“He’s on us!” Tomás shouted above the noise of the Lumina downshifting for a quick burst of speed.
“Lose him,” Jorge said, knowing it was more hope than directive.
There was no mistaking it now for Burns. The car was rabbiting.
“Six L Fifty, I am in pursuit,” he said calmly, though the adrenaline was already beginning to flow into his veins in appreciable quantities. A veteran of many pursuits, he never found them enjoyable, a fact directly in opposition to the Hollywood portrayal of them. Get your cameras out, boys, the sergeant thought, wondering just how long this one would last through Tinseltown.
Next to an “Officer needs help” call, a pursuit takes priority. When both happen simultaneously, there is an expected bit of confusion, a situation that is amplified when the proximity of the two is as relatively close as these were.
“All units…” The dispatcher paused, juggling her multiple major calls. “All units stand by. Six L Fifty is in pursuit.”
Burns followed the car ahead of him through two hard right turns that had them going north toward Sunset. “Six L Fifty,” he said into the mic, referring to his division (Six), his unit type (L, or Lincoln, a one man car), and his individual unit number (Fifty, an even multiple of ten, which denoted a supervisor), “car is a late-model blue four-door Chevy, now heading north on Gower approaching Sunset. Two male occupants, one possible in the rear. Suspects are armed. License…” The newer white reflectorized California plates made reading at a distance easier. “…Four-Nora-Edward-X Ray-Two-Eight-Three. Now passing Sunset.”
The dispatcher repeated back the information and waited for available units to announce themselves for inclusion in the pursuit The silence surprised her, until she checked her status log. “Any Hollywood units in the vicinity of Sunset and Gower, Six L Fifty needs a secondary unit for the pursuit of a late-model blue Chevy.” Still silence. Her blood pressure notched up a bit. “Air Forty.”
Miles from the pursuit, hovering over the deteriorating situation at Echo Park, the helicopter heard the call. “Air Forty.”
“Air Forty, Six L Fifty is in pursuit, north on Gower past Sunset. Can you intercept?”
“Negative, we have continuing shots fired and multiple suspects.”
“Air Twenty,” the call came into dispatch from another helicopter that had picked up the pursuit call and was heading north from the South Bureau at top speed. “We’ll take it. ETA five minutes.”
“Roger, Air Twenty. Six L Fifty, your location?”
Burns was glad he had put his seatbelt on. This guy was driving as though he really didn’t want to get caught. “Gower at Franklin, going…going west on Franklin.”
The dispatcher checked her status log again. “Fifteen Adam Seven,” she said, calling a clear North Hollywood two-man unit. “Six L Fifty is in pursuit — can you respond as secondary unit? Location is westbound Franklin from Gower.”
“Roger. ETA is six or seven.”
There were now two additional units closing on the pursuit as the backup dispatcher entered the license number into the computer. The result of that would bring another welcome member to the chase. Another unwelcome one would, unfortunately, join in at the same time.
The bright white-and-blue Bell Jet Ranger lifted off from Hollywood-Burbank Airport just as the first “Officer needs help” call went out. Like all local television stations, KNTV Channel 3 monitored police broadcasts to find juicy bits of human drama that its viewers could eat up. Also like other local stations, KNTV had discovered that the helicopter was the perfect platform from which to get fast-breaking news events from the street to the viewer. To this end it had taken the very expensive step of purchasing its own helicopter outright, giving the station round-the-clock access to airborne pictures. In a business where budgets were tight, and where most stations simply leased the use of helicopters from respected aviation companies, KNTV had again lived up to its claim that it would do anything for the story and would pay the price that an aggressive TV news organization had to.
The news director had no sooner come to the monitor room where reports from Echo Park were coming in when the first call on the pursuit caught his attention. “Where’s the chopper?” he asked the control room.
“Coming south from Silverlake. LAPD has a bird up there, so he has to approach from due north.”
Damn the stupid regulations, the news director thought. For safety’s sake the LAPD had persuaded the FAA to issue stringent guidelines regarding aircraft separation at crime scenes, relegating the news choppers to higher altitudes. Some stations had just gone to more powerful, much steadier cameras that could get better pictures from a thousand feet than they could previously from three hundred. That sort of gear was expensive, however, and KNTV had spent its money on the chopper, postponing the inevitable upgrade of its standard camera setup.
“Any LAPD over the pursuit yet?”
“Not yet.”
The news director checked the clock. It was just a few minutes to the start of the eleven o’clock news. If he could get their chopper over the pursuit for a dramatic lead-in, it could take a bite out of the competition’s ratings for the important 11:00 P.M. broadcast.
“Send the chopper to the pursuit.” It was a smart decision, he knew. High-speed chases got ratings almost as good as airplane crashes.
“Left…south on Highland!” Burns said loudly, the wailing of the siren transmitted to dispatch as background noise. The pursuit thus far had reached speeds of seventy miles per hour, fast enough for the streets of Hollywood. As a supervisor, he had the authority to continue or end a pursuit based upon conditions such as traffic and danger to civilians. Another factor was what the suspects were wanted for. The sergeant, having seen the way the gun was being wielded, had formed an opinion that there might be someone in the back of the car who was an unwilling passenger.
And that had sealed it. Kidnapping, or suspected kidnapping, was a crime that deserved no slack. This chase was on for the duration.
“West on Hollywood!”
Art and Frankie were three blocks from Freddy’s when the radio call came.
“King Eight.” It was the office’s communication center.
Frankie snatched up the mic. “King Eight.”
“LAPD reports they are in pursuit of blue late-model Chevy. License Four-Nora-Edward-X Ray-Two-Eight-Three. It’s your warrant suspects. Presently westbound Hollywood Boulevard from Highland. Three occupants in vehicle.”
“Three?” Frankie said to her partner.
Art stepped on the gas and activated the Chevy’s blue and red grill lights and the under-hood siren. “Idiot!”
“King Eight, we’re on it.” Frankie slipped the mic back into its holder. She also surreptitiously undid the top strap on her holster. Get there, Art. Get there.
George Sullivan knew he was going to die. He was certain of it. These were the guys. They had killed Portero. Now they were going to kill him. Please, God.
The man hovering over him kept the gun jabbed hard into his face while he watched out the back window. Sullivan could do nothing. His body was wedged between the front and back seats, his upper body twisted painfully rearward. Only his eyes could move, and they could do little to stop what was certain to happen. He’d already searched the area he could see, but there was nothing. If there had been, what could he do? Fight the guys off?