If the sign were split horizontally down the middle, each side would contain a black capital R, one inside something that looked like a less-than symbol, the other inside a greater-than symbol.
Holy crap!
The R on the bank robbers’ demand note had been cut from a printed picture of a railroad sign! And that plastic tube we’d found on the bus—it could be the smoke pipe from a model steam engine!
Chapter Twenty
A Howling Good Time
Brigit
Her partner made a fast left turn into the Vickery rail yard, and Brigit slid across her platform. Weeeee!
“Hang on, girl!” Megan called back as she braked the cruiser to a quick stop in the gravel-strewn lot.
Brigit could tell Megan was excited. She was breathing rapidly and pecking away at her laptop like her fingers were on fire. Click-click-click-click-click.
Brigit had no idea what her partner was doing, though she’d heard her mention the word Facebook several times today, so it was possible she was looking at that site again. If there were such a social media platform for dogs, it would be called Buttbook and dogs would post pics of their hindquarters, tails raised. Gender options would include male, female, and neutered/spayed. Relationship statuses would include stray and part of a pack. Dogs, of course, would be interested in men or women. Gender was irrelevant. They’d have a relationship with any human who would give them good food and a warm bed. Canines would post about dead squirrels they’d manage to catch, a new toy they’d been given, other dogs they’d humped, holes they’d dug.
Brigit’s ears pricked as she detected the clackety-clack of a train approaching the station. The conductor laid on the horn. Toot-tooooot!
Why not join in? She raised her head, opened her mouth, and let loose with a howl. Awoooooooo!
Megan shushed her when a dispatcher came over the radio. “Stolen Fiat spotted on Henderson heading northbound from Myrtle Street.”
Her partner grabbed her mic. “Officer Luz and Brigit responding!”
As Megan floored the gas pedal, Brigit dug her claws into the carpeted floor of her enclosure to try to maintain her balance. She looked through the windshield. Where were they going? Would there be a foot chase?
She wagged her tail hopefully.
Brigit was ready to take a bite out of crime.
Chapter Twenty-One
Round and Round
Smokestack
As he sped away from the convenience store, Smokestack shoved a hand down his pants, tugged the bank bag from his underwear, and tossed it to the Switchman in the passenger seat. “Split that up. Then we’ll bail and go our separate ways.”
The Switchman unzipped the bag, dumped the bills onto his lap, and hurriedly began to separate them into stacks, fumbling with his gloves on.
The Conductor stuck his head between the seats. “Hurry up!”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” The Switchman barked. “It’s not easy with these damn gloves.”
When the Switchman finished counting out the bills into three equal piles, Smokestack reached over, grabbed his share off the Switchman’s lap, and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans with his Zig-Zag rolling papers and the steam train engine. Or what was left of the engine, anyway. The chimney had come off at some point and fallen out of his pocket.
He scanned the street ahead, looking for a place where they could ditch the car.
WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP.
Shit! He looked out the window. The police helicopter swooped into place to hover in the air above them.
The Switchman put his hands on either side of his head. “We’re screwed!”
Smokestack mashed the gas pedal to the floor and careened out of the lot. The helicopter had a bead on them, following as they raced north up Henderson.
“Stop!” hollered the Conductor from the tiny back seat. “We need to make a run for it!”
Smokestack began to slow down. Though the chopper was on them, street patrols had yet to reach them. If they bailed out and ran in different directions, the chopper would be able to trail only one of them. There was a chance two of them could escape. He only hoped one of the two would be him. He realized, however, that the odds weren’t in his favor. Too much dope and too many donuts had made him pudgy and slow. The others were in far better shape.
Woo-woo-woo!
He eyed the rearview mirror to see a FWPD cruiser gaining on them from behind. “Aw, hell!”
He punched the gas, only to find himself speeding toward another cruiser heading down Henderson from the north. He braked and banged two furious fists on the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
With Trimble Tech High School blocking them on the right and Harris Hospital on the left, there was no way out.
Or was there?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ramp It Up!
Megan
Woo-woo-woo!
There it was! The little green Fiat! Just a block away and headed right toward me, the police helicopter hovering in the air above it. There was no way they could escape now.
I threw a victorious fist in the air. “We got ’em, Brig!”
My partner barked in excitement. Woof-woof!
Flashing lights came up Henderson from the south, the sound of the second cruiser’s siren blending with my own.
I quickly gained on a sedan whose driver had yet to yield. Blurgh! What part of woo-woo-woo did he not understand?
The Fiat veered over the yellow center line and the sedan’s brake lights ignited. The threat of a head-on collision finally got the driver’s attention.
I jammed on my brakes, my cruiser stopping mere inches from the other car’s back bumper. Tires squealing, the Fiat turned in front of the car and entered the Harris Hospital parking garage. Looked like these guys had no plans to give themselves up without a fight, something they had in common with Phillip Gunderbaugh. Is he one of them?
Looking over my shoulder, I threw my cruiser into reverse and backed up a dozen feet. I turned to face the front, shoved the gearshift into drive, and began to pull around the sedan only to find its driver starting to move forward. Oh, for the love of God! I grabbed the microphone for my public address system. “Pull to the curb!” I yelled.
The driver finally obeyed, easing over to the right to get out of my way.
Derek’s cruiser barreled down on the entrance from the other direction, but I wasn’t about to let him get in before me. The two of us nearly collided in our haste to enter the garage. Luckily, my front bumper had a few inches on his. I pulled into the lane, stopped to grab a ticket, and sped through the instant the gate lifted. Derek drove through on my tail.
I drove as fast as I dared up the first three levels, keeping a sharp lookout for the Fiat. Derek trailed behind me, our sirens echoing off the concrete walls of the structure. Lest I cause permanent hearing loss to people in the garage, I cut off my siren. Mackey took my lead and did the same, though we both left our lights flashing.
When we reached the fourth floor, I grabbed my radio mic. “Mackey!” I called. “Go down and cover the exit!”
For once, the guy didn’t argue with me.
“I’m on it.” He broke off at the next ramp, heading down instead of following me up.
I continued round and round, circling all the way up to the uncovered parking on the roof but finding no evidence of the Fiat. I grabbed my radio mic again to contact the chopper. “Has the Fiat left the garage?”