The Thousand Dollar Escape

by J. T. Brannan

  But as we continued running onto South Cincinnati Avenue, I couldn’t help but hum along to Don’t Fence Me In; it might have been Cole’s least favorite of his songs, but it seemed appropriate given our current situation.

  Sam just looked at me as if I was crazy.

  The sound of more sirens interfered with my musical interlude, and I realized that the alarm call must have gone out, our location radioed across to all units in the vicinity.

  Shit.

  We pulled a sharp right on East Second, passing the Performing Arts Center on our left. I noticed that – even as I was moderating my speed so that Sam could keep up – Kane was just operating at a steady trot, and I felt bad for holding him back. But I reassured myself that he could take off at any time if he wanted to; he just didn’t seem to want to.

  As I heard the noise of sirens and saw flashing lights swinging onto the street ahead of us, I noticed a wide set of concrete steps that ran up between the arts center and a Hyatt Regency.

  ‘There!’ I shouted, and we all raced up the steps together, emerging onto a small park that lay between the two buildings.

  We continued running, dodging in and out of the tourists and business people who were soaking up the sunshine.

  I was impressed by Sam, considering she hadn’t been allowed to go to a gym or have a job; she appeared fit, both fast and with good endurance. But it was amazing what a bit of motivation did to a person, the effects of adrenaline on the human body. If I set Kane running after a coach potato, for instance, they might well be in a state to challenge for the Olympic hundred-meter title before they had any idea what was going on.

  Fear was a useful thing sometimes.

  We spilled out onto East Third, south of the park, and hooked right, opening up our legs as we tried to put some distance between us and the boys in blue.

  I could see the looks on the faces of the people we passed; fear of Kane, surprise at our all-out sprint down the city street and then – on some of those faces, at least – recognition of who we were. Some people looked even more scared, while others appeared to be thinking about doing something. I had been painted as a violent, psychotic kidnapper, after all. But by the time anyone decided to do anything, we were long gone.

  And besides, Kane made one hell of a deterrent.

  A minute or so after turning onto East Third – which might not seem a long time if you’re sitting watching a film in the comfort of your own home, but which seems utterly, totally, stupefyingly longer when you’re sprinting down a hot city street as fast as you can while two police forces and a sheriff’s office are in terrifyingly close pursuit – we saw the intersection with South Cheyenne Avenue opening up ahead of us.

  And then we saw the sheriff’s office cruisers make the turn from Cheyenne onto East Third. Two of them, which reinforced the two Sand Springs PD cars I’d seen closing in on us from the rear, just a block behind.

  ‘There!’ I shouted, and we snaked right to a narrow alley that led behind the last block before the intersection.

  But then I saw two cops on foot at the far end of the alleyway and – to make matters worse – they saw us and instantly drew their pistols.

  Double shit.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, and moved away from the alley and a few steps further up the block toward the sheriff’s office cruisers, before cutting across the sidewalk and bursting through the narrow glass door of The Sushi Place.

  It was a neat little restaurant, black tables with white table cloths, and every one of them filled by customers.

  I instantly started to make tracks toward the rear, looking for another way out, but this time we were recognized immediately.

  ‘Holy shit!’ said a young, bearded hipster near the window. ‘It’s them! The guys off TV!’

  That started various mutterings around the restaurant, and I was sure I heard the word ‘reward’ mentioned more than once.

  I also noticed a table for six in the corner, filled out completely with bodybuilder types, at least two hundred and fifty pounds apiece. And despite the sushi, they looked hungry.

  Triple shit.

  I was going to have to make hard decisions here. We had to get through this restaurant, and it looked like some of these people – already moving up from their chairs – were going to give us problems. The trouble was, they were completely innocent; indeed, given what the news had said about me, their intentions might well have been admirable. Could I really justify physically assaulting them?

  I did a quick calculation – there were six bodybuilders, plus about four more that looked as if they might cause me some problems. That would be ten damaged and battered people on my conscience.

  But what would happen if we gave ourselves up? I would be looking at jail time, if they didn’t ‘accidentally’ kill me first. And Sam would be facing a lifetime of being battered and damaged; and that was if Don didn’t follow through in his promise to insert his pistol where the sun didn’t shine and pull the trigger.

  As the first man stood up to stop me getting through the restaurant, my decision was already made.

  Fuck it.

  ‘Hey,’ the man next to me said as he stood, ‘where the fuck do you think you’re goin’, pal?’

  He was heavyset, middle-aged, and for some reason or other I had him pegged as a trucker, and from the nose, maybe even an ex-boxer.

  I never even slowed down, just took a short flying leap at the guy and Superman-punched him into the middle of next week.

  At the same time – or maybe even before, though I’d never admit it – Kane took out the man next to him, latching onto a leg and dragging him down screaming.

  I stepped over the bodies of the two men just as the first gym queen reached me, and I slammed a side kick into his chest, knocking him flying back into his pals, who were queuing up behind him, confined by the tables and chairs.

  I noticed other people trying to get to Sam, to get her to what they presumed was safety, but then Kane left the guy on the floor and went to protect her, barking and snarling at anyone who tried to get close to her.

  I could have pulled the pistol out of my waistband of course; but if I pulled it, I might just have been tempted to use it, and lethal force was out of the question in this situation.

  I watched as Sam headed toward the kitchens at the rear of the café, guarded all the while by a hundred and ninety pounds of slavering Alsatian-Mastiff.

  She’d be safe enough, I figured.

  The big boys – except for the one I’d kicked, who was on the ground nursing a broken sternum – had regrouped themselves and were making their approach, moving across the room as other customers cleared the way for them.

  I didn’t think waiting for them would be a good idea.

  My hand went down to a plate of sushi on the table next to be, and whipped it up into the first man’s face; and while he instinctively covered his eyes, I booted him hard in the balls. And as he dropped, my hand went to his lowered shoulder, using a push-off to help me jump up onto the next table in line, which gave me a perfect angle toward the next threat. From my elevated position I kicked out again, this time catching the third weight-lifting monster right in the face.

  While he dropped with the others, I hurled myself off the table-top, taking the fourth guy down to the ground, finishing him off with an elbow to the head. I was just priming myself for an upward kick to the fifth man’s groin when I noticed movement to the other side, and barely got my hands across my head in time to protect it from the chair that was crashing down toward me.

  I changed the angle of my kick and lashed out into the legs of the new attacker, one of the other keen-looking men I’d spotted earlier who’d obviously waited to make his move.

  The kick made him stagger backward into another one of the tables, and I turned my attention back to the fifth bodybuilder, pulling his legs out from under him even as he launched a big fist down onto me. The punch missed, and he ended up on his back; and then my attention switched to the guy who
’d hit me with the chair, rolling across the floor to him and lashing out with a scything silat-style kick to his head that took him out of the picture entirely.

  I grabbed the chair as I regained my feet, swinging it up over my head and bringing it crashing back down on the fifth bodybuilder, knocking him unconscious as it connected cleanly with his shaven skull.

  I glanced over to Sam, but she was doing okay, back to the lunch counter while Kane kept everyone else at bay.

  I felt a shocking pain race through my head then, as the last gym queen sucker-punched me right in the temple. The weight of the guy behind it, plus the decent targeting, meant I was seeing stars and more besides.

  But I didn’t go down.

  Instead I went for the guy, grabbing him up close, keeping tight to him so that he couldn’t hit me again while I tried to clear my head and lose the stars. I felt a space open up and instinctively unleashed a head-butt into his face; it hurt like hell and did nothing to get rid of the stars, but it disorientated the big guy, and I capitalized on this by raising my right knee sharply up into his balls, then grabbing a bowl of noodles and smashing it over his head.

  He was dazed but still not out, and so I bent down, grabbed the table next to us by its legs, and ripped it up off the floor, the top edge catching him under the jaw.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as he hit the ground; it was finally goodnight for bodybuilder number six.

  It seemed like the fight had taken forever, but I knew from experience that it was probably no more than a minute or two; yet that was still time enough for John Q. Law to get their act organized outside, and so I immediately made for the kitchens, taking a very shaken and frightened Sam with me as I went.

  I could see that the do-gooder customers who’d been held at bay by Kane were disappointed that they’d not managed to rescue Mrs. Samantha Carson, but were sure as hell glad to have that big dog out of their lives.

  We pushed past the bewildered kitchen staff, heading for a service corridor and what looked like a fire exit at the far end.

  The way I saw it, we were either going to be in the clear on the other side, or else we were going to be facing a couple of dozen armed police officers.

  And as we reached the door, I knew there was only one way to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  We burst out of the fire exit, into a small staff parking area for the sushi bar and the neighboring Italian restaurant, Ti Amo.

  There weren’t any cops at least, but there was a problem – we were hemmed in by buildings on three sides, and a six-foot-high fence with a locked gate on the fourth.

  ‘Can you make it?’ I asked Sam, as I gestured at the gate.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’ she answered, and I took her reply as a good sign – she was beginning to learn what it takes to survive.

  Sam took a run at the gate and leapt up, grabbing the top and hauling herself up it. She might not have needed the help, but I gave her a quick leg-up just to make sure. She dropped cleanly down on the other side, but that was where the good news ended.

  No sooner had she touched down on the sidewalk of South Cheyenne, than a Tulsa PD cruiser pulled up alongside her.

  I bounded over the fence in one smooth movement to protect her, but Kane was even faster, clearing it with one powerful jump; and by the time I’d landed, he’d already bitten into the forearm of the first cop out of the car, stopping him half-way to drawing his weapon.

  And by the time I’d passed Sam and reached the car, noting the other vehicles closing in on us down Cheyenne, Kane had jumped inside the cabin and chased the second cop right out the other side.

  Damn, he was a good boy.

  ‘Get in,’ I told Sam, and she jumped in the back while Kane settled into the front passenger seat and I slipped into the driver’s side, turned the key and gunned the engine.

  I watched the cars headed toward us from both sides, reached across Kane and closed the passenger side door that the second cop had escaped out of, and floored the accelerator.

  ‘Cheers buddy,’ I said to Kane, really meaning it, as the engine revved hard and we pulled off the line fast, headed on a collision course south on Cheyenne with two cars from the Tulsa County Sheriff’s Office coming in the other direction.

  We were in a game of chicken, but the deputies’ motivation didn’t run to suicide missions, and they swung wide long before I would have; but there were more vehicles behind me, and I waited until the last moment and then pulled a sharp, stomach-churning and tire-shredding turn onto West Third Street, the huge and impressive glass and steel façade of the BOK Center raising up to my right.

  I looked in my rear-view, watching in satisfaction as the trailing cars failed to make the turn, shooting straight past the turn-off. They’d be able to recover, but it gave me a lead.

  But I was too confident, too soon, and I groaned inwardly as I spotted the tire-shredders the cops had laid across the road ahead.

  Smart-assed bastards.

  I jammed on the brakes, but it was too little, too late, and our car ran right over the street-wide strip of metal spikes that the cops had placed there, tires exploding underneath us, rims hitting the tarmac and gripping with the revs I was giving the engine but unable to control our direction well enough, and we suddenly hit into a violent spin, our cruiser whipping around until it finally came to a shuddering stop right on the tree-lined grassy bank that led up toward the famous atrium of the BOK Center.

  The impact and the spin had brought the stars right back, but I knew there was no time to feel sorry for myself; and so instead I grabbed the shotgun from the holster in between the front seats, kicked open the driver’s side door, and came out shooting.

  I spotted six vehicles nearby, all with armed police behind them, and another four approaching from the east, the remnants of our earlier pursuit. I fired a couple of shots into the first two vehicles, keeping the cops pinned down while I shouted instructions to Sam. ‘Get out!’ I told her. ‘Head for the center!’

  I blasted out a couple more shots, and still the cops didn’t fire back. I presumed they didn’t want to risk hitting Sam, and I was grateful for the fact. My own shots were aimed at the cars’ hoods, but they served to keep the cops’ heads down.

  I watched as Sam raced off for the BOK atrium with Kane, loosed off another couple of shots, dropped the empty shotgun, then turned on my heel and ran.

  I could feel the earth around me getting chewed up by gunfire – obviously the ‘to be taken alive’ order only applied to Sam – but I knew that they only had pistols, shotguns at best, and they were far from accurate weapons at long range.

  Still, lucky shots weren’t unheard of, and my legs pumped harder than they had in a long time as I chased Sam and Kane up the path toward the entrance to the BOK Center.

  And perversely I couldn’t help but wonder, through the gunfire, what was on.

  As we raced up the long ramp-way and under the huge glass awning that hung over the curving atrium entrance, I had the terrible feeling that we were hemming ourselves in.

  The huge building would provide cover for now, but would we be trapped here? Or would we be able to find another way out, before the cops had the place surrounded?

  The curved ramp-way folded round into the interior of the building itself, as it opened up into a huge double-height atrium. There were plenty of people hanging around, booking tickets or just admiring the architecture, but no queues for a performance. Ricci had told me that they had everything here from ice hockey to Justin Bieber concerts. Either there was nothing on right now, or else it had already started and the crowds were inside the main arena. But as it was only mid-morning, I assumed that nothing was on.

  We were already getting noticed by people, and I wasn’t surprised – it probably wasn’t every day that a man, a woman and a huge dog came running at full tilt into the grand foyer of the BOK Center while a chorus of police sirens sounded off right outside.

  Three security guards took note of us then and st
arted to move in on us, signaling to each other on their handheld radios.

  I heard shouting behind us and knew the police were following us in; and then I saw a couple of officers running in from the opposite end.

  Time was running out for us, and I drew the pistol out of my waistband before I even knew what I was doing, waving it around as conspicuously and obviously as I could. People were already pointing and screaming, and then I fired a shot at the ceiling high above us, the supersonic crack causing mass panic to break out.

  Everyone in the atrium started to instinctively make a run for the exits, right toward the cops who started to struggle to fight their way through the wild crowds.

  With the cops distracted, if only for a minute or two, I pulled Sam along with me, Kane right by my heel, dashing underneath the balcony of the mezzanine level toward one of the entrances to the main arena.

  A pair of security guards were posted at the doors, looking fairly bewildered by the chaos in the atrium beyond; but those looks changed to fear when I pointed the gun at them, and they turned and fled, leaving the doors free.

  I kicked them open, passing metal detectors on each side, and together we raced down the corridor that led between two corner banks of seating.

  When we hit the arena floor itself, we were confronted by a sight that could only be described as surreal, making me feel like Alice after slipping through the looking glass.

  There was light, happy music playing, and the sound of children laughing – and then the sight of Big Bird, Oscar the Grouch, the Cookie Monster and Elmo, all on a specially constructed stage that took up the nearest quarter of the auditorium floor.