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The Prologue To My Woodward Dream Cruise Detroit Thriller

SCREAM CRUISE

A Motor City Thriller

Prologue      Coffin In the Sky

Saturday, August 20 – 12:00 Noon

WE WERE a mile high over the Dream Cruise when the engine died.

Instantly we began plummeting toward the vast crowd below. Three horrified men, trapped inside a shrapnel-riddled helicopter. A three-quarter-ton metal-and-fiberglass coffin that would soon go smashing into the massive horde of cars and people beneath us like a giant hunk of streaking lead.

The copter’s passenger doors were still open and the wind immediately began ripping through them like the shriek of a hundred crazed banshees as we hurtled earthward. Up in the cockpit the pilot, Goolsby, was frantically flipping switches, but to no effect. Strapped into the seat beside me La Borgia, the mafia porn king, was spewing out a violent stream of Italian curses, his sheet-white face contorted with panic. He was gesticulating wildly, waving his Glock around and looking as if he might at any moment begin pulling the trigger out of sheer, raging terror.

Heart hammering, my stomach in my throat, I glanced out the window beside me. Thousands of colorful cars and hundreds of thousands of milling spectators were rushing up at us with scrotum-tightening speed. The sea of humanity alongside the broad boulevard began parting as people ran for their lives. YES! I wanted to howl down at them. RUN! GET AWAY WHILE YOU CAN!

As we plunged toward what seemed like certain death, I became conscious of the Springfield .45 clenched in my own quivering hand. For an instant I considered putting it to my temple in order to escape the deathcrash.

But then a rush of images began flashing in front of my terrorstruck eyes. As if I were looking at them through some kind of crazy, high-speed kaleidoscope, the events of the past twelve days swirled before me. I saw a series of powerful explosions and their horrific aftermaths. I saw rows and rows of body bags containing the corpses of innocent men, women, and children. I saw the stunned faces of shell-shocked survivors. I saw the shredded bodies of fellow FBI agents. I saw the world’s ugliest cat. I saw the ghostly features of my long-dead sister.

When the image of the woman I loved rushed toward me, I did my best to hang onto it. An excruciating pang of regret lanced through me at the realization I’d never see or hold the beautiful doctor again. Never have the chance to finally win her and feel our two bodies consummate our love.

Then her gorgeous face was swept away by the onrush of more split-second images. I saw passenger-filled cars exploding, one after another. I saw mangled and mutilated SWAT cops, shrieking in misery. I saw a downtown intersection turned into a hellish inferno.

I was flashing back all the way to the very beginning now. To when the gut-wrenching terror that had hung over the Motor City for the past dozen days first came creeping out of the shadows. To the night when those two unsuspecting hot rodders came face-to-face with a deranged, murderous fiend.

To that muggy summer night on Woodward Avenue when the parade of horrors began…

 

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