashed headlight. He ran a hard hand across his scrunched-up face. It was gone, he was here, he had work to do.

He became aware of raised voices. The couple next to him were hunched over coffee, arguing. She was
jabbing
the table with a fake plastic nail and talking
rapidly
. She looked tired, and her mascara was beginning to run. Even beneath heavy make-up, a flush could be seen on her cheeks. He was rubbing his fingers along the sides of his nose and Jian guessed that all he was thinking was, ‘Please keep your voice down.’ His car keys glimmered on the table.

Jian tapped the man on the shoulder and thrust before him a picture of a girl rearing in a bikini.

He said, ‘I’m going to borrow your car. Look at this picture while I steal your keys.’

Both looked baffled. Jian tweezered the keys with his free hand and, holding them behind the magazine, grinned and winked and said goodbye, hoisting his golf bag over his shoulder.

He walked out of the café without hurrying and glimpsed the policemen in the restaurant, queuing up with a tray, their backs to him. The exit got closer and he kept a steady pace, and nobody tried to stop him.

He repressed a grin. He’d arrested a few pickpockets in his time and he knew their tricks, but it wasn’t something he was practised at. Probably it had only worked because he hadn’t considered it, he’d just done it as soon as think it, and if he’d paused it would never have come off.

The sound of the automatic doors opening was like a sigh of relief. All he had to do now was find the right car, and again luck was with him because it was the third that he tried, a little red runaround, with no babies or dogs inside
and a full tank of petrol. He started the engine and the radio came on – a chirpy tune. He drove the car round to the children’s playground, where he’d left the peasant. The peasant wasn’t there.

Jian went twice around the car park, then up and down the access road. Possibly the lad had run away… No, of course, he’d got it into his head to phone his mother. Or his boss – he wouldn’t put that past the little rat. He must have had some money hidden. He parked the car and cursed – ‘
Cao, cao, cao
’ and slapped the steering wheel.

He went back into the service station. One of the
policemen
was sitting in the restaurant, the couple in the café still argued. No – now they were getting up to leave. The peasant wasn’t by the phones. Jian ran a hand across his head,
feeling
the pressure. The couple were looking around the table and might look up and see him. He strode quickly away and into the bathroom.

The peasant was washing his hands in the sink.

Jian grabbed his arm and hissed, ‘Get out here now, you idiot.’

Ding Ming shrugged him off.

‘There are policemen out there and I’ve just stolen a car. Let’s go.’

‘I’m not going out if there are policemen out there. We could hide in a cubicle. The doors have got locks on.’

Jian put a hand on the lad’s elbow and led him out. He wished this place wasn’t so bright.

‘I told you to stay put. You’re going to get us both killed.’

‘I needed to go.’

‘You couldn’t have gone in the bushes?’

‘It was a children’s playground.’

‘Keep talking as we go for the exit,’ said Jian. ‘Talk fast and walk slow, don’t look round and don’t catch anyone’s eye. Don’t look at them and they won’t notice you.’

Jian was finding it hard to obey his own command. His eyes swivelled left and right, scanning for the policemen.

‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Anything.’

‘Er… I’m impressed with the high level of sanitation in public conveniences. When you press a button, soap comes out of a nozzle.’

‘Is that so?’

Jian glimpsed the second uniformed figure putting money in a vending machine. He fought the impulse to speed up.

Ding Ming looked at a bank of phones and said, ‘I want to phone my mother.’

‘Not now.’

The lad shook himself free.

‘I’m not moving until I can phone her.’

‘Stupid peasant. I’m sure she’s fine.’

A clunk was the vending machine dispensing a can. The policeman bent to pick it up. The couple in the café were looking under the table. The man got down on his hands and knees. Other people were beginning to look round. The policeman approached his companion.

Jian pushed Ding Ming into the phone cubicle, a
transparent
plastic bubble. At least in here they were not so
noticeable
. He slotted change into the phone and said, ‘You speak only Mandarin to her. Just say you’re fine. If I hear a male voice, I’m pressing the lever.’

Ding Ming dialled and waited. The phone rang and rang. Jian wondered, had his daughter done this? Had she rung and rung and waited in desperation for an answer? No. He had answered. If he had failed her, it had been when they talked.

‘Okay, she’s not in. Let’s go.’ Jian took the receiver out of the peasant’s hand and replaced it on the cradle. The lad had been pressing the phone to his ear so hard that it had left a red mark.

Jian put an arm around his shoulder and steered him towards the exit.

‘I’m not a stupid peasant.’

‘I will never call you stupid again. Just look straight ahead at the door and keep chatting. Talk to me.’

In the café the woman was feeling in the crack at the back of the chair.

‘I don’t like being called stupid. Stop pulling me around. Give me some face.’

Jian resisted the temptation to observe any more or hurry Ding Ming along. He talked, hardly hearing what he was saying, concentrating only on those automatic doors.

‘There’s a big guy at the station and everybody calls him Titch. It’s the same when I call you stupid. It’s funny because it’s so obviously the opposite.’

‘I don’t think it’s funny.’

‘I won’t do it again.’

They were passing the restaurant. If the policemen looked up they would certainly be spotted.

‘There they are,’ said Jian. ‘Act normal.’

‘Them? They aren’t policemen.’

‘Don’t look.’

‘I’m telling you they’re not policemen. You know what it says on their back? It says ‘Emergency Breakdown.’ They’re mechanics.’