by Mark Nolan
“Those must be run-flat tires,” Jake said as he took off running toward the Jeep with Cody by his side. “I’m sure I put a round into one, point blank.”
Jake pressed the button on his car remote which started up the Jeep’s engine.
“Maybe you missed point blank,” Terrell said as he ran beside Jake.
“Well you had the driver, and he’s still driving.”
“My SIG would have got him, but this junk pistol is worthless.”
“Sure, blame it on the equipment.”
“It’s made by the lowest bidder, oh wait that’s in the military.”
They all climbed into the Jeep and drove after the escaping car. Terrell leaned out the passenger window with his pistol in hand, ready to fire at the escaping vehicle. Jake drove the Jeep like he stole it, trying to catch up with the Dodge.
As the Jeep’s HEMI engine roared and they gained on the car ahead, Jake pressed a button and opened the moon roof in the vehicle’s ceiling.
“Turret gunner time,” Jake said.
Terrell grunted and stood up on his seat with his upper body out of the moon roof. The wind blew in his eyes as he fired a round at the car ahead and missed. He yelled at Jake, “Give me your pistol; this piece of junk can’t hit a thing.”
Jake was taking a corner, and he said, “Wait a second, I’ve got both hands on the wheel.”
Jake’s pistol was tucked in between the driver’s seat and the center console, but Terrell gave Jake an impatient look and then he sat back down and rustled through the glove box in front of his knees. He saw a Smith & Wesson Model 500 Magnum, a .50 caliber revolver with a long barrel. It was the largest and most powerful production-made, double-action revolver in the world. And highly illegal to own in the state of California.
“Ha, I knew you’d have an extra weapon in here, and this thing is psycho,” Terrell said, and he grabbed the pistol and stood back up in the moon roof.
“No, no, no,” Jake said as Terrell leaned out through the moon roof again. “Stop Terrell, those are exploding rounds!”
Just as Jake yelled, Terrell pulled the trigger, and there was a flash of bright light as the trunk of the car in front of them exploded in a ball of flames. The trunk lid blew completely off of the car and flew through the air like a flying disk—right at their heads.
Jake yelled, “Get down!”
Cody and Terrell both ducked and Jake swerved the Jeep to the right, running up on the sidewalk and mowing down a parking meter while just barely missing a fire hydrant. The flying trunk lid shot past them, sizzling hot and leaving a smoke trail. It smashed into a Volkswagen, ripping the top off the car like a can opener and making it into a convertible. Jake drove on the sidewalk and then wrestled the Jeep back into the street through a gap between parked cars.
After the fleeing car’s trunk had exploded, hundreds of green pieces of paper came flying out of the trunk like confetti, and some were on fire. Terrell sat down next to Jake in surprise as they drove through the green cloud and he said, “Is it my imagination, or is that a whole lot of money?”
“Looks like major cashola, mister asshola,” Jake said. “Let’s stop and pick it all up so you can hire a good lawyer for shooting that illegal ammunition.”
“You could have said something sooner fool,” Terrell said.
“I tried to, but you’re just a trigger happy police mofo,” Jake said.
Terrell growled something unintelligible and Jake thought that the man just had no sense of humor when it came to stupid things he had to deal with through no fault of his own. Some hundred dollar bills blew in through the Jeep’s open windows and moon-roof. Jake grabbed one of the bills and stuffed it into Terrell’s shirt pocket.
“You’re buying beers later,” Jake said.
“Ooh-Rah,” Terrell said.
“And shouldn’t you call this in, to the police HQ, and follow proper protocol or whatever?” Jake said.
“I’ll call HQ in just a minute,” Terrell said.
Jake glanced over and saw the look of anger and violence on his friend’s face. He’d seen that look several times before in bloody lands far from home. He knew there was no point in trying to talk logically to his buddy right now.
Up ahead of them, the fugitive took some more wild shots at the Jeep and Terrell said, “I’m really starting to hate this guy.”
“Time for plan B or what?” Jake said.
“That was Plan B… It's time for Plan F,” Terrell said.
“What is Plan F?” Jake said.
“Go F-ing crazy,” Terrell said in his combat voice. “I’m going to blow him away with these exploding rounds.”
Jake knew that voice well, and he said, “Get down Cody, trigger happy Terrell is going ballistic.”
Cody barked once and hunkered down in the foot well behind the passenger seat where he could still see Jake. Cody kept his trained eyes on his Alpha, watching him closely and waiting for orders.
Cody was glad to be back in action with his Marine brothers. The smell of gunpowder made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He showed his teeth and let out a deep growl. Cody wanted to sink his teeth into a terrorist, any terrorist, just point him in the right direction and he would do his job.
Terrell stood up in the moon roof again and fired at the car ahead. The driver of the fleeing car was now doing evasive maneuvers, after the surprise of the exploding trunk lid. Despite the fact that Terrell was drunk and high, and both vehicles were jockeying for position, some of his shots actually hit pretty close to the intended target.
The first shot missed, and blew a parked Vespa motor scooter into the air in a fiery explosion that sent sizzling scooter parts flying off in all directions. Another shot went high, flew past the car ahead and hit the window of a wholesale piano store. It made a deafening sound as the huge window shattered and a concert piano exploded, seeming to hit all of its keys at once, very hard. The resulting piano and percussion crescendo was enough to make Beethoven turn over in his grave.
“Shoot him when he turns,” Jake said, as he wrestled with the steering wheel. “You’re wasting my boom-bullets, and you only have two left of the five. Get him broadside.”
The car up ahead had turned a few times, but Terrell had been trying to line up a shot on the back of the driver’s head when he was going straight, hoping to blow his brains out. Terrell bit down on his anger and kept his aim steady. And when the car ahead of them took a wild fishtailing turn to the right he was ready for it.
Jake yelled, “Brakes!” And he stomped on the brakes, trying to make the turn. That caused Terrell to lurch forward and slam hard against the roof, which knocked the air out of him. But he held tight to his pistol and kept his footing. He just grunted and used the pain to help him steady his aim. That’s what made Terrell such a good shot. The power of focus. He felt the wind on his face making his eyes water. And he wished he was wearing his shooting glasses as he lined up a shot aimed at the car’s front passenger door.
When the car ahead of them turned, Terrell fired twice, and the last two rounds hit the passenger door of the fleeing vehicle, directly in the center panel below the window.
The Jeep skidded sideways as Jake tried to make the sharp turn while going too fast. At that moment, he saw the car ahead of them implode in a cloud of fire and shattered glass, like a spectacular fireworks display.
The two exploding rounds caused the passenger door to be rammed inward, and all of the windows in the car to burst outward in a cloud of glass splinters. The car itself went up on the two left wheels and scraped against a row of delivery vans parked along the street, trailing sparks as it continued racing forward, out of control and on fire.
The side of Jake’s vehicle slammed against a parked car and then sideswiped several more as he fought to keep the SUV upright during the turn.
The Dodge came to a crashing stop when it ran into a parked box truck. The Dodge’s front airbag deployed, and moments later the driver got out, staggering on his feet
, blood dripping from his nose and right ear. A chorus of car alarms started going off all along the street.
“Yes, I owned him!” Terrell yelled. “Who’s the man?”
“Get some, you magnificent bastard,” Jake said.
Zhukov ducked down out of sight behind the smoking wreck of his car, and he took a small backpack out from under the driver’s seat. He unzipped the backpack and then stood up and began throwing hand grenades in the path of the oncoming Jeep. Several grenades, one after another.
“Grenades out!” Terrell said.
“Going bootleg, hang on,” Jake said.
Jake slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop, put the Jeep in reverse and punched the gas as he gave his best effort at doing a J-turn in the tight area he had to work with. The wheels were smoking and hopping, and the Jeep’s rear end fishtailed to the left as the front end lurched to the right.
Terrell just hung on for dear life while Jake had one foot on the brake and one on the gas as he cranked the steering wheel. This situation was reminding Terrell of military combat where everything was always going ass-backwards and FUBAR, but you had to win anyway.
Jake could tell they were not going to be able to spin completely around and reverse course, so he steered and drifted sideways toward an alley between two closed businesses. It didn’t look like the Jeep could fit in the gap between buildings, or straighten out in time to even try. But Jake let off the brake, shifted from reverse into drive and pinned the gas to the floor as he purposely sideswiped a parked car to help direct his drifting.
The Jeep shuddered, burned rubber, bounced off the impact and almost flipped on its side… but Jake purposely hit another car on the other side and straightened the trajectory in time to thread the needle and drive into the alley.
“Keep your arms inside the ride kids!” Jake said.
Terrell yelled some creative profanity, dropped back into his seat and made sure his right arm was inside the open passenger window as Jake scraped both sides of the Jeep against the brick buildings in the narrow alley.
The grenades behind them began to detonate one after another in the street, and send hot shrapnel tearing into everything within range. Cars got ripped apart, storefronts were destroyed, and windows exploded into clouds of razor sharp glass. One grenade was a flash bang, and when it went off it caused a flash like lightning and a bang like thunder. But it exploded out in the street, and the Jeep was spared the brunt of it in the alley.
“Reminds me of a nice Sunday drive in the MRAP, when we were overseas,” Terrell said. “Too bad your Jeep isn’t Mine-Resistant and Ambush Protected.”
Jake didn’t reply as he focused on racing the Jeep down the alley like a bullet going down the barrel of a gun, ripping off both side mirrors as he went, barely fitting between the buildings as they escaped the grenade shrapnel.
There were two plastic trash cans near the middle of the alley, and Jake crashed right through them sending recycled plastic containers and empty beer cans flying into the air like confetti. A garbage dumpster had been left blocking the alley across the street up ahead, where Jake had been planning to go. They both saw it in their path.
“I’d rather not die tonight Jukebox,” Terrell said.
“Don’t worry, Marines never die, they just go to hell and regroup,” Jake said.
“Stop. The. Car. Now.” Terrell said.
Jake pulled up on the emergency brake lever while stomping down on the brake pedal and deliberately scraping his side of the Jeep against the brick wall to slow it down. Sparks flew off of the side of the Jeep, the tires squealed, and the vehicle came skidding out of the alley.
Jake took a hard left turn onto the street to avoid crashing head-on into the dumpster, and the Jeep drifted as it turned left and slid sideways. The right rear bumper scraped the brick wall and slowed the vehicle some more as Jake continued to pump the brakes.
The Jeep finally came to a stop while it was sliding sideways, but Jake was not able to prevent the right side of the vehicle from slamming up against the metal dumpster. Luckily it wasn’t a life-threatening impact, but the small airbag to the right of Terrell’s head inflated and smacked against his face. Terrell cursed and pulled out the knife he had strapped to his left forearm, then stabbed the airbag and deflated it.
“Stupid airbags,” Terrell said. “Why is there one by the side of my head anyway?”
“Five-star crash safety rating, that’s why,” Jake said, and he hit the gas and drove down the street.
“This situation is really starting to get on my nerves,” Terrell said.
“Cheer up; it will probably just get worse,” Jake said.
The Jeep’s engine roared like a rocket as Jake drove full speed in the direction of the last known location of the shooter.
Terrell stood up again in the moon roof, waved the empty pistol and yelled like a drunken man in a bar fight.
“That’s right fool, don’t mess with the SFPD or I’ll put a nitro cap up your tailpipe.”
Jake said, “Get down fool, you’re out of ammo. We don’t know where this guy is but he’s well-armed and is probably just waiting in ambush to shoot you in the face.”
Terrell was not listening, so Jake punched him hard on the thigh, to get him to focus. “Sober up and stay alive Marine.”
“Pfffffft, that didn’t even hurt. You hit like a punk, but I’ll sit down if it will calm your fragile nerves.”
The real reason Terrell sat back down was because his thigh felt like it had been kicked by a mule. But he didn’t want Jake to know that so he looked out the window to his right and made a pained face for a moment and then turned back.
“Got any more of those exploding bullets?” Terrell said. “Hand them over right now. I’m fresh out, but I’ve still got an itch to scratch with this guy.”
They came upon the scene of destruction and saw the smoldering wreck of the getaway car, but there was no sign of the shooter. Jake thought it was a good thing the streets in this business and warehouse area of town were deserted at this hour of the night.
“No I don’t have any more rounds for that, but take my pistol,” Jake said. He patted his hand at where he’d stashed his pistol, and then he pulled over and stopped the Jeep.
“We lost him,” Terrell said. “But he’s on foot so let’s hunt him down and put a bullet in him.”
“Roger that, I’ll grab my shotgun out of the back, and then Cody can pick up his scent trail.”
Terrell grabbed Jake’s pistol, and Jake got out of the Jeep and opened the back hatch. Jake kept a Remington 870 Wingmaster, 12-gauge pump shotgun there. It was stashed inside a long cardboard box that had a big picture of a leaf blower on the outside. He took the shotgun out of the box and then opened the passenger door to let Cody jump out. Cody quickly picked up the scent trail of the shooter, and the three combat veterans jogged up the street. The men held their weapons pointed in front of them and scanned doorways for motion. Cody followed the scent trail, and the men followed Cody.
Chapter 60
As the trio ran up the street, a Chevy Corvette drove out of a parking space without its headlights on, and came roaring straight at them. An arm reached out of the driver’s window of the car and started firing a submachine gun.
“Take evasive action and return fire,” Terrell said.
“Roger that,” Jake said.
Jake ran along behind a row of parked cars, firing rounds of buckshot over the tops of the vehicles. When he reached the last car, he crouched on one knee and gave commands to Cody to take cover. Cody sat behind the car, while Jake leaned across the hood and fired another blast from his shotgun at the escaping Corvette. Terrell stood across the street, and fired Jake’s pistol.
As the Corvette was heading for a corner and was about to turn out of sight, its back window glass exploded, and its right rear tire blew out. Additional rounds fired by Terrell and Jake riddled the Vette’s trunk as it turned and roared away in the night. The car continued moving fast with
its lights off and with the driver repeatedly ducking low to his right and then popping back up for a quick look ahead.
Jake ran up to the corner, and as he ran he reloaded the shotgun with some hollow point deer slugs from a web ammo holder on the stock. He looked around the corner and saw a street that went into a gated industrial area with lots of delivery trucks parked all around. The gate was a checkpoint, without easy access in or out. One truck up ahead on the inside was backing across the street at an angle so it could park at a dock and be loaded or unloaded. The truck would soon block both lanes, and the escaping Corvette would disappear as the truck cut off the view. Jake knew that a cloud of buckshot would not do here because a stray double-ought pellet could hit a bystander. But the deer slugs would work in this situation. Each of those rounds was a fat slug of lead the size of your thumb, with a hollow core.
Jake rapidly fired and pumped the shotgun again and again. In his last glimpse of the escaping car, Jake saw it drive up onto the sidewalk out of control, bounce off a building and then regain the road. The freight truck then finished backing up and it blocked the view.
“There’s no other way into the gated area from this end,” Terrell said. “Grenade-boy will probably drive to the other end and carjack a delivery van or truck, and then disappear if he hasn’t already.”
“It looks like we might be hosed,” Jake said. “But maybe you could try flashing your badge and telling that truck driver to move his rig so we can get past here and go inside.”
Terrell shoved the pistol into the back waistband of his pants and was reaching into his pocket for his badge when a uniformed security guard came running out the door of a building and pointed his pistol at them.
“Drop that shotgun and put your hands above your head,” the guard said. “And you… take your hand out of your pocket, very slowly.”
“I’m a police officer, lower your weapon,” Terrell said.
“Yeah sure, you cops must have changed the style of your uniforms huh?” The guard said, and he looked at the gang-like undercover clothing Terrell was wearing.
