Survivor
by J.F. Gonzalez

They noticed the van shortly after they pulled out of the rest stop.

They had pulled over at the rest stop just inside the Ventura County limits for bathroom breaks and a quick rest before heading on the road again. The hour and a half drive from North Hollywood where they had met up with Alicia and her infant daughter, Mandy, had been spent mostly in silence.

The radio station they were listening to, alternative rock station KROQ, was now fizzling in static, so five minutes into arriving at the rest stop Lisa had put in a Blondie CD. Brad had thought about Alicia for about thirty minutes after leaving her and the baby, and for the last forty minutes or so had been thinking about the long weekend ahead of them. The bathroom breaks were a long time coming, and upon meeting outside the lavatories, they meandered over to a picnic area with tables and benches. They shot a couple of photos of each other for posterity, including one photograph of Lisa posing by a sign warning of the dangers of rattlesnakes, which were plentiful in the area. Then they got back in the Lexus and continued on toward their destination.

Brad switched lanes to pass a slow-moving car towing a trailer in the slow lane. Lisa was consulting the map. “Looks like we’ve got another two hours.”

“Piece of cake,” Brad said, as they climbed the hill.

“It’s so nice up here. I wonder if—”

“What the hell is this sonofabitch doing?”

Lisa looked over her shoulder. The entire rear window of their Lexus was filled with the metallic grill of a red van. Brad’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What the fuck is wrong with people? I’m already doing seventy and this guy has the whole fucking road to pass me!”

“Let him pass us if he wants to get around.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m not speeding up for him.”

They reached the crest of the hill and Brad took his foot off the accelerator as they wound down Interstate 5. They picked up speed, creeping to eighty. Some cars continued whizzing past at ninety or faster. Brad checked his rear view mirror, saw that it was clear, and moved back into the slow lane, his foot tapping the brake to slow down a little. The van stayed on his tail, moving to the slow lane right on his back bumper.

“You motherfucker.” Brad’s foot was riding the brake. His heart was pounding rapidly as his eyes darted from the rearview mirror to the road ahead of him. Their speed dropped gradually to seventy, then sixty. The van receded slightly, then sped up and tailgated them again. It was hard to see the driver through the tinted glass of his windshield, but Brad already had a mental image of him: judging by the vehicle he was probably another repressed, thirty-something hot head with an axe to grind because Brad wasn’t going fast enough to suit his needs. He can fuck off as far as I’m concerned, Brad thought.

“What is this guy’s problem?” Lisa wondered, craning her neck to look out the rear window.

“I don’t know. You have the cell phone with us?”

“Yeah. Think we should call the police?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see what he does first.”

“Maybe we should pull over.”

“Why? So he can pull up behind us and shoot us or something?”

Lisa opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked scared. Brad was scared himself. His mind retraced the last few minutes frantically, trying to reconnect with something that might explain why this guy was dogging their every step. Had he cut anybody off? No. When he had passed the slow moving car a few miles back, there hadn’t been anybody in the lane next to him at all, otherwise he wouldn’t have made the move. But then the guy had almost seemed to materialize out of nowhere right after he made the lane change. He must have been flying along at a hundred miles per hour, which would explain why Brad wouldn’t have seen him when he checked his rear and side view mirrors. The guy had been coming up so fast that he hadn’t been in the mirrors when Brad checked, then he was there the minute Brad made the lane change. Which means now the fuckhead behind the wheel was pissed off.

“Christ,” Brad muttered, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the steering wheel. “Just what I need is some enraged asshole on my tail because he feels slighted over some stupid traffic dispute.”

“He’s pulling back,” Lisa said.

Brad glanced in his rearview mirror. Sure enough, the van had pulled back to a more respectable distance. The afternoon sun glinted in the sky, reflecting off the van’s windshield. Brad released a long sigh and he felt better. “As long as he stays back there,” he said.

They were silent for a moment as they reached the bottom of the hill and continued on, Interstate 5 stretching out before them like a long, black snake. It was a three-lane highway, bisected by a median strip of grass that separated the north and south bound lanes. Traffic was moderate. Brad kept the Lexus at a safe and legal sixty-five and stayed in his lane. No sense trying to play speed racer now. As long as they reached the hotel in one piece, that was all that mattered.

Lisa slid the Blondie CD back in. Debbie Harry began singing about being an X Offender.

They were relaxed enough now to make small talk. Lisa started talking about a transgression that had occurred at the office. Brad listened, wondering silently how his wife put up with those incompetent assholes at the law office. “So all they want to do is complain about all the work they have—like nobody else does?—and then they sit around and file their nails and gossip all day, and then complain about all the work they have and how they can never get anything done. George Brooks doesn’t even notice what’s going on. He spends all day in his office. And meanwhile I’m trying to hold the department together, and Amy won’t do anything to pare the dead weight down and—”

Brad was listening, but he was monitoring the traffic behind him. The van was still behind them at a good distance. They were drawing close to another slow-moving vehicle—an old Ford piloted by a little old lady with blue hair and thick spectacles, barely tall enough to peer over the dashboard. Brad signaled for a lane change, checked his mirrors, and swung into the next lane to pass the Ford. The van changed lanes also, still a safe distance behind them.

He’s changing lanes because he sees the Ford is crawling at a snail’s pace, Brad thought. He tried to reassure himself with this thought, but a small part of him suggested that wasn’t so. That part suggested that the faceless driver of the van still had a burr up his ass and was trying to be discreet about following them.

When Brad saw that he was at a comfortable distance past the Ford, he signaled for another lane change and merged back into the slow lane. The van did likewise, still a respectable distance behind him.

“So I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Lisa was saying, looking out at the road ahead of them. “Sometimes I wonder if I should just go directly to Debbie and—”

He listened. And he nodded and responded at the appropriate times. And he watched the road ahead of him and monitored the van behind them. It stayed a good distance back, never retreating nor accelerating to catch up.

And every time Brad changed lanes to pass a slower vehicle, the van did likewise. After three times of this Brad began to get an eerie feeling that the driver of the van hadn’t forgotten the minor transgression fifteen minutes back. It was a feeling that gnawed at him, creating a pit of unease in his belly.

Lisa appeared not to notice what was going on. And I won’t say anything, Brad thought. It’ll just freak her out. Besides, it’s probably just my imagination. I mean, why would—

The van suddenly sped up, closing the gap between them. Brad expected it to tailgate him again, but it didn’t. It crept up to one car length away and then eased up, widening the gap between them. Lisa, who had been talking about work, noticed the change of expression on Brad’s face as the van accelerated, and glanced in her side view mirror. “What the hell is he doing now?”

“I don’t know. But he’s been following us the whole way.”

“Are you serious?” Lisa watched the van out of her side view mirror.

“Yeah. Every time we change lanes, he does the same thing. I almost get the feeling he’s . . . well . . . stalking us.”

“Why don’t we pull over?” Lisa said, turning to Brad now with a scared expression. “Let’s just get off at the next exit, pull into a gas station or something and call the police.”

“What for? The guy hasn’t actually done anything.”

Lisa looked like she was at a loss for words. “Well, at least we could see if he pulls off the road, too. It’s better than nothing.”

Brad nodded, eyes on the road, glancing back at the van behind them. For the past twenty minutes or so the van had kept a safe distance behind them, never out of their sight even when other cars were in front of it. That was what worried him.

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. I mean it’s not like I—”

“There’s a cop up ahead.”

Brad looked. Parked in the grassy median between the north and south lanes was a California Highway Patrol car, as if the officer was laying a speed trap. Brad self-consciously checked his speed—he was well within the speed limit—and then they were zooming past the police car. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror just in time to see the patrol car pull into the highway behind them. It’s just a coincidence, Brad thought. Surely he can’t be lying in wait for us—

Flashing blue and red lights danced along the dome on top of the patrol car as it tailed them, the twin beams of its headlights flashing. The officer activated the siren briefly. Brad felt a stab of fear in the pit of his belly. Why is he pulling me over? I’m not speeding, I’m—

“I don’t believe this,” Lisa said, glancing back behind her shoulder.

“I don’t either,” Brad said, as he signaled and merged to the right hand shoulder and stopped.

He looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the patrol car had moved in behind him and was now parked, its lights still flashing. But that wasn’t what made the pit of ice in his belly stab into him harder.

It was the van that pulled up behind the patrol car and parked behind it that sent his nerves twitching.

“Oh my God,” Lisa said, her voice hollow. She looked at Brad and her blue eyes were wide and scared looking. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Brad said, keeping his hands on the steering wheel. He watched in the rearview mirror as the officer approached the passenger side of the car. Lisa rolled down the window.

The patrol officer was thin, in his mid-thirties, with thin, angular features, brown hair and a mustache. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes. He leaned down and looked at Brad. “Can I see your license and registration, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Brad fumbled for his wallet, got the identification out and handed them over. The officer glanced at them, then looked back at him. “Got a call that you were doing some reckless driving back there. Speeding up real fast then braking suddenly, swerving all over the road, trying to cause accidents.”

Lisa looked over at Brad, confused, then back at the officer. “You must be mistaken, officer. We weren’t doing anything like that.”

“I didn’t say you, ma’am. I meant him.” He motioned to Brad, his voice taking on a tone of condescending.

“I haven’t been doing anything like that,” Brad said. He could feel his hands shaking. His voice, when he spoke, was thick and guttural. He had never felt so nervous in his life.

“I don’t really care what you say,” the officer said. “The person that called it in saw it and requested a citizen’s arrest.”

Lisa’s features went pale. Brad couldn’t believe what was happening. “There’s some mistake,” he heard himself saying. “I wasn’t driving the way you said I was. I was going the speed limit, I was—”

“Save it,” the cop said. “The person that reported it saw it and wants to make a citizen’s arrest. I’m going to run your ID, then I’m going to go back to the person that made the complaint to confirm that you’re the person he saw committing the violation. When he called it in he sped up to get your license plate number, so I’m sure identification won’t be a problem. When that’s done I’ll place you in custody—”

Place me in custody? Brad’s heartbeat slammed harder.

“. . . then, depending on what time it is, we’ll see if we can get you before the judge to arrange bail and then . . . ” The cop looked at his wristwatch and shook his head. “Nope. It’s a little after four o’clock. Courthouse is already closed. Anyway, it looks like you’ll be in custody till Monday morning when the courthouse opens again and bail can be arranged.”

“This is bullshit!” Lisa’s voice took on a high-pitched shrill. “We weren’t doing anything! That guy—”

“Shut up,” the cop said casually. “I don’t really care one way or the other. It’s your word against his, and he witnessed it. Wait here while I call this in and have a talk with him.” Without another word, the officer walked back to his car.

Brad watched him go, feeling light-headed and dazed. He had never been in trouble with the law before, had never been guilty of anything except a parking ticket. For a moment he forgot his knowledge of California criminal law from Law School. He was in private practice in family law, and hadn’t been keeping up on criminal law much since getting his law degree. Surely this had to be some kind of mistake. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the cop go back to his squad car and slide behind the wheel.

Lisa turned to Brad as he watched the cop type his information on the computer in his car. “This is fucking bullshit! That asshole is just trying to fuck with us. We should be the one calling the cops on his ass to make a citizen’s arrest!” Lisa had turned from a confused, scared woman, to a woman with seething, righteous anger. When Lisa got angry, she got explosive and cursed like a sailor. And when she got explosive you didn’t want to be around her.

“I didn’t do anything,” Brad said, still in a daze. “I—I—.” He didn’t know what to say.

“No shit, we didn’t do anything.” Lisa fumed. “And when that asshole cop comes back, I’m going to demand a citizen’s arrest on that asshole in the van.”

Hearing the venom in Lisa’s voice injected some in Brad’s own system, although now that he was thinking about it he realized that Lisa wouldn’t be able to do that. It was all coming to him now: to assist in a citizen’s arrest, the officer had to confirm that the violation in question was a felony punishable by at least a year in jail. If the guy was claiming speeding and reckless driving with intent to cause bodily injury, that would be enough for the officer to place him in custody. Lisa couldn’t do a damn thing except represent him in court Monday. His stomach still churned, but he felt a sudden burst of adrenaline. “Let’s see what that guy tells him,” he said, watching the cop in his rearview mirror and the van parked behind it, its windshield a solid black screen.

“You’re not going to jail,” Lisa said, watching the scene from her side mirror. “I’m going to tell him I want to place a citizen’s arrest myself. The guy in the van was stalking us and tailgating us. If that asshole wants to play at this game, that’s just fine with me.”

Brad’s mind was racing. Worst case scenario, maybe Lisa could contact a local judge over the weekend, get him to look at the case. Maybe we can get this dismissed by tonight. Yeah, that’s the ticket—

“He’s going to talk to the guy in the van now,” Lisa said, watching from the side view mirror. Brad watched from the rear view mirror. The cop stood at the passenger side of the van as he talked to the guy, who was still hard to make out due to the dark windshield. They were silent as they watched the conversation take place. What is he telling him? Brad wondered. What are they discussing? The few minutes that the cop spent talking to the faceless driver in the van felt like five hours.

Finally the cop headed back to their car. Brad felt his gut tighten as the cop drew abreast of the Lexus, placing the driver’s license in his breast pocket. His right hand went down to the grip of his firearm. “Would you please step out of the car, ma’am?”

Lisa cast a fearful, wide-eyed glance back at Brad. The cop leaned forward, looking directly at Brad. “And would you please place your hands on the steering wheel so I can see them, Mr. Miller?”

I can’t believe this is happening, Brad thought as he put his hands on the steering wheel. His heart was racing madly. I can’t believe this fucking asshole is doing this!

Lisa stepped out of the Lexus. “I would like to make a citizen’s arrest of my own, officer—”

“Shut up.” The officer leaned toward the open passenger side of the car. Speaking directly to Brad, he said: “I want you to open the driver’s side door with your left hand, keeping your right hand on the steering wheel where I can see it.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” Lisa’s tone of voice was taking on that righteous pissed-off anger that it tended to get when she was ignored. “I said—”

“I’m telling you to shut up now, or I’ll be taking two people to the Ventura County Jail today.” The cop glared back at her, then turned back to Brad, the subject of Lisa’s interruption dismissed as he tended to the arrest at hand. “Now I want you to step out of the car carefully with your hands over your head where I can see them.”

Brad did what the officer told him, the adrenaline pounding in his veins. Lisa stood at the side of the road in shock. When he got out of the car he saw the officer standing on the other side of the vehicle, his mirror shades black and menacing. Lisa looked helpless and angry. “Put your hands on your head and walk around the front of the vehicle and come toward me.”

Brad put his hands on his head and walked around the front of the Lexus on wobbly legs. When his feet reached the side of the road, the officer stepped forward. “Turn around.”

Brad turned around and the officer grabbed his wrists, jerking them behind his back. He felt the cold snap of steel around his wrists as he was handcuffed. “Now I want you to sit down while I go and get the person that issued the compliant. Stay here.” He helped Brad to a sitting position on the ground, then walked back toward the van.

Lisa knelt down beside him. “Everything will be okay. When we get to the police station, I’ll call contact the District Attorney of Ventura County. We’ll get this taken care of.”

Brad felt a lump in his throat; he felt like crying, but not out of fear. He felt a sudden outpouring of blinding, white-hot rage. “Call Billy, too.” William Grecko was a criminal defense lawyer Brad knew in Orange County. He was a brilliant, if not annoying, criminal defense attorney. He was brilliant because he had a knack for getting some of the most repugnant people off with little more than a slap on the wrist. He was annoying because he was an alcoholic, one who was a pain in the ass to be around when he drank.

“I want to kill that fucking sonofabitch,” Lisa said, her voice trembling. Tears appeared at the corner of her eyes, but her voice carried a tone of anger and loss of their weekend together being suddenly destroyed.

“Just be calm,” Brad said. “We don’t need you in jail this weekend, too. I need you to be calm to get us out of this, okay?”

“I love you,” Lisa said. She kissed him quickly, and then the sound of approaching footsteps caused them both to look up as twin shadows fell across them.

The man standing next to the officer was of medium height, but overweight with a huge belly. He had sandy hair that was balding at the top and a scruffy, sandy beard. He was wearing a T-shirt with the word Hawaii on it in a tropical design, and a pair of faded blue jeans and white tennis shoes. He was wearing sunglasses. He grinned wide.

The officer looked at the driver of the van, then nodded down at Brad. “Okay, you can go ahead.”

The man took a step forward, grinning at Brad. “I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest for reckless driving, asshole. That’ll teach you to fucking pull in front of people on the highway.”

Lisa shot to her feet. “This man is lying, officer. He’s been harassing us ever since we pulled out of the last rest stop outside of Ventura. He’s been tailgating us and—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” The cop said. He reached down and pulled Brad to his feet, his hard callused fingers digging into the flesh of Brad’s upper right arm. “And I ain’t letting you make a cross complaint because this gentleman witnessed you make several felony driving violations. Your only recourse is in court when your husband goes up for trial. If the case is dismissed or he’s found not guilty, then you can seek civil recourse against Mr. Smith, here.”

Brad glared at the man the officer referred to as Mr. Smith, who smiled back at him. That smile seemed to say I got you, you stupid fuck. Teach you to fuck with me.

“I hope you have deep pockets, Mr. Smith,” Lisa said, nearly spitting the words out. “You’ve picked the wrong people to fuck with; my husband and I are both lawyers, and when this is over we are going to sue you so fucking bad you won’t be able to find a shopping cart to live in!”

Mr. Smith smiled at her. “My apologies for being a concerned motorist, ma’am.” He turned to the officer. “Do I need to do anything else, officer?”

“You need to follow me to the station to fill out some paperwork,” the officer said. He began to lead Brad toward the patrol car. To Lisa: “Lawyers, huh? Looks like you’ll be needing one yourselves, ma’am.”

“I plan on having a word with your Captain, too.” Lisa said.

“Whatever.” The cop opened the back passenger side door of his cruiser and Brad slid inside. “Watch your head,” the officer said.

Brad looked up at Lisa. “Call Billy, honey.”

“I’ll follow you to the police station,” Lisa said. The officer slammed the door.

“Okay,” the officer said, turning to Lisa. His face was expressionless, his features stony. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Available from Leisure Press

© 2006 J.F. Gonzalez