TEST DRIVE - EPISODE 17: BURNER

Previously on Test Drive

Frank had seen plenty of Mexican stand-offs in movies, of course...but the reality of two people aiming actual guns at him was more than his nervous system could handle just then, especially considering that one of the two people was a Texas cop who’d somehow managed to pop up directly behind him despite having been cuffed in the back of the Crown Vic literally moments before.

“No, no, no...wait!” Frank stammered, desperate to explain himself to the angry young Latino, momentarily forgetting the stolen 9mm he was now inadvertently pointing at the man.

“DROP IT, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Frank dropped the gun...

...while, down on the ground, Hombre watched the weapon hungrily, saw it bounce towards him, the handle inches from his fingers...

“Okay, okay,” Frank said, flashing empty palms at the cop. “Please...”

“ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

But, before Frank could even think about complying, Red was swiftly and suddenly behind him, pressing the barrel of her own gun into the hollow of his ear, shielding herself with his body as she snarled a challenge at Ray-Ray: “BACK OFF, COWBOY!”

“...oh God...” Frank groaned, simultaneously terrified and exasperated.

“DROP THE WEAPON!” Ray-Ray cried, aiming over Frank’s shoulder at Red, yet perfectly willing to drill a bullet through either or both of them. “There’s nowhere to go!”

And he was right. They were in the middle of a treeless fairground, at least a mile from Wild Horse and two miles from the interstate. The majority of the air show tourists had run for cover when the first shots were fired, so there was no question of escaping into the crowd. The nearest getaway car was currently crumpled up against the aluminum skin of a vintage British fighter jet and probably wouldn’t start even if Red somehow managed to reach it without getting shot...not to mention the fact that sirens were shrieking all around them now like banshees on the wind. Any minute...any second...the whole place would be a police convention, and that would pretty much be that.

Ray-Ray took a step forward and Red took a step back, keeping Frank pressed to her chest like a bullet-proof vest.

Red took another step backwards, knowing she was only maybe a move or two from checkmate, and yet...

...somewhere behind her, something was hissing, even louder than her own roaring blood. Pivoting slowly, careful to keep the cop in front of her, she angled around towards the sound until she spottede the source: a flaming liquid propane burner, suspended over the basket of an abandoned hot air balloon, not twenty yards from where she was standing.

Red smiled. Ray-Ray saw her eyes dart, realized what she was thinking and surprised himself with a startled laugh, mumbling, “You gotta be kiddin’ me...”

...just as Hombre went for the gun on the ground, hand lashing out like a rattlesnake strike...

Ray-Ray swung around, too late...

...Frank heard a pop and a scream...

...then Red was pushing him towards the balloon, shouting, “MOVE!”

While, behind them, Ray-Ray felt a hot spike of pain in his thigh and squeezed off a reflexive return shot, toppling sideways into the sod. Hombre ignored the near miss whistle of the lawman’s bullet, propelling himself up and forward in a drunken stumble towards Red, firing wildly as his quarry disappeared into the balloon’s basket with Frank and punched the blast valve on the burner, sending a plume of blue fire into the nylon rainbow gas bag billowing over their heads like a giant bloated jellyfish.

“NO!” Frank cried abruptly...

...and then the balloon shot seven stories straight up, before jerking to a lurching, stomach-dropping stop at the end of its tether line.

Clutching desperately for the edge of the wicker basket to regain his balance, Frank whirled and saw Red raising her little silver pistol. “Don’t...” was all he managed before she pulled the trigger...

...severing the tether with a single silver bullet, setting the balloon adrift in the wind...

...while, far below, Hombre fired helplessly into the sky, shrieking at the top of his lungs...

“WHAT’D I TELL YOU, FRANK? FUCKING BALLOONS!”