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“What are you doing?” Drayton shouted over the vroom-boom revving of the motorcycle’s engine.
“Escaping,” Theodosia said. “Hurry up and climb on behind me. And when that garage door goes up, be sure to hang on tight!”
* * *
It was like a scene out of a Tom Cruise movie. The garage door went up just as Theodosia and Drayton, crouched low on the bike, exploded out the door. Focused on making a quick and daring exit, Theodosia revved the engine so high they almost did a wheelie.
They were aboard a Honda Fireblade SP, a big mother of a bike with a 999 cc liquid-cooled engine. Theodosia had only ever ridden a Vespa before, so it was an extraordinary amount of horsepower for her to handle. She skidded wildly, almost tipping over as she hit loose gravel, then gave it a more judicious shot of gas. The bike straightened up immediately and shot down the alley like a bullet.
“Hang on!” Theodosia shouted as they came out on Bull Street and slewed left, the wind buffeting them like crazy.
“I am!” Drayton shouted. He was clinging to her for dear life. “But…dear me, I think they’re following us!”
Theodosia risked a quick look back over her shoulder. Drayton was right. The SUV had roared down the alley, made the same speedy turn as they had, and was coming after them.
Would Usher try to shoot out the bike’s tires? Theodosia figured he wouldn’t hesitate.
As Theodosia tore down the street she racked her brain. What to do? Where to go? It had just started to rain, a nuisance sprinkle that glazed the pavement and turned the streetlights into colorful blurs.
She flew around a corner, barely missing a little blue Honda Civic, swerved dangerously, then gained control again. But the SUV was still following them. In fact, it was right behind them and starting to gain some ground!
Pawing for her cell phone, Theodosia pulled it out of her pocket and passed it back to Drayton.
“Call Riley!” she cried. “Tell him what’s going on, where we are!” The wind was stinging her eyes, causing tears to stream down her cheeks. There was a red traffic light up ahead. Muttering a silent prayer, Theodosia blasted right through it. Cars braked and angry drivers honked their horns at her.
The SUV still followed them!
“Drayton, call Riley,” Theodosia shouted again. They shot past Banger’s Pool Hall and Crowdy’s Bar, where a few patrons were huddled out front on the sidewalk, smoking.
Drayton was hanging on with one hand, trying to punch in numbers with the other hand. Then they hit a bump—your basic manhole cover—and the phone flew out of his hand. It tumbled end over end, almost in slow motion, then hit the pavement with a sharp crack and skidded away.
“Oops,” Drayton cried in Theodosia’s ear. “I’m afraid I dropped your phone.”
“Oops?” Theodosia said. “Oops? That phone was our only hope!”
They tore around a corner and headed down Meeting Street. They flew by the Old Market but there was no place to go there, nothing that would help them. All the boutiques and produce stalls were dark and closed for the night.
Theodosia turned on Chalmers Street, squeaked through another red light without getting them killed, then roared down Church Street. They passed Hearts Desire and the White Rabbit Children’s Shop. Again, these shops were dark and deserted.
“I’ve got an idea,” Drayton said, pounding a fist against Theodosia’s shoulder.
“What’s that?” They were going so fast, the bike’s engine so loud, that Theodosia’s voice barely carried back to him.
“Turn!” Drayton shouted.
Theodosia braked slightly. “Turn? Turn where?”
“Here, right here!” Drayton screeched. Do it now!”
Theodosia swerved hard and leaned into her turn, the bike heeling over at a good forty-degree angle as they plunged into the darkness of Stoll’s Alley. The cobblestones beneath the tires were murder, causing their teeth to chatter and the bike to skitter and slew from side to side as they plowed along. Hanging vines swatted their faces, wrought iron and brass nameplates flashed by. Stoll’s Alley was definitely one of the more picturesque of Charleston’s many hidden lanes. And, thanks to Drayton’s vast knowledge of historic Charleston, it was also the narrowest, ending at a mere five feet across. As Usher’s SUV roared after them, the brick walls of the alley grew narrower and narrower, forming a delicious kind of bottleneck.
“I hope this works!” Drayton shouted as they shot down the alley. And then, right behind them, they were rewarded with a CRASH! And a CRUNCH! Metal scraped hard against cement in a harsh rasp that built into a caterwauling drawn-out SCREECH. And then, wouldn’t you know it? Lewin Usher’s SUV was jerked to a complete and shuddering stop as it caught firmly in the narrow, brick jaws of Stoll’s Alley.
Feeling breathless, Theodosia rocked to a stop as they both turned around to look. And just like that, a harrowing chase with dangerous characters had suddenly turned into a Keystone Cops comedy bit. The SUV’s horn bleated as if in agony, wheels spun uselessly, and Usher and Tony pounded frantically at the doors and windows, trying to escape. No dice. Stoll’s Alley had them wedged in tight.
On hearing the terrible commotion, a man prepped out in khakis and a pink golf shirt came flying out the back door of one of the alley’s upscale townhouses. Spotting Theodosia and Drayton on the motorcycle, he cried, “I heard a crash! What happened? Is anybody hurt?”
Then he spun on the heels of his hand-tooled loafers and saw where the tightly wedged SUV had come to rest.
