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?.....MAKES THE WORLD GO AROUND.

Stephen watched the children playing in the car in front. The boy was pulling the little girl's hair, who was in turn happily biting him back. He remembered when his own son, William, had been that age. Things had been so different then. It hadn't taken half an hour to get over Hammersmith bridge for a start, even at rush hour.

He pulled his last cigarette from the packet that lay upon the seat beside him, wondering briefly how the packet could get so battered in the twenty four hours it took to empty it. As he pulled the car's lighter from its little slot on the dashboard he decided it probably wouldn't be worth buying another packet on the way home, not if he was going to kill himself once he got there.

Stephen had been thinking about suicide a lot over the last few months, as his life finally finished crumbling around him. There just didn't seem to many reasons to carry on living, well, none actually.

He'd never thought any one could think rationally about suicide, the way he had been doing. he'd always imagined it would push its way through a wash of mental hysterics, but no, everything he had worked hard to surround himself with had vanished. It just seemed the best thing to do....

"Don't do anything silly, mate."

Stephen had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed the Stranger climb into his near stationary car, but as he turned to face the voice he did notice the rather large and frightening looking gun pointing in his direction.

"Oh, shit," he said.

The stranger was young, early twenties perhaps, wearing that scruffy looking sportswear they all seem to be wearing nowadays. He clutched a dark blue holdall to his chest, resting his pistol upon this. His short hair was dripping with sweat, which flowed down his face, profusely.

"Now," said the Stranger. "Just do as your told, and no one will get hurt."

"Er... Yes... Of course."

"Now, turn here, onto the A4."

Stephen was scared. Given his previous thoughts, this struck him as rather surprising. But didn't lessen the fear any.

The Stranger glanced out the window, scanning the streets for some anonymous pursuer.

The traffic was moving even slower then was usual, something to do with some train strike, probably. The turning was a good hundred yards away. Stephen desperately wanted to reach the turning, to get onto the fast moving dual carriageway. The sooner he got this maniac out of his life, the sooner he could get on with ending it, quickly and painlessly. He felt the last bit to be the most important. He fixed his gaze on the car in front. The little boy was crying, and the little girl had a self satisfied grin upon her lips. This did not surprise him.

"Now, Now!" shouted the Stranger. "Turn now!"

They were now close enough to attempt a turn, but Stephen didn't think he could make it without hitting the car with the children, or the crash barrier.

"But.....," stammered Stephen.

"Jesus H. Christ," screamed the Stranger. "Just turn, now."

Stephen glanced at his passenger. He looked scared. Two men could be seen weaving through the traffic behind him, towards the car. They did not look like police. This worried Stephen.

Stephen acted on instinct, pushing his foot down on the accelerator, releasing the clutch, and spinning the wheel for all he was worth. He managed to avoid the car in front, but did scrape the side of his own car on the crash barrier. Amongst the million and two things going through his head at this moment was the minor worry of how much it would cost William to fix the scratch once he got the car in his will. Probably wouldn't even bother. He was a student, after all.

"Hey," cracked the Stranger. "Watch the road will you?"

"Sorry," said Stephen, settling the car into the inner lane, out of habit more then anything.

"Good," said the Stranger. "Now, you just drive straight down here, until I tell you otherwise. Nice and easy, We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves now, do we?"

"No," agrees Stephen.

The absurdity of the situation suddenly hits Stephen, and he can't help but let out a little laugh. More a wee giggle really, but it is enough to rile the Stranger.

"What are you laughing at?! What's so funny."

"Nothing," lies Stephen.

"Don't give me that shit. You're laughing at me. Well, You'll be laughing out of the other side of your face once I put a hole in it."

Stephen laughs again.

"I ain't fucking joking, man. I will fucking kill you if you laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you," says Stephen.

"No, what are you laughing at then."

"You wouldn't understand."

"What do you mean? You saying I'm thick or something. I've got two hundred and fifty thousand pounds in this bag says I'm nobody's fool."

"Won't be much use to you if those guys catch up with you, will it, young man?" He regretted the words almost before they'd left his mouth. But he had enough hormones left in his decrepit old body to have some pride.

"What do you know?" shouted the Stranger. "What do you know about them?" He was waving the gun around, nerves etched into his young face.

"Nothing, nothing," said Stephen, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "I just saw them coming across the road. That's all."

"Yeah, well," mumbled the stranger in what he hoped was his best Nicholas Cage voice. "You let me worry about them."

They drove on for a while in silence. Stephen was thinking hard. If he was this scared, maybe there was a part of him that wanted to live after all. But he knew if he listened to that part, he would be existing, not living. Then something else occurred to him.

"Er..." he mumbled. "Do you mind if I ask a question?"

"What?"

"What if the police come after us?"

The stranger laughs. "The people this money belongs to don't talk to the police."

"Yes, but what if someone reported us over skidding onto the A4."

"Then you'll get a few points on your license. I might even give you the money to pay the fine." The Stranger looked at Stephen. "Maybe not."

"What if those others come after us?"

"They won't. They know we'll be long gone before they get onto the main road."

"So they're just going to let you get away with it."

"Not if they ever find me."

Once more silence fell over the car. The Stranger was fiddling with the barrel of his gun. He was obviously a very frightened man, despite all attempts at bravado. This didn't do Stephen's nerve's any good whatsoever.

The signs over the A4 started to suggest they get into lane for the M4, or not, as the case may be.

"Where to now?" asked Stephen.

"Straight on. Up the M4."

"Do you mind me asking where we're going?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Then, slightly timidly. "You do know where we're going?" He felt like adding, 'Only I really want to get home and top myself. I've been looking forward to it all day.' However, this didn't really seem like a good idea.

The Stranger sneered, "Why? Got plans have you?"

Stephen shrugged.

"Well then."

Stephen stared at the road in silence. He knew there was only one thing that could possibly make this situation bearable.

"Have you got a fag. Only I was smoking my last one when you came in."

"No," said the stranger. "I don't smoke. Filthy habit."

"Yes," agreed Stephen.

Stephen laughed. Someone was pointing a gun at him, and all he could think of was the dried leaves of a plant wrapped in chemically treated paper. Maybe tobacco was addictive after all.

"You're laughing again. I told you, I don't like it when you laugh."

"I'm so sorry," offered Stephen. "After you inviting yourself into my car, pointing a pretty gun at me and all. How could I be so rude?"

"Don't get cocky, mate. You wouldn't be the first person I've killed."

"Really?"

"Really."

Stephen hit the right indicator.

"What are you doing?" asked the Stranger.

"I'm moving into the fast lane," explained Stephen.

"Did I tell you to move into the fast lane?"

"No."

"Then turn the indicator off."

Stephen slid into the middle lane before replying.

"No," he said.

"I don't think you heard me properly," explained the Stranger. "I said turn the indicator off."

"And I said no," offered Stephen, before sliding elegantly into the fast lane.

"Look, mate, I'm going to give the benefit of the doubt for about five more seconds," offered the Stranger, generously. "Now, I happen to be the one with the gun here. This means you do what I say, if you want to live. Now, take us back to the inner lane."

"Look at the speedometer," commanded Stephen.

"Ninety. So?"

"What do you think will happen to you if you shoot me whilst we're doing this speed."

The Stranger paused for a second. This was one more worry on his already overburdened young shoulders. But it did not take him long to come up with a reply.

"You are going to have to stop this car eventually. If you want to be alive ten seconds after this event, I would advise you do what the fuck I say."

"I don't suppose you're remotely interested in what I was thinking about before you got into the car."

"No, I'm not remotely interested in anything you've ever thought."

"Well, you should be. Because I was thinking about suicide, my own to be precise. You see, when I got home, I was planning on filling a sink with warm water, slashing my wrists, and placing them in it, until I died."

The Stranger eyes up his captive for a minute before laughing. "You almost had me going there."

Stephen shrugged.

"You stay in the fast lane if you want," offered the Stranger. "Just remember, I'm still the one with the gun."

"You'll only be saving me a job," uttered Stephen, before falling into silence.

The Stranger was beginning to show more signs of his nervousness by the second. He pulled his pistol in close, like some kind of security blanket.

Time was beginning to drag. The initial adrenaline rush was wearing off for both captor and captive, bones were beginning to ache. The Stranger pulled a small vial from his pocket and snorted something from the silver spoon contained within the lid. But still he remained silent, becoming ever more unsure of the weirdo he had chosen as his unwilling getaway driver. Only when Stephen indicated left did the Stranger speak again.

"What now?" his voice was weary and unthreatening, for which he was most annoyed with himself.

"I'm taking us onto the M25. need to think."

"No, you're not."

"Shut up!"

The Stranger was suddenly riled. He started to scream, waving his weapon in Stephen's face. "Listen you little shit...."

Stephen screamed back simultaneously, "If I say were going...."

".....I'm the one with the fucking gun...."

".....To Timbuktu...."

".....you do as I say....."

".....I'm the fucking driver....."

".....You'll take two hours to die....."

".....I'll crash the fucking car first...."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"You're going to have to stop sometime."

"That's why we're going onto the M25. I have to decide how we stop. The M25 is circular. That gives me all the time I need to decide."

"What are you on about?"

"I'll let you know when I've made up my mind."

As they drifted over to the inside lane, the Stranger glanced over at the fuel gauge. The car was half full. Stephen had plenty of time.

They edged off onto the slip road for the M25. As they approached the roundabout Stephen's heart leapt into his mouth. He gradually slowed down, as the Stranger fingered his gun, trying to decide whether he could do anything to get out now. But they were surrounded by cars on all sides, who knew....

Then they were on the roundabout, going faster then the Stranger would have liked. As they slowed to turn off, the Stranger saw his chance. They would career off onto the bank, but they would survive, well, he would....

He lifted the gun and pointed it at Stephen's face. He hesitated for a second. He had lied earlier. He had never killed anyone in his life.

"I'm only saving you a job..."

But he was too late. Suddenly they were accelerating again, heading for the M25 at a dangerous speed. He had to close his eyes as the car skidded onto the motorway.

The stranger returned the gun to its resting place, upon his holdall.

"Like I say. You've got to stop sometime."

"Like I said, I'm deciding how we stop."

"The way I see it," explained the Stranger. "Is that you have two choices. Either you take us back to the M4 at the next turning, and live, or you carry on with this shit, and die the second we come to a halt. Now, which are you going to choose."

"I'm already told you, mate," sneered Stephen. "I don't want to live. I'm just trying to decide whether or not to take you with me."

"What?" snapped the Stranger, suddenly a little more then nervous. Closer to scared shitless.

"Well." explained Stephen. "If I die in this car, with you pointing a gun at me, no one will suspect suicide, My son will reap the benefits of my insurance, and won't have to live with the stigma. All the things that might have stopped me when I got home, razor blade in hand. They don't apply. So, you see. It's best all round, really. Don't you think?"

"No, I bloody don't," screamed the Stranger. "I have no intention of dying, so get that notion right out of your head, now!" He waved the gun in Stephen's face, as if this would somehow affect his decision.

Stephen laughed. He was beginning to realise just how much control he had over the situation. "You're waving a gun in my face, and you really want me to care about whether you live or die."

"All right, All right," gibbered the Stranger. "Don't think about me. Think about you, You don't really want to die."

"Actually. I do."

"If that was true, you'd have told me to get fucked the second I got into your car."

"Reflex action, mate. When someone points a gun at you, you act first, think later."

"I'm still pointing the gun at you."

"Yes, but I've had time to think now. You don't scare me anymore."

"Come on, mate, we're all scared of dying."

"Trust me, mate," sneered Stephen. "There can come a time when you're more scared of living."

"Think mate, you don't want to die."

"I have no reason to live."

"There's always a reason to live."

"Yeah, what's yours?"

"I've got two hundred and fifty quid in my lap."

"That's a good reason."

"What about your son, you said you had a son."

"He's left home to go to college. His mother left home to fuck a younger man." Stephen's voice was filled with bitterness and despair.

This didn't stop the Stranger laughing. "You're not telling me you're going to top yourself over some bird."

"It's not just that."

"It wouldn't be."

"I lost my job, voluntary redundancy my arse. It's all over for me, son."

"Come on, you can get another job."

"I'm fifty five."

"That's not old."

"Try telling that to an employer."

"Well, just kick back."

"With what? Once the mortgage is paid off, and the wife's taken her share of everything, I'm skint, mate."

"No pension."

"Not enough."

"This is stupid," yelled the Stranger. "You could have twenty or thirty years left in you. Why throw that away? Anything could happen." The last words reminded him just how fast they were doing Even on the motorway he was not used to going quite this fast. He took another snort from his vial, just to calm his nerves. It didn't work. It wasn't that kind of drug.

"I don't want to live another twenty or thirty years," announced Stephen. "No, the last fifty five have been a complete waste. I don't see any point in carrying on."

"What about your son? Is he a waste?"

"Not yet, but maybe he will be. Maybe my death will stop that, though. Maybe that will stop him making the same mistakes I've made." Stephen glanced over at his hijacker, swerving the car dangerously in the process. "Twenty years I spent in that job. Twenty years doing something I had absolutely no interest in, just to support a family long enough for them to leave me. That is a waste."

"Yeah, sure," jabbers the Stranger through a drug induced haze. "But the future doesn't have to be like that. You have plenty of time, and nothing to hold you back. You can do anything. Anything you want."

Stephen laughs bitterly. "No, it's too late for me. I've outlived whatever usefulness I ever had."

"If you don't want to live for yourself, just think how your son will feel when he hears you've killed yourself."

"As I already explained, that is the beauty of taking you with me. No one will ever know."

"But there'd be no bullet. They'd know."

Stephen shrugged. "They'll think you panicked. Grabbed the wheel, took us into the path of a passing lorry. Just like that one four cars behind. In fact, that one four cars behind."

"No," pleaded the Stranger. "Please, no. I don't want to die."

Stephen indicated left.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm moving into the centre lane, to give the lorry time to catch up with us."

Stephen looked at his erstwhile captor and laughed, allowing the car to drift towards the crash barrier in the centre of the road, edging ever closer to the steel divide."

"Watch the road," snapped the Stranger.

Stephen turned his eyes back to the road. "Sorry. Don't want to cause an accident now do we."

Stephen found he was almost enjoying himself, as he finally slipped into the middle lane. If his last moments could make him feel this powerful..... He wasn't allowing himself to think about what was going to happen, just concentrating on the lorry. Four cars away....

And listening to the Stranger pleading....

"Don't, please, don't, please," like a mantra, like it might actually save him. He was still pointing the gun at Stephen, but it no longer made him feel like a man....

.....Three cars....

.....No longer gave him any sense of power....

.....Two cars.....

.....He was no longer in control. Now it was all down to the man behind the wheel.

.....One car....

Stephen tensed up, ready to turn the wheel. There were only seconds left. The lorry was mere yards away. He took a deep breath. Almost there Mustn't turn too soon, give the man time to break... Fifteen yards tops, maybe ten.... Almost. Almost...

"Stop! I'll give you half the money!"

Stephen relaxed visibly, allowing the lorry to glide past, unaware of how close it had come to disaster.

"Half?"

"Yeah, half. A hundred and twenty five grand. All yours. You can do whatever you want with it, and you won't have to kill yourself. Won't even have to tell the wife you've got it."

"Yeah."

"So...?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?! What do you mean maybe. I'm offering you a hundred and twenty five thousand reasons not to kill yourself, and all you can say is maybe?"

"How do I know you won't rip me off? How do I know you won't shoot me and run off with the money?"

"Would I?"

"Well. let's see. You stole the money, then threatened a complete stranger to act as a driver. Yes I think you just might."

"No, no. You got me all wrong. I'm not greedy. A hundred and twenty five Gs is fine for me."

"No, sorry. Just don't feel I can trust you, and little William has to be looked after. It'll just have to be the next lorry. I can see one now."

"Don't be so fucking stupid," screeched the Stranger, by now in abject terror. "I'm sure we can sort something. I mean, it's a fucking hundred and twenty five grand, what more do you want?"

Stephen thought for a second before replying. Living with money might be fun, but....

"A hundred and fifty," he finally said.

"What?"

"I want a hundred and fifty grand to spare our lives."

"You're not going to throw it all away for a measly twenty five grand," begged the Stranger.

"Try me," said Stephen, swerving towards a car in the fast lane, eliciting a beep from the horn. "No, If the money is to be of any use it will have to be laundered, and that costs, and my wife will probably find out about it.... No, I need more then you, sorry."

The Stranger paused for a second and tried to gauge how serious his captor was. He knew he no longer had any control of the situation. He'd seen just how ready this nutter was to take them both under the wheels of a passing juggernaut.

"OK," he agreed. "A hundred and fifty." He felt emptier with every word. He had brought a death sentence upon himself, which he fully intended to avoid, but that's not the point, for a piddling hundred grand.

"Fine," said Stephen."

"Now," if you can just take us into the next service station, I can give you the money, and get out of your life."

"Not so fast," ordered Stephen. "I still don't trust you."

"Well. what do you want me to do then?" complained the Stranger.

"First, I want you to count out the money."

The Stranger counted out thirty of the five grand bundles, watched as closely by Stephen as he could manage without crashing.

"Now," announced Stephen. "See the blanket on the chair behind me."

"Sure," said the Stranger.

"Put the money behind me, underneath the blanket. Leave your hold all on the floor in front of you.

The Stranger did as he was told.

"Happy now?"

"Almost, you still have the gun."

The Stranger had almost forgotten this, so impotent a weapon it had become.

"Oh, yeah."

"Now, give the gun to me."

"You have got to be joking."

Stephen swerved the car, dangerously.

"No way," asserted the Stranger. "If I give you the gun, what's to stop you killing me, and taking all the money."

"I'm not you."

"True, but it's only a few minutes ago you were prepared to kill us both."

"Fair enough. What do you suggest.?"

"How about I take all the bullets out.!

Stephen thought about this a second.

"I know," he announced. "You take the bullets out, and keep them. Put the gun with the money. Then we're both covered."

The Stranger thinks about this a second. He may need the gun to defend himself if they ever catch up with him.

"How about you keeps the bullets, I keep the gun."

"Don't trust you not to leave one in the barrel."

He has no answer to this. He would have thought the same thing. He agrees, and capitulates.

"Got any plans for your share of the money?" asked Stephen.

"Sex, drugs, that kind of thing."

"Oh."

Not another word is spoken between the two men until they finally pull up in the nearest service station. Stephen parks near the restaurant, nice and public.

The Stranger looked back into the car as he climbed out, glancing at the blanket in the back, contemplating a way he could get his hands on it. Then he remembered the look on Stephen's face as he prepared to take them into certain death. He knew it was a bad idea.

The Stranger shrugged and walked away.

Stephen put his foot on the accelerator and drove away, whistling to himself a song that had once been the centre of his life.

Now, he thought, where was the next service station. He still needed a packet of fags....

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