He drove the squad car to brook avenue and parked once again outside the donut shop, settling in for the 7th most boring night of his life in a row . . . or so he thought.
As Officer Dreg turned off the ignition and the headlights of his car began to die down, an ear shattering sound broke the tranquility of the neighborhood. James was alert in an instant and brought his car to life. In the distance, coming closer, was a pair of headlights. Revving the gas, he turned on the turret lights, screwed his eyes against the bright light . . . and that was all it took. The headlights were past him, speeding down the road. James floored the gas pedal and maneuvered his car in a tight turn, shooting after the rogue vehicle.
Soon, the trees racing by were a blur, the accelerometer was just shy of 120 and he was drawing closer to the vehicle. This was what he had joined the police force for; apprehending criminals after midnight car chases at break neck speeds . . . okay, not really, but it was still better than sitting on his rump in a parked car outside a donut shop, half a day.
With his headlights illuminating the rear of the speeding vehicle, he could see it was a Toyota registered in Virginia. Fucking tourists. Honking like crazy, the car had skidded onto the intersection at Central, heading downtown. James’s hand automatically went to the radio, but then he realized that with a full squad chasing after the speeder, his name would once again be discarded on the sidelines once the arrest credits were handed out. Gritting his teeth, James floored the gas, bearing down on the gray Toyota. But just then, the speeder turned a corner. James went into the turn too fast, going into a sharp skid, trying to maintain traction with the road, his tires spinning wildly. Wrestling with the steering, he punched the brake pedal in short, quick bursts, gaining some control over his car before steadying the wheel and shooting after the Toyota, which was rapidly disappearing down Mason street.
Then it struck him.
One advantage of living alone was that he had a lot of free time, with nothing to fill it. More often than not, he’d climb up on his bike and drive down one street or the other. By now, he could draw an accurate street map of New York in under 5 minutes, knew every lane like the back of his hand, remembered every street sign decorating every corner . . . and in this case, a little detour sign at the end of Mason, with an arrow pointing left, towards Grove.
James turned the wheel sharply and brought his car onto a narrow, paved street which, quite conveniently cut through the back of a dozen houses and ended up on Grove a few hundred meters from the detour sign. Roaring down the pavement, he hit the road, spun the wheel to his right and slammed on the brakes. He could smell burning rubber as the handbrake engaged, fighting for domination with the wildly spinning wheels. The car spun around amidst a cloud of smoke, ending up facing back the way he had come, blocking the way of a certain Toyota which visibly struggled to slow down as it approached the one-car blockade.
The Toyota stopped an inch away from the door, and then slowly started backing up. Shielding his eyes against the glaring headlights, James stepped out leisurely, and putting his hand on his holster, yelled, “Okay, pal, game’s over. Now cut the lights.” The Toyota stopped, then as the powerful headlamps began to die down, and James’ vision adjusted, he realized his mistake.
What he had previously thought to be a lone driver, turned out to be accompanied by a woman. The man was grinning. The woman, flushed with the thrill of the chase, with anxiety dawning on her face.
James whipped out his handcuffs and sauntered over to the driver’s door. Pulling it open, he leaned against the rear door and beckoned with a smile. The man hopped put with a spring in his step, grinning widely. Close cropped hair, in his forties, well-bred features, clad in a three-piece suit, didn’t look much like a regular offender. But what the hell was he so happy about ? James clapped the cuffs on him and leaned in to take a better look at the woman. But she was already out of the car and running over to them. She was a beautiful brunette, with open, shoulder-length hair, eyes done with mascara, and a tall, full figure. On top of that, clad in an aqua blue, close-fitting top and tight, black jeans, she looked absolutely stunning.
James just stared at her for a while, unable to hear the words being mouthed by those luscious lips, her beauty enhanced ten-fold by anxiety. After a bit of internal tumult, he finally paid some attention to her words and managed to catch something like, “. . . my fault entirely . . . my husband’s innocent . . . goaded him . . . mentally challenged . . .”
James thought about letting the poor bloke go, but then remembered why he hadn’t called for backup, “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ma’am. Your husband was way over the speed limit and a potential risk to everyone around him.” “But there WAS no one around him !”, the woman cried out. “Sorry, Ma’am, I didn’t make the rules. Now, I’ll need you to climb into that patrol car and accompany your husband to the precinct. You have to fill out some necessary forms, get your husband’s DL checked out and probably tomorrow afternoon, your husband would be presented for a court hearing.” The woman started sobbing. Her husband looked heartbroken and tried to reach her but James kept a tight hold on the cuffs.
“Look, um . . .”
“Kate”, she mumbled.
“Yeah, Kate, if your husband had pulled over, I could have just given him a ticket for speeding, but he resisted arrest and that forces me to bring him in. My hands are tied over here.”
She nodded, barely perceptibly, and James gestured towards his squad car. He pulled the husband along and ushered him into the backseat, who had started grinning again. Kate opened the rear door to get in, but James was quick to stop her, “There’s no need for that. In spite of whatever you might say, you were an unwilling participant. You get to ride shotgun.”
Confused, Kate got into the front seat. James got in, revved up the car and took a quick glance at the Toyota’s plates again. Memorizing the numbers, he drove back the way they had come.
Inside the station, barely two officers were still on duty, sipping steaming coffee from big mugs that said in big, bold yellow letters, ‘Cops = Cool’. Accompanied by the couple, James made his way to a fat guy with a moustache like a weed whacker, “What’s up, Joe ? Late night again ?”
Detective Joe Pegger looked up blearily, “Damn you, you young bastards. Old men like me, we need our sleep dammit, and instead here I am, mopping up the Bayer files which even Frank over there is quite well equipped to deal with.” “I heard that !”, came Detective Frank’s voice from one of the cubicles.
James smiled. He motioned to the man in handcuffs, “Speeder, resisted arrest. Driving at around 110. Apprehended on Grove. Name . . .”
“Tom . . . Tom Norbert”, Kate supplied.
“Yeah, Tom . . . Plate – JCR-1062.”
Detective Joe wrote it all down carefully, waving them away when he was done. James pulled Tom along and Kate followed. Skirting the various work stations, James led the duo to a corridor on their right, which ended in a solid wooden door. Pushing through, they entered the temporary holding area. A middling room with a couple of detention cells, all empty, and an even smaller waiting room on the far side. James nudged his captive into a cell and looked at the beautiful woman staring longingly at her husband, feeling an engorging in his loins, “You can either stay in here with your husband or in the waiting room over there.” Kate made to enter the cell, but her husband gave a retarded grin and waved her away. Kate looked torn but then walked determinedly towards the waiting room. James locked the cell door and followed after Kate, shutting the door behind him.