Chase! (a story fragment)
They
were in an empty side street. There was
no one to stop or interfere. The gun
wavered in between them as if it were somehow detached, balanced between the
rigid lines of their standing figures. In
fact, it was covered in Roth’s white, bony knuckles, at the end of his long
arm. His baggy coat sleeve was whipping
around it sloppily in the wind, back and forth, making the whole situation look
even more unsteady than it really was.
Roth’s eyes were tight slots, squinting against that same bothersome
wind, and his sunken chin and cheekbones looked more thoroughly gaunt even than
when Jamie had seen them in prison.
Jamie had his elbows bent, his hands up to either side of his body in a
careful gesture of surrender. A small,
burlap bag was behind his feet. He was
trying to keep his eyes on Roth’s face, behind that wobbling gun. He didn’t want to miss anything, miss a
moment’s opportunity he might get to escape, but he kept blinking, a nervous
habit that reminded him of being called on in middle school and not having any
answer ready to give to the demanding teacher with her haughty eyes behind the
crisp glasses perched on her too-long nose.
“Just
give me the bag already,” said Roth.
“Don’t be idiot, Jamie. Is this
silly game worth taking a bullet for?
Give me the stupid bag.”
Jamie
shifted on his feet slightly. “Okay,
man, but you just said to put my hands in the air and keep them there, and
that’s what I’m trying to do here. You
realize you’re giving me contradicting orders, don’t you?”
The
gun shifted in response. “Just kick it
to me,” said Roth. His chipped front
tooth stood out to Jamie. That must be
new. I hadn’t been there in the old
days.
“You
don’t want this, Roth,” he said. If he could
hold him off for just a few minutes, maybe Emma could find them. She would have the professor with her by now,
and he would know what to do.
“Oh,
I think I do,” said Roth. “Just kick it
to me, or you’ll never see your precious girlfriend again.”
Jamie
bit his lip, desperate to stall. “We’re
. . . we broke up. Emma and I broke
up.” He gulped, trying to look
emotional. “She, uh, she was always in
love with you.”
The
tip of the gun dipped for a second. Just
a second. It came back up at once, quivering
more than ever. Roth’s slits widened.
“What?”
“She
told me that.” He shook his head. “That she always regretted—”
“Stop!”
Roth snarled. His lip was
quivering. He took a step toward
Jamie. Now the business end of the
pistol, a deadly extension of Roth’s thin arm, was just inches from Jamie’s
forehead.
Jamie
shuddered for the first time. Bringing
Emma up had been a mistake.
A
bead of sweat snaked down Roth’s high, pale forehead and ran into his right
eyebrow. “I don’t want to have to do this
to you, Jamie, but believe me, I will.”
He stepped closer again, and the cold metal tip of the gun touched the
skin between Jamie’s eyebrows.
That
step closer let Jamie see the thin red strands of red in the whites of Roth’s
eyes. Suddenly, he believed him.
He
took a breath. “Okay,” he said. “You can have it.”
Roth
took a step back again. “Kick it to me,”
he said.
Jamie
nodded. He stretched his right leg
behind him and scooping the bag with his foot, slid it across the uneven bricks
of the alleyway until it bumped into Roth’s feet.
Roth
gave a smile, too wide by half.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He dipped his chin in exaggerated politeness. “Thank
you, Jamie.”
“Don’t
break it,” said Jamie.
Roth’s
smile died. “Who do you think I am, a library
doofus? A clumsy nerd who’s gonna drop
it?” He bent down, his gun and eyes
staying pointed at Jamie the whole time, and picked up the bag. He peeked inside. The smile reappeared, marred only by that one
chipped tooth. “I know what this is, and
I know how to be careful.” He gave a
short, barking laugh. “Unlike you,
apparently.” He backed off down the
alleyway, and then bolted.
Once
Roth and his gun were out of sight around the corner, Jamie gave them both the
finger. Then he whipped out his cell
phone and hit speed dial 2.
“Hello?” Emma sounded breathless.
“Where
are you?”
“On
our way. Driving as fast as I can. Have you seen Roth?”
“Yeah,”
said Jamie. “He’s got it. He took it from me.”
“What??” Emma’s shrill exclamation made the phone
crackle harshly. “Where is he now?”
Jamie
stepped out of the alley in time to see Roth hopping onto his moped. “He’s on his moped.” Roth turned onto Brill St. “He just turned onto Brill St. Pick me up and we’ll catch him.”
He
hung up before Emma or the professor could call his plan into question, and a
minute later he was piling into Emma’s little Volkswagen. “Can this thing maneuver at all?”
She
nodded. “Yeah.”
He
looked into the back seat. “Where’s the
professor?”
She
looked down. “Jamie . . . he died. He bled out.
One of Roth’s goons but a bullet through his shoulder. There was blood everywhere. I’d never seen so much blood. I didn’t know a human shoulder had that much
blood in it.” She choked up. “I, I tried to bandage him, but I wasn’t fast
enough.”
Jamie
had frozen, seat belt half on. “He’s
dead?”
She
just nodded.
Jamie
shook himself out of his stupor. “We
have to go after Roth anyway. We have to
recover that bag.” He buckled. “It’s what the professor would have wanted.”
Emma
nodded again. “Okay.” Her tires squealed as she pulled out of the
alley.
The
sidewalks and street signs whipped past them.
Jamie silently promised himself he would never forget this, would never
disrespect her Volkswagen again.
“There’s Brill,” he
shouted a moment later. “Turn now.”
The wheels
squealed again, and suddenly they both saw Roth up ahead, resting uneasily on
his moped, stuck at a long red light.
The precious bag was slung over his shoulder.
“There he is!” he
yelled. “Go, go, go, go, go, go!”
Emma put her foot
down hard on the little pedal and they roared forward, devouring the distance
between them and Roth.
Roth looked over
his shoulder and saw them. They were
gaining so fast, Jamie thought he could see Roth’s eyes go big in fear. Their prey jerked his moped around suddenly
into a tight left turn.
“He’s heading into
the ethnic market neighborhood!”
“Yeah, I see
that,” said Emma through gritted teeth as she wrestled the steering wheel.
They turned onto a
narrow street. Small shops and stands
crowded both sides, and vendors were shouting like mad in strange accents. Roth had pushed his dinky yellow moped to the
max and was almost at the end of the street already.
“We’re losing
him!” shouted Jamie. “We can’t let him
get away with the bag!”
“I know!” shouted
Emma. Again she stamped on the gas
pedal. The Volkswagen lurched forward
with a growl of its tires on brick and loose gravel. An unlucky fruit cart slipped into their path
and was smashed. Brightly colored fruit
flew harmlessly up their windshield and everywhere else, a beautiful explosion
of color. Next they narrowly avoided two
men carrying a giant glass plate window across the street. Emma laid on the horn, her beautiful face
flush with the excitement of the chase.
Jamie had never seen her look so sexy.
He almost wanted to lean over and kiss her right then.
Suddenly there was
a flash of motion in front of them. Emma
shifted with a yelp to the brake pedal, but not quickly enough. There was a sickening thud. The car stopped. Screams erupted. “What’s going on?” yelled Jamie. “Why aren’t we going?”
“I hit something,
you idiot,” hissed Emma. She opened her
door and stepped out. The small bloody
body of a child lay crumpled beneath their front tires. Blood was dripping from his mouth and nose,
and his head was snapped back at a horrible angle. She stood frozen for a second, and then fell
on her knees next to him. The screams of
the neighborhood mothers and grandmothers and cousins were in her ears. She tried to reach under the boy’s broken
head to cradle it, but the minute she felt slippery blood there, she pulled
back, her hands red. The kid’s eyelids
were still flickering, and for a moment his eyes met hers—small, brown, and
uncomprehending. Emma was shaking. She became vaguely aware that Jamie had run
around the car and was trying to lift her to her feet, to shove her back into
her driver’s seat. But the shocked crowd
were screaming at him and slapping at him.
Emma just stared at the gurgling boy.
He was gone, mere seconds after Roth disappeared at the end of the
narrow street.