TITLE: Suns Set Breach
Until now, the absolute worst moment of my life was the night that ended both my marriage to Colt Banning and my partnership at Wallace, Aikens, Shaw and Pernod. But today I’ve encountered a gorilla goon with an ankle pistol, a strange white van parked outside my home and now, well, now someone’s broken into my car. This officially qualifies as my worst ever moment.
The car key weighs heavily in my hand. “Why not, probably just my imagination on overload,” I whisper. I press down on the unlock button. There’s a click.
An instant later, a massive, thundering explosion rocks the garage. I crouch down, my hands fly up to cover my face and head. The garage fills with smoke, glass shards, tire scraps and itsy bits of Fit. My eyes burn. Tears cut through the dust coating my face as windshields crack and craze around me. Despite the heat, I break out in a cold sweat. I count until things stop falling – twelve seconds that seem like twelve hours. My hands drop to my side, twitching. I didn’t know my heart could beat this fast. I rise slowly to my full height of five foot four and it feels like too much.
Sharp flakes of blue car snow down upon me. The air is full of the scent of scorched fabric and burning fibers. My keys shake so loudly the jingling sounds like church bells. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in my ears.
“Got to get out of here,” I tell myself, instincts kicking in. I walk as fast as I can while trying not to attract attention. Maybe no one will notice the metallic powder and dirt covering every inch of me. I can’t stop coughing up big gobs of car crud.
Damn. I think I ingested an automobile.