“Hey!” one of the cops yelled to Lionel. “Are you alright?”
Vincent’s heart slammed, hammered in his chest.
There was no indication yet that they’d taken note of his van.
They’re going to check on him. You can get out of here when they do. You need to go.
Drive.
No, they would follow him. He knew they would. At least one of them would.
Run. You need to run.
Maybe. Yes, leave the van here.
His head was still low, but he heard more shouting from the cops and pictured them hurrying toward Lionel. If they hadn’t already started to, in a few seconds they would scan the area. Then they would search the nearest vehicles one at a time. They would catch him if he stayed where he was and follow him if he tried to drive away.
Now. It has to be now. On foot.
Slowly, Vincent edged his head up, gazed toward the alley, and saw both cops leaning over Lionel.
This was it. In a moment they would start looking for anything suspicious. Vincent silently opened his door and slipped onto the street, keeping the minivan between him and the cops. Afraid the door might alert them, he didn’t click it shut all the way. No noise.
A dog barked in a yard a few houses away, on the other side of the alley. The cops turned their attention to the sound: “Check it out,” one of them said to his partner. While the officers were momentarily distracted, Vincent scurried fifteen feet farther down the road and crouched behind another car.
It would be easier from here. The angle was wrong for the cops to see him. The one who knelt beside Lionel was talking into his radio now, calling for backup.
Go.
Swiftly and without a sound, Vincent went for the next car.
Beyond that there weren’t any more vehicles close enough to hide behind, and just as he was wondering if he should try waiting it out here for a few minutes, he heard the sirens. More cops were already on the way.
No, if he stayed here, they’d find him. He either needed to get behind the nearest apartment, which was about twenty-five feet away-but that meant traversing the lawn in plain sight-or make it to the other side of the road and hope the parked cars would block the view as he crossed the street. Then he could disappear into the neighborhood on the next block over.
Which was better?
Hard to say.
Hard to say.
Maybe crossing the road. If he stayed low enough, the cars would at least partially block the view. Less chance of being seen.
Yes, that would work, he could make it. He had to.
The vague sound of distant traffic floated through the chilly night. Nearby, more dogs were joining in barking, but Vincent tried to block all that out.
He took a breath and went for it, dashing across the road as swiftly as he could, but just as he reached the far curb, he heard one of the cops yell, “Stop! Police!”
Go!
As fast as he could, Vincent sprinted into the dark channel between the two houses in front of him.
A quick glance back told him that the cop was in pursuit. Looking forward again, Vincent managed to duck just in time to avoid a clothesline strung up in someone’s backyard. He came to a waist-high wooden fence, scrambled over it, and bolted past a driveway and through the night, weaving between the houses to try to lose the cop.
“Stop right there!” the officer yelled. Amazingly, he sounded like he was gaining on him. He wasn’t out of breath and it was the voice of a guy who knew he was going to take you down.
But Vincent didn’t stop running, there was too much at stake. He rounded another house. If he could just stay out of sight, just-he dodged an abandoned tricycle and barely missed slamming into a jon boat stationed on its rusted trailer beside the home-just get to the next street-
Though he was already almost two blocks from the alley where he’d left Lionel, he could see the flicker dance of the blue-red-blue lights of more squads driving toward the scene.
Vincent angled left and flew past a tumbledown duplex. He didn’t see the cop anymore and figured he must have lost him somewhere between the last two houses. He kept running.
By now, some of the porch lights in the neighborhood were snapping on as more people woke up from the shouting, the yelping dogs, the police sirens.
Vincent whipped around the corner of a house.
And almost ran into the cop, a tall scruffy guy, who stood in front of him with his gun raised. “Do not move.”
How did he get-?
“Hands up!”
Vincent raised his hands. He needed to get away, there was no other option. “Officer, I’m not-”
“On your knees. Do it.”
The guy looked like an athlete. Vincent calculated whether or not he could take him. It might not be easy.
Go for the gun.
That would be tight too. But he couldn’t risk being taken in. “Please, Officer, I need to-”
“Now.” The cop leveled the gun at his chest.
Desperation swallowed everything. This was it. He had to go for it, had to risk it, had to act now, before more officers got here. He started to bend down as if he were obeying the officer, but then used his bent knee to propel himself forward and lunge for the gun.
Years of college football and weight lifting had made Vincent quick and tough and not afraid to mix things up. He went hard at the cop, snagging his hand and knocking the gun away. Then he balled up a fist and aimed a blow at the officer’s kidney, but the guy blocked it just in time.
He deftly grabbed Vincent’s wrist, twisting it to control him.
Countering, Vincent threw a hard hook with his other fist, connected solidly with the guy’s jaw, but that didn’t stop him-he drove his shoulder into Vincent’s chest and slammed him to the ground.
Vincent tried to wrestle free but the cop was wiry and strong, and as he rolled to get away, he felt his arm being wrenched behind him to subdue him. Vincent strained fiercely to get away, but the cop twisted his arm more, toward the breaking point.
“No!” Vincent couldn’t help but yell. If he didn’t get away-
But then he was cuffed and the officer was pinning him down with his knee, calling for backup. “Do not move,” he told Vincent.
“You don’t understand-”
“Quiet,” the officer said. “This is Detective Bowers.” He was talking into his radio. “I’m on the southeast corner of Twenty-sixth and Wells. I have the suspect.”
“Please,” Vincent gasped. “He has her. If you don’t let me go, he’s going to kill her. You can’t let that maniac kill my wife!”
3
I paused. “Who has her?”
“Some guy-I don’t know his name! He broke into our house, told me I had to take a black man to that alley. Please-he said if I got caught, it’d be too late for last rites, that he’d slit her throat. Slit her like a pig.” The guy’s voice cracked. “That’s what he said.”
I patted him down. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know. You have to believe me!”
No weapons. A wallet. Car keys. A portable phone in his pocket. Not just a pager, an actual portable phone. Though they were starting to become more popular, it spoke of wealth. I removed the items. “What’s your name?”
“Vincent Hayes.”
A few seconds ago he’d knocked my gun, a.357 SIG P229, away, and now I quickly retrieved it and slipped it into my holster, then held Hayes down firmly.
Assess the threat. Clear the scene.
I scanned the shadows to make sure no accomplices were coming to assist the guy, but the view in all directions was restricted. After evaluating the sight lines, the distance to the nearest intersection, and the spacing between the streetlights, I realized I didn’t like our position here at all.
“You said he told you to do it. Did you meet with him?”