The Story.                                                                                 Began July 19th, 2002
- by Jeremy, Emanuel, Mike

                                                                                           CHAPTER: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

CHAPTER THREE

MIKE

My eyes cracked open and the gray cloudy day flooded my vision. Evidently I fell asleep in my car. I glanced at the clock on the console. 12:10 PM. Shit. I've been asleep for at least four hours.

The whiskey taste in my mouth had already soured. I reached for the cold cup of coffee and gargled. What's my next move? Somebody knows I am on their trail, but who's trail am I on? Alihandro is dead, and all I have is this lousy matchbook.

"Might as well give it a try," I muttered to myself flipping open my cell phone.

555-6900. ...*ring* ...*ring*...

"Bonded Hearts Quarter Horses. This is Liberty, how may I help you," said an older female voice on the other end. Surprised by this I stammered out a quick answer.

"Hi my name is Joe Malick... I was looking for a facility to take my daughter to learn how to ride," the lie came out lamely.

"I'm sorry sir we specialize in training race horses," she said quickly.

"Oh, I am sorry. However, I would like to take a look at your facility," I paused and tried to wet my drying
mouth while my mind quickly raced. "You see, I'm somewhat of a follower of horse racing myself and have
never seen a training fac..."

"We are not a zoo Mr. Malick, we do not give tours," she said sharply, and then paused, "How did you get
this number Mr. Malick?"

"....Phone Book," I replied. The phone went dead with a resounding click.

That was interesting. I fired up the Ford and tore out of the alley way with a new found purpose. First, I needed to clean up.

EMANUEL

I headed down to the station house to hit the showers, shave and get a cleaner change of clothes. The last nights storm had cleared, but there was still that bone chilling cold so common on the Eastern seaboard. I had just gotten back to my desk when my phone rang.

"Yo, this is Detective Granger," I said, trying to sound as lucid as I could.

"That's nice Granger, I'm impressed with your damn phone manners. That's one less thing I can throw at you that ends your ass in a sling. I want you down here in my office is two minutes with a fucking explanation that makes me happy enough that I might... just might, not fire your ass! Capiech?" click...

"Damn," I said to no one in particular, and hung up the phone. Staring at my desk I tried to rack my brain for some sort of excuse, or plausible explanation for last nights events. Truth is I didn't know what the hell
was going on either. I had some enigmatic woman who was still missing, an attempted hit in Midtown Manhattan and a dead underworld boss. All in a days work, right?!

Grabbing my coffee I figured I'd wing it, and headed for the stairs.

The door was open, never a good sign with Captain Stanley G. Wytchek, a bull necked Pollack who liked things to go his way or no way at all. "Granger? Is that you out there? Get your ass in here and I mean now!" came the growl from within.

"Afternoon Capt'n, how are you doing today?" My attempt at congeniality came out lamely.

The Captain was a tall stocky man who had been a real roughneck in his youth. A former marine, Wytchek had seen two tours in Vietnam before rotating back state side and joining the NYPD. Sitting at his desk, his white pin stripe shirt rolled to the elbows, he looked like a bookie working the days take. Lifting his head, he shot me a dire glance from under thick black eyebrows.

"Sit down!" I sank into one of his leather chairs which creaked loudly in seeming objection.

"Captain I..."

"Shut up, Granger. You are in some deep crap boy-yo. I have a stiff in the basement that is making Vice, and AG very nervous. I have the Captain of the 27th yelling about a busted up club and some property damage, and I have the commissioner breathing down my neck for some explanations." Leaning back in his chair he folded his arms and waited.

Panicky I prayed for inspiration to strike; "Well I really haven't had time to come up with anything, but I'm following up on some leads," I tried to buy myself some extra time.

"I'm going to need something more concrete then that Granger! That has to be one of the oldest stalls in the book, and I didn't fall off the turnip truck. If you expect me to sit back and let you..." he was interrupted by a knock on open door. "What?" Captain Wytchek yelled.

"Captain, we have a lead on Granger's case," said an abashed flat foot from the lab.

"What is it Nathan?" said the Captain, clearly unhappy at being interrupted.

"We ran a check on the gun at the crime scene. Its a Beretta Jetfire 950, standard .25 ACP."

"I could have told you that, Captain. Those are hard to get a hold of," I interjected.

"Yes, but..." Nathan continued, "This one has had some after market work done, and not the kind of work you would expect to find on a piece like this. The receiver has been tweaked, and the firing pin has been widened. Its been turned into something like a starter pistol, and only a few places in town have the facilities to re-mill a Beretta."

That shit I didn't know.

"What are you still doing in my office, Granger? Get on it!"

JEREMY

The next hour of my life was spent at my desk playing catch-up with my paperwork. I hate paperwork. It's a good thing my head was pounding too hard to really get anything done. After falling in and out of a lucid daze for several minutes, it occurred to me how busy the station was at the moment. I guess I could attribute that to last evenings excitement. This town is never quiet, but sometimes extraordinary things happen that kind of give your average cop a charge and makes them realize why they have this job in the first place. Rubbing my eyes, I got up to get working on this Pandora's Box of a case. I made sure my gun was fully loaded and had a few extra clips. I had this funny feeling that I was going to need them more often than not on this case.

There were many avenues I could pursue right now. I had no good idea of where this case was taking me. With Alihandro dead, a lot of my efforts over the last few years had been killed too. I was now wrestling with the dilemma of seeking out my past and friends long gone, for very good reason, so I thought. From what I hear, I could get some valuable information from Nick. He was in a position to hear things that noone on my side of the law could hear. Right now, I need to know why Alihandro was killed and what Ramona had to do with it all.

Ramona...

Yes, that was my next step. I started my car and drove down West 23rd on my way back to Eighth & Chelsea. I had a suspect, a very intriguing and beguiling suspect, on the run and now I had to track her down. We still had a few cops stumbling around the murder scene at her apartment, so the Kitty Cat Lounge was my best first lead. I felt like my chances of finding the broad were extremely slim; I just had a feeling about the tricks this 'Trixie' had left to play.

MIKE

It was about two-thirty in the afternoon when I pulled up to the Kitty Kat club. Double parking my Ford, I screwed a cigarette into my mouth, lit it, and went inside.

The club was just filling up with the early business crowd, starting off early to drink off a hard day at the office. I decided to peruse the room, and see what I could come up with. I was counting on the fact that most perpetrators return to the scene of the crime at one point or another. I wandered amongst the burgundy red booths and waded through the smoke. The club was not that large and 'She' was no where to be found. I walked to the bar.

"Glenlivet and water, please," I said to the bartender.

"Yes, sir," he said and went to pour my drink.

I watched the football game on TV in the bar without interest. The bartender came back a minute later and set the glass down along with an envelope. I looked up at him quizzically.

"You are Mr. Granger, yes?" he said his fingers still lingering near the envelope.

"Yes, I am," I replied. My right hand drifted slowly over to my Glock in its shoulder holster. I cocked the
hammer.

"I was instructed to give this to you last night. However, due to events I was not able to. I apologize sir," he paused and licked his lips. "I was also instructed to tell you that it's for your eyes only." He quickly slid away from the bar before I could ask him another question.

The envelope was nondescript white except for a small blue monogram in the right hand corner, of two horses running next to a fence. I stuffed the envelope into my suit jacket, and released the hammer of my Glock. Horses seem to be a common theme.

I downed my scotch, dropped a ten spot on the bar, and sought out the seclusion of my car.

EMANUEL

Flicking on the dome light, I settled back into the bucket seat and reached for the envelope in my pocket. Digging out my small knife I slit the top off and peered inside. A small slip of white paper with some writing on it was nestled into the bottom. Pausing, I opened my glove box and took out a milky white latex glove. I must be the only man in Manhattan that actually has gloves in his glove box.

The note was written on a small piece of desk stationary, scrolled in a delicate hand with strong confident marks. It read:

"Mr. Granger, I have some important information about Charlie Avarencia's death. Meet me tomorrow at Saint Thomas's for midnight mass. Don't trust anyone,

- a friend."

Hmmm. A friend huh? I could just not go... but I already knew I was going to go. That damn voice in my head issued its customary reproach. The time was 3:00 PM, so I had several hours to kill until I had to make my way uptown.

Anyway, I had an appointment with a stiff.

Death. Death has a power that try as we might resist, overwhelms all our frantic affirmations. It is the terrible and final answer to a question that none of us wish to ask. As a constant companion, it accompanies us as a shadow might, always lurking about as a possibility in anything we meager and fragile creatures do. We try to ignore its existence and carve out a life full of meaning and happiness; but in the back of our mind we are well aware that its all in vain. Death will win out in the end, it always has... and it always will. But death brings with it a welcome reprieve. Once it has claimed us in its terrible embrace we need not fear it any longer. Once we have fallen into that eternal slumber, the agonizing minutia of conscious existence ceases to have any sway. I have witnessed enough death to know that indeed they are the lucky ones.

"What do ya got for me Stitch?"

"Nothing you don't know already, Jason. Latino male, mid to late thirties... terminal massive blunt trauma to the occipital lobe. We got drawers and drawers of these poor wasted fools."

"I doubt there are many more of these Stitch. He was one of a kind."

"Who was he?"

Alihandro lay there on the cold metal slab, his tan body washed clean from the brackish and encrusted blood. A small circular wound in the back of the neck made the "Cause of Death" easily determinable.

Alihandro was a thin but well built specimen of underworld trash. He had risen to the top of the junkyard pile by being a ruthless and driven street soldier. He had started as a mule for a lower east side gang, the "Diablos" I think they were called. Quickly graduating to dealer and then finally to enforcer, Alihandro had made a name for himself as a gun for hire that never missed its mark. The rumor had it that he was snatched up by one of the largest Colombian cartels as they made their play onto the Eastern Seaboard. Under his leadership the "facción negra" or "black faction" edged out many of the Gangland dealers, and finally a large number of the old Italian families.

Word on the street was that he was working directly for "Perro del Oro", but the street has a tendency to lie. That's what I was working on when this entire mess blew up in my face. I was hoping to get in tight with Alihandro's crowd and to follow the trail of money, blood and drugs back to the man behind the scenes. The man responsible for so much pain.

"There was one thing, Detective," Stitch said, getting very businesslike. "He had a strange substance in his blood. He had large traces of Delatestryl, a powerful Testosterone Enanthate that would have probably made him a little light headed."

"Who uses that stuff?"

"Well, you can get it as a prescription to combat some severe allergens, breast cancer in males and females, and a muscle enhancer. It was widely abused in the eighties by body builders, they called it the "Horse Roid."

"Thanks Stitch, I gotta go!"

JEREMY

It was becoming quite obvious that I had an appointment at the Sacred Heart. I made a quick call on my cell back to the station to find out the address of the clinic. Karen helped me with finding out that sort of information. She was a snappy red head who works down the hall from me, but I can feel the heat from her fiery and quite frankly exciting manner from my desk. Karen sometimes could be a handful to deal with, especially when you had the kind of love-hate relationship we did, but she was always there for you when you needed her. She was there for me now. Within ten minutes, she called me back with an address.

So, I collected my thoughts and my keys, and hustled down to my car. I rushed in, out of breath and excited at my first solid lead in this case that's been so much of my life for so very long. Starting the car down the road towards the clinic, I sat and stared out of the windshield at the traffic passing me by. It was going by so quickly, it reminded me of the last few crazy days. So much was happening so quickly, I needed to take the time to sort it all out.

Someone was contacting me about Charlie! Why? After all these years, what could anyone have to say about the needless death of my best friend. There was only one person who came to mind when I thought of who could have written that note. But why would Nick want to contact me now, after these years without any contact at all? And at a church? It didn't seem like Nick's style. And how was this all tied in with that horse clinic? Not to mention that minx Trixie, and Alihandro's death. None of it made any sense to me.

There was so much going through my head, I didn't even realize I had somehow gotten to the clinic. On the northern outskirts of town, the property seemed like a beautiful place with long fields of freshly rained on grass that was growing into the coming Spring. The budding magnificent deciduous trees that only the northeast was known for lined the driveway. The main building looked of olde world charm and beauty. But, of all this, the only thing that really caught my eye, was that the parking lot in front was empty.

I shut off the motor and stepped out of the car into the muddy lot. This place seemed quiet, very quiet.

Slowly making my way towards the front entrance, I once again called Karen. "Hey Love," I said with a charming amount of sarcasm, "Do you still have that number I gave you for Sacred Heart."

"Sure do, Honey Bear. Is that all I am to you, a telephone operator?" She said with her usual sensuality.

"You had your chance K, you passed up the greatest thing that never happened to you. Anyways Doll, I need you to call them on the other line right now. Use a secure line. Find out their hours, or something. Just see if someone's there."

"Yeah. What's going on Jason? You're not doing anything stupid are you?" She said teasingly.

"No more than normal. Thanks."

While I waited, I went up to the front entrance and peeked in the window. There was noone there. In fact, there was nothing there. I peered inside and the place looked devoid of anything. I started to get an eerie feeling as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I took my Glock out and cocked it back. It was time to check out the back.

"Jason," Karen came back on the line and nearly stopped my heart. "They answered and sounded perfectly normal at first. They said their hours were 'regular', whatever that means, and were by appointment only. I decided to press it a bit, and asked to make an appointment to have my horse broken in. At that point, the other person seemed to hesitate a bit. They quickly said they weren't taking appointments at this time and hung up."

"That's what I thought... What are you doing right now K? You wanna come see some ranch country?"

"I'll be there in 30." With that, the line was dead.

Logic was telling me that I should wait for her. I wasn't sure what was going to happen in thirty minutes. But right now, logical thought wasn't going to win. There was too much at stake with this one. This place seemed abandoned and the numbers were just not adding up.

MIKE

The cool spring breeze ruffled my hair carrying the faint sent of old straw from the stables. I walked around the office, and shouldered my glock still wary of my surroundings. Behind the office was another out building.I screwed a cigarette into my lips and pulled out the half dollar in my pocket.

"Heads I go, tails I stay," I said to myself, sending the coin flipping end over end in the air. I caught it with my right hand and opened my fist.

"Heads... shit." I started walking around the perimeter of the stables.

The place was laid out like any normal stable with a large white barn, the paint cracked and peeling, in the center. Two sets of stables emerged from either side like wings. In back of the barn was a small one story house, the roof overhanging a front porch, with the same peeling white paint as the barn. The grass was long and over grown, weeds choked the parking lot. This place is a dump.

I decided to head for the house first, seemed like the logical place to start. The exterior windows were tinged brown, and the front porch squealed in protest as I walked to gaze into them. I couldn't see anything through the haze. I walked over to the door and softly knocked. The door opened on its own the hinges softly moaned. Dust swirled about my feet as I entered the dimly lit room.

A bi-pedestal desk sat in the corner with a carpet of dust on the top. The smell of must and mold filled my nose, I sneezed in protest. Old tack left abandoned and useless in the corner. I checked the drawers of the desk. The top drawers yielded nothing of concern. The lower right file drawer did however, in the bottom of the drawer was a piece of blank letterhead with Bell stables written on it. I shut the drawer. "K couldn't have messed up could she?" I said to myself.

I decided to make a scan of the rest of the stables. Turning for the door I heard the boards in the front porch squeal in protest. Checking my watch it had only been ten minutes since I called K. I backed away slowly and drew my Glock.

A shadow filled the window in the door. The adrenaline flooded my body and my bowels went icy cold. The blood pumped wildly in my head and sweat beaded up on my forehead. The shape backed away from the door and moved to one of the brown hazed windows. My mouth dried, I worked my jaw to create saliva but it didn't seem to work. The shadow sharpened as the person's face leaned in closer to the window. The haze was too thick I knew they could see nothing. My grip tightened on my pistol and I laid a replacement magazine in front of me. The shadow left the window and reappeared in front of the door again. I knelt and took aim from behind the desk.

The door knob turned softly with its own mournful cry. I flipped off the safety. The door creaked open and a yellow boot appeared, closely followed by a chubby overalled man in a green John Deer hat and a pitchfork in his hand. His eyes darted nervously, peering through the darkness. I rose from hiding.

"Get your ass down on the ground NYPD!" I yelled pulling out my badge.

The portly fellow jumped like a startled animal, the pitchfork dropped from his chubby hand and clattered harmlessly on the wooden floor. His eyes looked in danger of rolling into the back of his head. He was frozen, his chins jiggled from his shaking.

I walked around the desk and entered into the light. "Who are you Farmer John?" I asked pistol still raised.

He worked his jaw up and down for a moment, but no sound came out. Finally, very softly he managed to squeak out. "I'm da caretaker of dis place, ummm sir, Mister officer."

I lowered my weapon, his eyes following me, the whites still showing. "Good," I said allowing the adrenaline to subside like a wave. "I have some questions for you."

EMANUEL

It became apparent that this elderly man had no idea what was going on. He blabbered about a bi-monthly contract through the local church to come in and make sure that the grounds were in decent shape. The only reason he was here today was because he returned for a forgotten tool, and came to investigate when he saw a car in the lot.

"Name's Sam, Sonny. What can I do fer ya?"

"Mind if I look around?" I asked, fully aware of the irony of the question.

"Sure, sure. I give ya da gran tour," Sam said with a toothless chuckle.

The two buildings were both abandoned and in a sorry state of dilapidation. Obviously no one had been in them for quite some time. Sam led me out to the pasture and it seemed like a normal green field, except that there were no horses grazing on the tall grass.

"Well, that's about all Sonny, just a worn down farm. Dozens like it in these parts." And indeed it didn't seem like anything was out of place, just a rustic country homestead rotting in relative anonymity. What the fuck was going on?! I got that sinking feeling that my one good lead was turning out to be a wild goose chase.

"I'm sorry to bother you Sam. I guess I'll get out of your hair," I said as I made for the parking lot. I was going to have to wait for Karen and apologize for wasting her time. Maybe I could make it up to her… then again, it's probably best that I not try.

If I hadn't been so dejected about the dead end lead, or if I had been listening to the old man blabbering about his grand daughter's riding lessons, I might have missed it. Luckily I was staring at the muddy ground trying to think about what I would say to K, and that's when I saw the tracks. They were heavy tire tracks leading from the road and towards… the barn!

"Hold on, I want to check the barn."

"Sure, sure. But there are no horses in there I tell ya," Sam joked with no one in particular.

The tracks lead directly up to and through the large double doors. The doors themselves were locked with a shiny new padlock and heavy chain. How could I have missed this!

"Do you have the key for this lock Sam?"

"Nah, never been in there. Na part of me contract. Strange though, I don't remember seeing a lock…"

"Is there another way in?"

"Ummm, not that I know. Unless you fancy climbing up the wall and coming through the hay loft."

I stared up at the small aperture about 20 feet up and considered the risk. It would be a hard climb, and a hell of a fall. Ahhh, fuck it. I drew my pistol and blew the lock off the door. The old man jumped back and looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "Sorry," I stammered, "Habit."

I kicked the door open and entered the gloomy barn, what I saw shocked and thrilled me. Halogen track lighting was installed above a newly poured concrete floor. After searching for the switch, I flipped it on and the entire barn was bathed in blinding artificial light. The barn had been converted to a modern truck loading bay, and large loading winches loomed above. There were no trucks, but on the floor were scattered loose piles of dried hay. Now what would a deserted farm need a modern loading bay for? And I would bet dollars to donuts that the hay wasn't for any horses!

"Well I'll be a mongoose's girlfriend!" Sam blurted out. "This sure is strange."

"Ever see any trucks come through here?"

"Nah, but like I say, I'm not here that often. What do ya suppose they use this fer?"

"I don't know, lets find out." Stepping into the barn/loading dock I searched for anything that might give me a clue. Spotting an open space at the far end of the barn, I walked over to give it a closer look. Bingo! I hit pay dirt and I hit it hard. In the corner of the barn was a large stainless steel table, and a pair of digital scales. This was definitely not just some barn, this was a drug distribution center!

"Lets get the hell out of here Sam, I have to call for some backup," I said as we exited the barn and I shut the heavy doors behind me. "I hate to say this Sam, but your care taking job might be coming to an end soon."

"That's all right I recon. The misses and meself have been thinking of buying an RV and…" Sam's comment was cut brutally short and a thunderous boom echoed off the buildings. I dove for the ground and watched as the old man stared blankly into oblivion and dropped to the ground beside me.

"Oh shit!" I cursed, as I wildly looked around for the shooter. Nothing… No one. Must be a sniper, waiting for a clear shot. I had to make it to my car.

JEREMY

Without any time for thought, I began to roll to my left, where I saw a decent size riding mower just a moment before. It's a good thing I did too, because the next moment a bullet slammed into the dirt where I was just laying. I crouched down behind the mower and tried get my bearings.

Judging by the direction the old man fell, the sniper had to have been in front of me. From what I knew of this place as I was driving in, there were not too many places this sniper could be hiding. In front of me was the road out. There was a line of trees along the driveway, a wooden fence along it too. There were no structures, except for the about ten foot high wall that surrounded the property. There was also the open gate where I drove in. Without peeking my head out there was no way to know where they were at all.

My car was about fifty feet away to my left and with the kind of accuracy that sniper's gun had, there was no way I could make it to my car. Another shot rang out and slammed into the hood of the mower, and with my head leaning against it, the residual shock smacked my head and gave me a nice ringing sound to drown out my thoughts.

I took my pistol back out of it's holster and tried desperately to breathe, to steady myself. Someone seemed to want me dead and it looked like they were going to get their wish. Yet another ring of bullet against metal. I was frozen behind this mower without anywhere to go.

That's when it struck me; not a bullet, but the only idea I could think of to possibly save my life.

I saw the dead caretaker, bleeding and dead on the ground where I just came from. I crouched into a ready position, picked up a rock and tossed it out to the left of the mower, away from the dead man and into the wall of the barn. The predictable shot came right after.

Firing my Glock in the general direction of the sniper, hoping desperately that there was only one, I ran hard to the corpse. Without hesitation, I lifted poor dead Sam and used him as a human shield. I backpedaled, switched directions back towards the mower. The first and second shots slammed into Sam's body, high and low. I could feel his warm, wet blood spilling down my body. I was moving slow, too slow with the dead weight of the old mans' earthly form. I almost made it back to the mower before feeling the sharp bite in my left leg. I dropped Sam and fell forward, thankfully behind the machine.

Howling in pain and still quite frightened, fore hope was a thing that was quickly fleeing, I grabbed my leg and cringed under the sting of the fresh wound. Realizing I didn't have much time, I pulled Sam towards me, behind the tiller. I ripped an armsleeve off his person and wrapped my own wound tightly. Oh, how it stung!

My eyes were blurry from the pain, but the adrenaline of near death was refocusing me. I searched Sam's mangled form and found his keys hanging off a belt loop. I scanned them and found a key that said 'John Deere'. Bingo! I turned and snuck my hand low, under the seat, coming in at the ignition from a low angle. I twisted and turned the key until the motor finally turned over. "YES!", I shouted out in a desperate growl.

'Fwip!' I heard, as another round hit the drivers seat. My elation quickly turned to grim determination. Using a stick I found on the ground near me as a pressure wedge, I stuck it on the gas and as carefully as possible, steered with my right hand. My moving barricade was on the roll.

A significantly louder and more rapid ammunitions discharge followed. They must have changed guns! I was running out of time and I doubted they were going to be staying at a distance for long. I tried to force the lawn machine to go faster, but my wounded leg was holding me up. At a lull in the onslaught, I released the wheel and fired my own cannon back at them to finally give me a chance to see my positioning.

There was someone on the wall, but I couldn't see much from here as the sun had already begun to go down. It must have been fifty yards away. Only a few feet from my car, I turned the mower away, past my car. I replaced my gun and got my keys out of my coat.

The firing onslaught began again as soon as they saw me dive from the now wayward mower to behind my car. I could feel the trail of bullets just at the heels of my hindered body. I hauled myself up, wincing at the pain, and opened my unlocked car. Pulling myself in, I had to cover my head, all the glass from the right hand side of the car was being shot out.

I fumbled with the keys and was actually able to start my car. There was another lull in the firing, they must have been reloading. I pulled myself up and into the driver's seat, quickly shifting to Drive, and floored it with my one good leg.

My windshield was still mostly intact, with only one bullet splintering the passenger's side. I pulled the car around in a tight turn, fishtailing it, and pressed forward towards the exit. A quick glance to the wall told me what I had already suspected from this lull... the person was gone.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" I yelled, slamming the dash with my open palm. My tires rolled across the dirt road as I exited the Clinic and entered onto the paved highway. I saw a black sedan speeding off to the the left and didn't hesitate to try to run it down.

What I didn't see was Karen's red Mustang to my right. I came within inches of hitting her as I sped in pursuit of my would-be assassin. Karen's screeching tires brought her to a halt, she must have been totally confused. But being no novice to this line of work, it was only a few seconds later that she was in my rear view mirror tailing me.

MIKE

The Crown Victoria's engine screamed as I put the peddle down to catch up. Grabbing the blue siren, I rolled down the window and stuck it to the hood. Flipping the switch on the dash, the siren began to wail. The trees blurred as I pushed the Ford harder and harder.

Grabbing the two-way I clicked to dispatch, "This is Bronx Inspector 10, in a 9-25 hot pursuit, black sedan, no make or model. Wanted in connection with a 10-29, 10-57, and a 10-45. Traveling east on Hwy 164, mile marker 132. Copy"

The radio chirped in response, "Copy Bronx Inspector 10, requesting Alpha 5 and Alpha 6 routed to your area."

I love it when they send in a support chopper. "Copy dispatch, also requesting ambulance at N32 E2110 Hwy 164... and better send a coroner."

The radio chirped in 3 rapid successions before the dispatcher came back on. "Copy Bronx Inspector 10 repeating, in pursuit black sedan, no make or model, traveling eastbound on Hwy 164 possibly armed and dangerous. Man down at Nancy32 Echo2110 Highway 1-6-4. Copy."

"Correct dispatch, and can I get a large fry with that?"

"Did not copy, say again Bronx 10?" The dispatcher sounded confused.

"Never mind dispatch, copy."

"Routing local police and sheriffs to your area, happy hunting Bronx 10, Copy."

I turned my full attention back to the road, the black sedan had gained a little bit of ground. Tsk tsk tsk, not so fast. Slamming my foot on the gas peddle, the engine howled and the orange needle pegged at 120. The country side and white fences blurred, the black sedan pulled closer into view. I glanced in the rearview mirror finding K about a mile back. Angry red break lights flooded my vision.

"FUCK!" I screamed out loud, slamming on the brakes. The road made a tight left turn, plumes of smoke covered the windshield like an acrid fog, the banshee like scream of tires filled the car.

The black sedan fishtailed wildly to the left, and spun in a 180 on the road. Pressing my full weight on the brake, I spun the wheel hard to the right, sending turf and gravel high in the air. The Ford pitched haphazardly before it stopped facing westbound off the road, parallel to the black sedan.

I looked over to see a slightly bewildered man in a black suit. He glanced almost casually at me, and the Saab engine screamed. He took off heading westbound in the left lane. "OH JESUS, K!" I screamed. The black sedan met the speeding red Mustang head on.

Time slowed to a crawl. Karen was ejected through the front windshield, trailing red spray and broken glass behind her. Like a comet, she arched through the air, her night sky was the budding spring trees, the white fence; her star was the setting sun. Her arms lurched wildly in front of her, like a diver with no form. As her velocity faltered, she angled downward on her final descent, the drainage ditch her pool.

EMANUEL

I threw the car into park, uttering a silent prayer that K had survived the impact. Leaping out of the car, I limped toward the twisted and mangled cars, desperately trying to get to K's limp body. Reaching her side, I dropped to the ground and gently felt for a pulse.

Oh my God K, don't die on me... Please God don't let her die, please, please. Her face was filled with shards of glass, and her body was slumped and twisted as if her bones had turned to Jell-O. Blood streaked down her calm and passive face as it pooled on the grass below. I couldn't get a pulse on her wrist, so I felt for the artery in the neck... There! A weak pulse was barley pushing against my fingers like a small clock metering out the last fading seconds of K's life.

"Stay with me Karen, help is on the way."

I was so focused on K that I had completely ignored the black sedan. After colliding into the Mustang, the sedan had spun and rolled into a nearby copse of pines. Glancing up, I could see steam billowing from the cracked engine block and some smoke coming from underneath the car. Come on Karen, we have to move. Trying to keep the neck stable I dragged K away from the two cars and a little ways out into a field.

Lucky for us... Seconds later the black sedan's fuel tank erupted into a giant fireball that sprayed burning fuel and wreckage over the road. The first explosion was echoed a moment later by the Mustang catching on fire and bursting into blue yellow flames.

I lay there in the middle of the field coddling Karen's broken body in my hands, tears streaming down my blackened face, listening to the approaching sirens of salvation.

CHAPTER: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Last Chapter Three Update: 10/16/02

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