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Zacher Download Online. Benson Download Online. Golomb Download Online. Pond by Gordon Morrison Download Online. Pollack, Meg Belviso Download Online. Shafer didn't even try to catch his breath or bearings. He sped along the avenue, gaining speed. A tiny scream of pain escaped from his lips.
It was involuntary, coming swiftly and unexpectedly. A moment of fear, weakness. He floored the gas pedal again, and the engine roared. He was doing seventy, then pressing to eighty. Only a few honked now. Other drivers on the parkway were terrified, scared out of their minds.
He exited the Rock Creek Parkway at fifty miles an hour, then he gunned it again. P Street was even more crowded at that hour than the parkway had been. Washington was just waking up and setting off to work. He could still see that inviting stone wall on Connecticut. He shouldn't have stopped. He began searching for another rock-solid object, looking for something to hit very hard. He was doing eighty miles an hour as he approached Dupont Circle. He shot forward like a ground rocket.
Two lines of traffic were backed up at a red light. No way out of this one, he thought. Nowhere to go left or right.
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He didn't want to rear-end a dozen cars! That was no way to end this—end his life—by smashing into a commonplace Chevy Caprice, a Honda Accord, a delivery truck. He swerved violently to the left and veered into the lanes of traffic coming east, coming right at him. He could see the panicked, disbelieving faces behind the dusty, grime-smeared windshields.
The horns started to blast, a high-pitched symphony of fear. He ran the next light and just barely squeezed between an oncoming Jeep and a concrete-mixer truck. The Metro patrol car appeared out of nowhere, its siren-bullhorn screaming in protest, its rotating beacon glittering, signaling for him to pull over. Shafer slowed down and pulled to the curb. The cop hurried to Shafer's car, his hand on his holster. He looked frightened and unsure.
There was no tension left in his body. All right. I'm getting out. No problem. Shafer noticed that the cop's hand was still on his gun. Shafer pursed his lips, thought about his answer. I'm with the British Embassy. I have diplomatic immunity. He was beginning to frighten himself. His whole life had begun to revolve around a fantasy game he played called the Four Horsemen. In the game, he was the player called Death. The game was everything to him, the only part of his life with real meaning.
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He sped across town from the British Embassy, all the way to the Petworth district of Northwest. He knew he shouldn't be there, a white man in a spiffy Jaguar. He couldn't help himself, though, any more than he could that morning.
He stopped the car just before he got to Petworth. Shafer took out his laptop and typed a message to the other players, the Horsemen. He started the Jag again and rode a few more blocks to Petworth. The usual outrageously provocative hookers were already parading up and down Varnum and Webster streets. Ronnie McCall's sweet voice blended into the early evening. The girls waved to him and showed their large, flat, pert, or flabby breasts. Several wore colorful bustiers with matching hot pants and shiny silver or red platform shoes with pointy heels.