A Quick Escape

An array of police cars litter the parking lot. Ana blasts through them, swerving the big truck in between parked cruisers and larger vans, their lights flashing red and blue in the afternoon New York sun. Thankfully, it appears that most of the ATF officers had entered through the front door of the warehouse, or maybe through the back, but not at the bay in the alley, and are nowhere to be found. Still, as you blitz through the motorcade, your heart sinks when you see a single cruiser peel away from the line of cars and turn after you, burning rubber on the worn asphalt as its siren rings overhead.

“We have one following,” you say.

“Alright. You’re going to have to take him out.”

“Wait, what? They’re cops!”

“Just shoot his tires or something – I didn’t mean kill him.”

You shoot her an incredulous look. You came to protect her, not kill cops. You know what those kinds of criminals suffer in prison.

Your eyes dart back to the side mirror, and you sigh as you see the cruiser still following you. Ana pulls out of the parking lot, tires squealing and emitting the scent of burnt rubber into the air, as the police officer follows close behind. You see him in the mirror, a middle-aged man with short brown hair and a bulletproof vest, shouting into his radio. Calling for backup. You need to stop him, fast.

“Drive steady, Ana.”

She nods in response, and you roll down the window. The cruiser is riding right on your bumper, swerving back and forth in the lane behind you. You take the pistol in your hand and ease out the window, turning around so that you are leaning against the dash and half hanging outside. You raise the pistol in your left hand, aiming at the front passenger tire of the cruiser.

As you aim down the sights of the gun, time appears to pause for a moment. A thousand thoughts flicker through your mind, forcing you to reflect on how you arrived at this point. How you went from “safe jobs only,” as you phrased it to Ivan a couple of years ago, to taking shots at a cop. How you had volunteered for it. What does it say about you, you wonder, that you changed so quickly, only because of a little indirect divine intervention? In only a couple of days, your life has changed in so many ways. Fear buds in your heart, despite your newfound convictions. The cruiser slides, putting the officer’s face directly in front of the glowing beads on the barrel of your gun. The fear flames, overwhelming and forcing you to act. The cruiser drifts, the police officer’s head leaving your sights.

You let loose your fear with a tremendous crack of thunder, but the bullet misses, splintering asphalt into the air, and the cruiser swerves. The police officer gets back on the road, darting to the other side of the truck, out of your range.

“Get him back on my side!” you yell to Ana, who nods in grim determination. The truck shifts, and the police cruiser drifts back into your vision. Again, you take aim and let loose, the bullet splitting the air around you with a deafening boom. As your finger depresses the trigger, you realize how much easier it was to take that second shot – a metaphor for your recent and sudden corruption, perhaps. The projectile strikes home, exploding the rubber of his front tire and sending him swerving onto the sidewalk. The cruiser strikes into a street light with a calamitous noise and comes to a pause, smoke rising from the smashed-in grill of the car.

“He’s out,” you say to Ana.

“Good work. I’ll get us to a safe place.”

Ana takes a few turns down some side roads, veering off of the highway and into a sprawling complex of warehouses and older buildings. She continues down the worn and forgotten avenues, confidently turning left or right at each turn. Eventually, the truck stalls in front of an old warehouse lined with closed bay roller doors, no different than the other nearby buildings. Ana hops out of the truck, jogs to one of the doors, and gives it a few knocks. The bay rolls open, and you grin when you see Dmitri standing on the other side. He waves you in, as Ana climbs back into the truck and forces it into gear.