"Pay off that jerk, she's free"
-- Dusty 45s, 289 V-8

I hustled them down the stairs. I didn't bother seeing them out, now there were two less things to worry about. It was time to go all in.

I'd noticed a couple of gas cans in the corner of the garage when we had first come in. I took one up in each hand. I went first to Vance's office. The door was unlocked and open. I heard the sound of Ray's truck drive off -- a bit too fast perhaps, but at least they were out of here. I poured the contents of one of the gas cans over the desk and made a puddle on the floor. I poured a trail out to the hallway.

Thinking back to the previous night, the door next to the office should be the storeroom I had looked into. The one that got Vance so worked up. The door was metal and the deadbolt was set. I wasn't going to be able to kick it open. Arsonists can't be choosers, so I poured as much of the other can under the door as I could. I took a mound of oil rags from a box and made a small circle of them and poured the remaining gas on them. The two rooms were now linked and I had a hold-card. If Vance showed up, I could set it off and make my escape. I felt sure Vance cared more about this place than Becks or me.

I went back into Vance's office and opened the drawers. I had to force one of them open. I found a box of .45 rounds, but no gun. Vance had that with him. He might have another, but it wasn't worth the time to look. I put the box on top of the desk. When the fire got hot enough they'd explode. It would already look like arson, but this would draw some extra attention. I also found two Ziploc bags. One had white powder, and the other dried cut leaves. I left it to my imagination what they were. I put them up on a shelf so they could be found, if they didn't burn.

On the desk was a map of LA. It was probably what Vance had been looking at the previous day. There were handwritten X's in red. Next to them were numbers. There was a circle on one of the docks and a list of times. I could make guesses what it was, but I didn't have any real answers. It would be nice to know what Vance was into, besides that wasn't why I was here. This wasn't a mystery to solve. There would be no gathering of all of the principals back at Nero Wolfe's office, and I wasn't Archie Goodwin.

I had exhausted all the time that I felt was prudent. I'd found no smoking gun to use against him. There was a boxcutter in one of the drawers. I took it and an extra book of matches for good measure. There was a keychain hanging on the pegboard by the door. It had red flames on it. I grabbed them as I left the room.

My father had smoked. I never picked up the habit. He had smoked the same type of cigarettes as these, Camel straights. They weren't for the neophyte. I put one between my lips and lit it. I knew the drill. I inhaled and let the draw feed the flame. The tip glowed brightly.

I folded the cover behind the matches, and then I put the cigarette between the cover and the heads of the matches. I adjusted the amount of the exposed cigarette to what seemed like a short but reasonable amount of time. I wasn't sure how long it would take to burn down. I was working by feel.

I carefully placed my impromptu firebomb inside the circle of rags. My hands shook as I put them down. I wished they were steadier; the last thing I needed was for the matchbook to fall over right now. A lot had happened today, I hadn't had enough sleep, no food, I was hurt, and I was riding on adrenaline. It wasn't even noon yet.

I looked out at the garage. There were two cars inside. One was obviously being worked on, but the other looked pristine. It was a convertible with white with red flames -- just like the ones on the keychain. It was the car from Betty's picture. It had to be Vance's pride and joy. I'll bet it even had a name. The key fit the ignition, and it is started smoothly.

It had the distinctive rumble of a V-8. I remembered a song by the Dusty 45s, 289 V-8. Cars seem to inspire nearly as many songs as women do. It's easy to see why. It was probably the best girlfriend he ever had. It did what he said, looked how he wanted, was always ready to go, never asked questions, and didn't mind going topless out in public. What's not to love?

I walked over to the large metal doors. On one side there was a metal box mounted to the wall. A conduit ran up the wall to a motor on the ceiling. I pressed the top button, and the door started to climb. It clanked and rattled as it rose. I got out of the way so I wouldn't be seen from the outside.

That was it. I had a vehicle and an open door. I could get out of here, and put some distance between Vance and me. I hoped this was enough so he would not want to pursue this any further. I didn't want to have to confront him directly.

I stopped. I thought of the Boy tied up by the front door. Just how much did I want to raise the stakes -- did I want his blood on my hands? If I wanted to be back I was going to have to act like it. I jogged over to him. He'd managed to prop himself up on his side, but was still tied.

"Hey," I called out to him. He looked up. "If I was a smart little worm, I'd wiggle my way outta here -- while you still can. Savvy?"

I didn't bother to see if he understood. Now he had a chance, which was more than they had given me. I hustled back to the car.

There's no such thing as a tool that's perfect for all jobs. Design something for size, and often you sacrifice performance. If it's designed it to be light, then strength or durability fall by the wayside. If it is small, light, durable, and high performance; then it won't be cheap.

Vance's car was made to be fast and look good. The shocks were rock-hard. There was almost no give in them at all. It made for a faster ride, but transferred more of the irregularities of the road through the body and into mine. I felt it in my ribs. Nor was it the quietest vehicle ever made. It was responsive, but the one I rented was still more maneuverable. In a flat out race, this car would out speed the other like a cheetah chasing down a rabbit, but comparisons like that didn't matter right now. This is the one I would dance with until the song played out.

My instinct was to flee -- get out of the neighborhood and out of LA quick as I could -- but I needed to stick around a bit more. I needed to make sure Becks and Ray had enough of a lead so they wouldn't be easily found. I also had to make sure that Vance knew how large the pot had gotten. I took a spiral path out from the garage looking for Vance. I passed the spot where his car had been. The two tires I shot were propped against a parked car.

There was only so long I was willing to search. Vance could have taken another route back to the garage. Maybe he was staking out the motel, thinking I would return there. I decided to risk one last pass. If I didn't find them, then I'd get myself out of town. Dump the car somewhere, then use Vance's money to buy a pair of shoes and a bus ticket. I really would be back at square one, in a stolen shirt.

It was when I turned to head back to the garage that I saw them. I decided to risk it and sped up to pass them. I couldn't lead them by the nose if they were in front. In a foolish bit of bravado, I gave the horn a tap. That got their attention. If I still had the gun, I would have made another try at their tires. It's much harder than the movies makes it out to be. I probably wouldn't have hit anything, but it would have been distracting. Sooner or later this all was going to attract the police. This might be a rough part of town, but it wasn't that bad.

Vance seemed to be having problems driving in a straight line. I had only done damage to the body and the wheels, and then a thought occurred to me: where did Vance get the second tire? He only had one in the trunk. He must have taken one from some random car. It probably wasn't the same size as the other three, and the car was pulling to one side.

I accelerated to pass them. I heard them call out. They'd seen me. I weaved from side to side to make myself a harder target to hit, but the shot never came. I didn't think Vance was out of rounds, so he must not have thought he could hit me, or he was too preoccupied keeping his car under control.

When I'd put enough distance between the two cars, I turned the wheel hard to one side, floored the petal, and grabbed the emergency brake. The car spun in place. I had only done the maneuver once before, and was glad it worked this time. It's not the nicest thing to do to a vehicle, but that wasn't my concern -- it wasn't mine.

When Vance saw me stop and wait there in the road, he brought his car to a stop. We were facing each other on opposite sides of the street. I wondered if Vance was going to keep up the James Dean thing and try to play chicken. Instead I saw him put the gun out of the window. It's not a good way to shoot. He couldn't properly sight the gun, so he had to aim by feel. Of course, Vance could get lucky and hit the car or me. I put the car in reverse, hit the gas, and turned the wheel. That pulled the car out of the way. Vance did shoot as I moved, but the bullet missed the mark, and that was all I cared about.

Black smoke was coming out of the garage now, and in some quantity. There was a muffled sound -- like a drum rupturing or a small explosion. I wanted Vance's attention away from me and that did it. The driver's side of the car opened and Vance got out and ran to the garage. None of the Boys followed, at least while I watched. It was easy to imagine that this day was getting to be a bit much for them. I heard sirens in the background. It didn't matter to me if it was police or fire, either would do. My work here was done.