Harry was driving along with the window open, as he always did on fine days. Another long business trip. Oh well, only a few more hours to go.
Having made this trip many times along this particular route, Harry saw no need to keep below the speed limit. Every time he passed a vehicle proceeding at a lawful click, he sniggered, chuckled or gently chided, as the mood moved him.
He roared past a slow-moving old bomb loaded with kids and holiday gear. Poor bastard, he thought, looking at the obviously harassed father behind the wheel.
He edged past a fast-moving semi-trailer. The scrubby-faced, dirty T-shirted driver scowled. How dare any other vehicle go faster than he ?
Harry passed a beaten-up old Ford Ute. The bearded, singleted driver gave Harry's rear-vision mirrors a blank look. The bearded man's bald companion was also nonplussed, Harry guessed. He put his foot down, intending to put as many miles as possible between himself and all those trailing. There was nothing in front for miles.
His foot was down, but he did not seem to be putting any distance between himself and the Ford Ute. How are they getting so much speed out of that old bucket, wondered Harry.
Then something even more unexpected happened : a shot rang out.
The bullet overtook the opposite side of Harry's car much faster than he had passed any other vehicle (This was the only way Harry could put his reaction into words). Surprise had not hit him yet (Luckily, neither had the bullet). When it did hit him (Surprise), he posed himself the question : why would anyone take a pot-shot at me ? He had no enemies, business or otherwise, and to his knowledge, everyone liked him.
He had no sooner completed this thought than another shot rang out. This one came very close to his ear, but still passing the outside of the car. He glanced at the rear-mirrors. The Ford was still close, and The Beard and Baldy were grinning and brandishing shotguns. At closer inspection, Harry thought Baldy may have a rifle. He wasn't sure. He didn't know a lot about guns.
But he did know that he was afraid.
He made a snap decision. There was a turn-off ahead. It lead to a mountain road. Not your average thin, treacherous, winding hillside ribbon, but it did have the occasional hairpin turn. Harry took the exit. The Beard and Baldy followed him.
Laidback, with the luxury of perspective, a cool mind and plenty of time, one may say that turning off a main highway onto a mountain road, while being pursued by a couple of yahoos with shotguns and rifles, was somewhat less than sensible. But Harry's now panic-stricken mind reasoned it this way : if the situation is to be resolved, something has to change. I can't rely on the police coming along, and the nearest town is a long way off. So it's up to me.
Two more shots rang out, one each side. Baldy was now laughing his head off. Harry had stopped wondering why. He thought only of escape. But what possibility was there ? A mile onto the mountain road, he remembered that there were no turn-offs for another twenty miles.
Another shot. Like all the others, it missed the side by only inches. Baldy continued to laugh loudly. Despite the wind rushing past Harry's still-open window, he could hear it ... that hideous laugh.
In Harry's desert of panic, there were a few oasis-moments of calm. During one such moment, Harry was able to realise that these men were not hired killers or assassins. Most likely just a pair of bored yahoos. Grown-up deliquents with time on their hands, petrol in their tanks and bullets in their guns. Just killing time.
As if in answer to this thought, (that they were just looking for kicks) the yahoos decided that they had become bored with just shooting along the side. Baldy, between gales of laughter, fired at the back window.
Fortunately for Harry, he missed. The bullet passed through the metal support and exited through the roof. Harry's panic level went up another notch.

Baldy cursed. He even stopped laughing for a moment to do this.
"Hey, man ! Will you hold it steady so I can aim better?" "You always were a terrible shot, chrome-dome" replied The Beard.
"Hey man, don't call me that, or I might just shoot you." "Just try it, desert-head. You want to run us off the edge ?"
"Only kidding, man. Hey, I can't shoot you anyway. Know why ?"
"Cos you love me, curlylocks ?" sneered The Beard.
"Cos I'm out of ammo. You got any left ?"
"Damn. I'm out, too. There's some in the back ... I think."
"We'll have to stop to get it. That sucker'll get away."
"No, he won't. We'll catch him easy."

They stopped ! Harry couldn't believe it. Does that mean they've given up ? Not likely, he thought. He would never forget the wild glint in their eyes. Like the look a cat wears as it worries a frightened mouse ... to death. No, don't think of it, Harry told himself. Just keep going. Faster.
But a voice inside warned him : slow down. Without argument (Harry very rarely argued with himself), he did. He rounded the hairpin turn, still going too fast. He hit the brakes just in time, and just hard enough.
A landslide. Great ! Now they can catch me, and play close-quarters cat-and-mouse. No, don't think about it. I'm cornered ... unless ...
Panic then left Harry. He smiled.

The Beard and Baldy were still rummaging in the back of the Ute, were they kept EVERYTHING.
"Hey man, I don't think there's any more ammo here."
"I think you're right, glare-ball."
They were just about to give up, when Harry's car passed them, headed back for the highway.
"Hey man, he's doubled back. He's gettin' away ... no, wait ... He's stopped."
The Beard glanced up. "He's waving us over. Think we should go?"
"Sure, man. Why not ? He ain't got a gun. Otherwise he'd've shot back at us."
And with this sound piece of reasoning, they walked over to Harry.
Baldy spoke first. "Hey man, whaddya want ?"
"A deal" replied Harry, evenly.
"OK, shoot" said The Beard, with a chuckle.
Very funny, thought Harry. He said : "I give you a hundred bucks, and you stop shooting at me."
He expected at least a little discussion but, to his surprise, they instantly agreed.
"It's a deal, man. To tell you the truth, we're out of ammo, anyway."
"Don't tell him that, shiny. Actually, man, we're bored with shooting at you now."
Harry couldn't tell if either statement were true. Nevertheless, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief handing the hundred to The Beard.
"Thanks, man. We'll be seein' you." They strolled back to the Ute.
For a short moment, Harry was worried. But it passed quickly. Guys like that only drove at two speeds : standing still, or very fast.
The Beard gunned the engine. The Ute roared away. Very fast. Harry watched them for a respectable moment. He smiled.
Presently, the Ute approached the hairpin turn. Very fast. The Beard did not hit the brakes hard enough ...
Harry was still smiling as he drove back to the highway.


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