Page 5 of A Small Town Risk

“Ten-four.”

Months go by without a car chase, and now a pair in one day. I don’t need this.

I turn ontoDozer Streetand hit the lights and sirens. Mike and James do the same. We’ll put pressure on the delinquent.

He’s two blocks ahead of me and turns left. I inform everyone.

“I see him!” James says. “He hung a right onSeever, goin’ back south. We got him. We got him, we got him, we got him.”

Goosebumps roll up my arm.

“Take it easy, James,” I say. “Mike, you hear that?”

“Yeah. I’m onHoover. We’re pushing him toMeyer Road, right?”

“Ten-four.”

“Okay. I’ll block offBaxterso he can’t turn.”

“Perfect.”

I’m onSeevernow, and we’re moving.

“He’s speeding up,” James says.

“Good.”

“If he keeps going that way, he’ll be onMeyer Roadin two minutes.”

“Good.”

I breathe in and find my calm.

Mike: “I’ve got eyes on him.”

James: “I’m turning onBaxter. We got him!”

I grip the steering wheel. “Steady men.”

“Ten-four.”

The stolen Bentley’s tail lights flash at the mouth ofMeyer Road, and the driver presses on. The road transitions into dirt, followed by a hill and a mild curve. Beyond that lies a ditch, barbed wire, and trees. There’ll be nothing he can do from there.

At the dead-end sign on the side of the road, the car’s brake lights flicker once again, but it seems that the driver is committed. Dirt flies.

Up the slope and around the curve and––shit! What’s he doing? A Bentley can’t fly.

As I slide to a stop, the nose of the stolen vehicle crunches into the edge of the ditch and steam sprays. The door pops open, and the driver crawls out.

“He’s just a kid,” James states.

I hustle to him. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

He doesn’t appear worse for wear.

“You sure?”

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