Not daring to go back for any of his torn clothes, Chet ran like hell for his monstrous rented car, a red 1934 twincam straight-eight Alfa Romero, one of only 188 manufactured, which he had driven from a sports car dealership near the airport in San Diego. Turning on the ignition, he pressed a bare foot on the accelerator, then burned rubber driving away from the airport like his life was at stake; which, he had feared back in the hangar, it had been.
A man in a cheap black suit, hidden in the shadows of the Flying Jenny's nearby hangar, had watched as Barbara drove away. Then, as first the fancy sports car sped off in a cloud of dust with the naked young man in it and, finally, as Moose Mondrowski left in his truck.
A smile, still a rarity there, crossed his disfigured face.