At Seventh Avenue, a white pickup swerved into the intersection. I cut the wheel hard to the right, whipping the Mustang’s back end around in a squealing fishtail. The truck sideswiped me with a crunch and forced me right onto Seventh. I floored it and cut into the left lane to elude them, but the northern cutback onto Westlake was too sharp a turn to make at that speed. Instead, I cranked the wheel to the right and cut them off. That left me in the lead, but headed down Westlake in the direction opposite from the one I wanted to be going. I’d planned to pull a quick U-turn, dodge the truck, and be home free, but it seemed Chuckie had anticipated me.