In the distance, there’s the faint glow of light as night grows closer. I didn’t realize we’d gotten this close to returning to town. I’ve got to get him before he hurts someone.
Chad slides sideways as he takes the curve, driving onto the grass, and nearly wiping out a fence. The tires spin as they dig into the weeds, until a chunk of dirt and grass flies toward my windshield.
His tires catch, and he’s off again, shifting from the left to the right and back again. What’s wrong with this guy? He slings dope, so it’s not like he’s broke. He can afford a ticket. Hell, he can afford to license the damned Cutlass in the first place.
Unless…. He’s carrying.
As if on cue, something flies from the driver’s side window as I shoot in a skid around the corner Chad just passed. There is an oak tree fifteen paces into Hamilton’s pasture. And tothe right, there’s an elm tree. I zone in on the location of the potential drugs while staying on Chad’s tail.
With Chad remaining on the loose, I can’t afford to stop and retrieve the discarded item. After pressing the mic button, I relay the location of the contraband.
From two hills in front of us, lights flash into the sky. That should be Ramirez. Fingers crossed he’s dropped a spike strip.
Chad races forward, oblivious to his impending doom. The lights stop and turn. Shit. That’s Reginald Hardin going home.
Where’s Ramirez? Should I go back and retrieve the contraband? At this rate, I’m not going to catch Chad on my own.
With each quarter mile, he pulls farther ahead. Shit. I might as well go back and find what he threw out the window. We’ll catch him at home. I ease my foot off the gas.
When Chad crests the hill, he loses control. The car’s ass end slips to the left, and he corrects it before careening to the left again. Then, the lights stop as if he’s landed in the ditch.
Red and blue beams flash on in Hardin’s driveway. Ramirez. He laid down a strip spike and flipped the lights off so Chad wouldn’t suspect anything.
As I crest the hill, Chad jambs on the gas and tries to reverse back onto the road, but with his tires deflating, he’s not able to gather the momentum he wants. The door flies open and that’s when I notice the line of vehicles on both sides of the road.
Xavier’s pickup. Dominic’s car. Kaleb’s Jeep. Those are the closest ones that I can make out as I slide out of my cruiser. Therest, and there are many of them, are too far away to recognize in the dark.
I pull my weapon and aim it toward Chad. “Chad Whitlock, you’re under arrest.”
Chad takes off in a run, until his boots fly out from under him after three strides, and he crashes to the ground on his hands and knees with a resounding thump.
“That’s going to leave a mark,” Xavier says with a smirk as he kicks the end of a second spike strip that they’d managed to lay down as fast as a NASCAR pit crew changes a set of tires. Doors slam in a steady cadence as neighbors and friends approach and surround us.
“Chad Whitlock, put your hands behind your back.” Surprisingly, my voice is strong and showcases none of the unease of my breathing while training my weapon at him. “You’re under arrest for fleeing from a police officer.”
“Fuck you.” Chad glares from his kneeling position.
“Thank you, but I’m not interested.”
“Bite me.” He’s up and lunging toward me before I can take a step back as Xavier, Dominic, and Kaleb take up spots around him, eliminating his options for escaping.
“I wouldn’t try to run if I were you.” I brace my free hand out in front of me while keeping the one with the weapon pointed in his direction. If he bullrushes me, I’ll lay his ass out.
“Don’t make a move, asshole,” Ramirez growls from behind Chad with his gun aimed at the back of his head. A cow moos from the adjacent pasture.
“I told you not to drive this car, but you couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”
“It’s legal.”
“Why lie?” I inch closer as Ramirez shifts from foot to foot as if itching to pull the trigger. Apparently, he’s not as concerned about everyone getting chunks on them. Chad stops in place, holding his hands up in front of himself.
A cow moos again. This time, it’s a loud bellow at our intrusion of its peaceful evening. Another cow responds as a cold chill cuts through the night.
“Shit, Jake,” Xavier drawls as a mewing sound follows the next moo. “A pasture with night approaching might be creeper than a back alley in town. At least, in an alley, all we’d have to contend with is a giant rat. Here? Who knows? A deer? A feral bobcat? A rabid squirl? Seriously, it’s going to get creepy as fuck out here.”
A coyote howls his displeasure to war with the cows.
“I didn’t choose the location, dumbass.”
