The Partnership

by Dustin Stevens

  For his part, he was currently holding a loaded gun and carrying two bound girls, both illegal immigrants, both underage.

  There was no way this was going to end well.

  The only question remaining was how bad it would get.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  To Reed’s surprise, Grimes wanted to come along. Leaving the interior of Jade to Ward and his men, they had both piled into the sedan, the captain working the radio as Reed peeled away from Jade, Billie pacing in the back.

  With lights and siren both blazing, they swung out wide behind the SWAT vans still lining the street and headed north, Greene and Gilchrist right behind them.

  Discarding his usual phone for the radio mounted to the dash, Grimes turned the volume up loud enough for them both to hear over the sound of the siren wailing above.

  Coming in in warbled bursts punctuated by static, a bevy of voices could be heard, all just short of shouting, their tones and voices only managing to raise the emotion bottled inside the sedan.

  “Suspect is headed north...”

  “Have a visual on brown Chevy Caprice, license plate number...”

  “In pursuit. Suspect appears to be increasing speed, no indication of slowing...”

  With each passing snippet that drifted in over the line, Reed pushed harder on the gas, the speedometer climbing to more than fifty miles an hour on North High. Straining for any small tidbit of information, he watched as street names flew by overhead, many of them beginning to ring familiar.

  “You don’t think...” he whispered, his barely audible voice pulling Billie forward between the front seats, drawing Grimes’s attention his direction. Letting the thought drift away, he pointed to the radio and said, “Get Greene and Gilchrist up on the line.”

  For just the briefest of instants Grimes stared at him, his mouth barely parting, before snapping shut. Reaching out, he switched the channel, calling on the second cruiser.

  “Gilchrist. Go ahead.”

  Passing the microphone across his body, Grimes handed it over, Reed accepting it and pressing the button on the side, lifting it to his lips.

  “The other night,” Reed said, “when Slade dumped Bethanee Ing in the river, what bridge was he on?”

  A moment of fuzz passed over the line, presumably as the officer consulted his partner.

  “Broad Meadows,” Gilchrist replied. “Little bitty one, pretty far up on the river.”

  Nodding, Reed glanced to Grimes. “I know that place, there’s a park there Riley and I used to fish in.”

  More than once the two had stopped by after work, the small lake well stocked with trout, a decent enough oasis in the city for them to shed the stress of the day before heading home at night.

  Pushing the thoughts from mind, Reed superimposed the information into his internal map of Columbus, his familiarity with the city almost intimate after years of working the beat, and later as a detective.

  Glancing over to Grimes, he said, “I’ve got an idea.”

  Meeting his gaze, the captain said simply, “Do it.”

  Shifting his attention back to the road, Reed dropped his turn signal, swinging hard to the left, Billie and Grimes both bracing as he changed directions. For an instant it felt as if they were rising up onto an edge, the tires moaning slightly in the protest, before swinging back in the opposite direction, the car leveling out as he punched the gas, surging on to the west.

  Behind him, Greene did the same, Reed watching as the cruiser fishtailed slightly before evening out, headlights bouncing across the rearview mirror.

  “Okay,” Reed said, not bothering to raise the microphone back to his lips, speaking in a low and even cadence behind the wheel, “it sounds like they’ve got enough people tailing him. We’re going to take a chance here and try to get out in front of him.

  “Stay with me now, we’re going to be moving fast.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  With the clock now well into the wee hours of night, Reed didn’t need to worry about traffic slowing him down. Putting the middle stripe of the street between his tires, he kept the siren blaring and the lights flashing as he pushed for a half mile west before turning north again.

  Without consulting the GPS on the dash, he drove the route from memory, waiting until the road narrowed from four lanes down to two before switching off the lights and siren. Slowing his pace just slightly, he continued heading north, the streets shifting from a dense urban center into something closer to suburban.

  Mini-marts and dry cleaners lined the streets on either side, small strip malls and shopping centers replacing towering buildings and corporate offices. Parking spots were visible in front of each of them, pockets of grass becoming visible.

  “What are you thinking?” Grimes asked, his right arm braced against the window, his hand wrapped around the plastic handle above it.

  “I think he’s on the run, so he’s going to do what every person does when they’re cornered.”

  “Go with what they know,” Grimes said.

  “Go with what they know,” Reed echoed. “He’s already been here, knows that the road narrows, that once he gets across that bridge things bottleneck up.”

  “So if he can make it there, he might be able to shed the crowd behind him,” Grimes said.

  “Right,” Reed agreed, “or at least get somewhere that he can ditch the car and try to disappear on foot.”

  There was no way a Chevy Caprice, no matter how well preserved, could ever outrun the newer model cruisers. Slade would have to know that, meaning he would need to rely on guile and misdirection to get free.

  Unlike Wu, nothing in the man’s file seemed to indicate that he would even consider willingly handing himself in. The man had a criminal record, had a history of putting himself into – and occasionally get out of – bad situations.

  This was for sure one of those, but it likely wouldn’t frighten him into doing something rash. He would know to get off of High Street, to use what he had at his disposal to aid in his disappearance.

  There was no way to know for certain that he would head for the bridge, but if Reed were in his position, that is where he would head.

  It was the only thing that even presented him a viable option of getting away.

  On either side, the businesses thinned down even more, receding from strips to freestanding structures, small bank branches and a few diners. Many of them were heavily decorated for the season, with bright lights and miniature statues of Santa and his reindeer, the festive arrangements providing a harsh contrast to what was taking place on the roadway beside them.

  “What’s on the dial?” Reed asked, motioning to the radio.

  Raising his left hand, Grimes switched it back to the previous channel, the sounds of pursuit again flooding into the car.

  “Suspect is now headed west...”

  “Roadway has narrowed considerably, dropping back...”

  Nodding slightly, Reed pushed on further north, all vestiges of commerce falling away, open space extending out to the either side.

  They had reached the park.

  Now, all they had to do was block the bridge and wait for Slade to come to them.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Pushing for the bridge was a longshot, a last gasp effort for a man that knew he had precious few options remaining, but The Muscle didn’t have a choice.

  The Caprice was a classic, but its usefulness in a car chase was suspect at best, the model and color too distinctive, the engine too loud, the horsepower too low.

  The machine was best suited for cruising along the Baltimore wharfs, allowing him to be seen, enabling him to stare down anybody that might need a little encouragement. It was never designed to be outrunning the police on the wide open boulevards of Columbus.

  Knowing that, feeling the pressure converge on him from every side, The Muscle headed toward the only place he knew well enough to have a chance at, the spot where the week had started, where all the trouble for them had really begu
n.

  Gunning the engine as hard as he could, his foot smashed down to the floorboard, he needed to put a little distance between he and the cops pursuing him. Only then would he be able to use the narrow confines and twisting streets surrounding the bridge and the park, the extra space enabling him to get away.

  Whether or not that included the car or the girls, he was now past the point of caring, knowing only that he had done too much, that the thought of returning to prison for an extended period of time, of the nest egg he’d established being raided by The Businessman and his ilk, was unacceptable.

  The twin red needles of the odometer and speedometer both crept dangerously high as The Muscle made his way across town, the streets familiar, the sights on either side of him taking him back just a few nights before.

  If he had it do over again, there would be changes made for sure, but the end result would have likely been the same. At some point, the enterprise they were running was bound to draw attention, especially in a place as homogenous as the Midwest.

  It was only a matter of when.

  Knowing that, The Muscle drove hard for the park, catching a glimpse of the Olentangy River out his side window, seeing the same orange lights dancing off the water, the occasional flare of color from Christmas decorations mixed in.

  The enormous engine, a throwback to old-school Detroit muscle, let out a mighty groan as he shoved the accelerator the last inch toward the floorboard, seeing the gap between him and the lead pursuer grow a bit larger.

  One corner of his mouth twisted up, for the first time since seeing the cruiser behind him thinking that maybe there was a way he could get out the other side.

  It would be messy, it would require him parting ways with his beloved ride, but there would be other cars.

  Just like everything in the house he’d just left, the key was always to have nothing that couldn’t be discarded at a moment’s notice.

  Sitting up high behind the wheel, his shoulders hunched, a glowering mass of humanity crammed into the front seat, The Muscle swung a final turn and headed onto the same bridge he’d used days before. Passing under the overhead light on the east end, his eyes went wide as he stared across, his mind fumbling to grasp what he was staring at.

  “No,” he muttered, “no no no,” his voice rising with each word until he was screaming the last syllable out.

  Smashing his hand down into the top of the wheel, the thought of continuing on, ramming through the pair of cars blocking the far side came to mind, the grotesqueness of the image almost beautiful as it flitted across The Muscle mind.

  Just as fast he switched his attention to the rearview mirror, seeing the flashing lights of cruisers less than a block behind.

  There was no way he could force his way past the cars before him, not and slide by unscathed, his car taking a pounding, he too running the risk of encountering the handful of officers that were bound to be stowed behind them.

  No part of him wanted to admit the obvious, but his choices were dangerously low.

  It was time to exploit the only advantage that still remained.

  Lifting his foot from the gas, he jammed his boot down on the brake, the tires squealing across the frozen pavement of the bridge, an angry wail of rubber sliding over asphalt ringing out for all to hear.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Seeing the low-slung headlights of the Chevy come into view, Reed couldn’t help but feel palpitations run the length of his core. There was no way of knowing how desperate Draymont Slade was, how far he might be willing to take things, if he would make a serious move on trying to fight his way through the barricade set up on the west end of the bridge.

  In a perfect world, the blockade would have featured a half dozen cars or more arranged in two parallel lines, making it almost impossible for anything short of a tank to make it through.

  Given what they had though, the pair of them was all they could work with, the bodies of them enough to cover the street itself with nominal overlap of the front ends, the raised sidewalk on either side making a move to the edge unlikely.

  With Billie by his side, Reed was positioned on the south end of the alignment, Greene on the far opposite side, Grimes and Gilchrist in the middle. Each positioned over a hood or trunk of the car, using the vehicle’s natural designs to provide a solid firing position, they stood with arms extended, weapons ready.

  In the distance, the sound of sirens wailing could be heard, a dome of flashing light rising above the street, moving slowly in their direction.

  Watching it come closer, Reed held his breath, waiting, bracing himself, as the Caprice burst into view.

  “Be ready to sprint for the side,” he heard Grimes say, the captain speaking to Gilchrist, the young man offering no audible response.

  Inching his feet in closer should he need to do the same, Reed glanced down to Billie, knowing that of everybody present, she was the one most likely to get out of the way.

  Stretched across the breadth of the roadway, there was no further discussion as the car tore forward, the sound of the big engine carrying through the cold air before it was replaced by the squeal of brakes locking up tight.

  Rippling out into the night, the sound was shrill and loud, the backend of the car twisting out to the side, a plume of smoke rising around it.

  A moment later, the sharp bite of burnt rubber drifted down as well, the scent strong, eliciting a small whine from Billie, nobody else making a sound.

  On the far end of the bridge, the platoon of cruisers that had been following Slade appeared, their overhead lights transitioning from a faint glow to sharp strobes, painting the bridge in multi-colored stripes.

  Offsetting them was the harsh whine of the sirens, more than ten in total.

  Avoiding staring in their direction, trying to shield his vision from the effects of looking at the bright glare, Reed instead fixed his gaze on the car before him, hearing doors open on the far side of the bridge, officers climbing out and assuming the same position he was now in.

  It was in that manner that both sides remained, holding their breath, watching as the car sat silent and brooding, wisps of exhaust rising from the back end the only indication that anybody was inside.

  Feeling perspiration dot his scalp, the cold air picking at it, Reed’s heart rate hammered through his temples as he watched the driver’s side door shift open, just an inch at first, before pushing itself out wide.

  “Draymont Slade!” he yelled, knowing there was no way it would be heard over the sirens on the far ending, but needing to do so just the same. “Step out of the car with your hands up!”

  Again there was no visual response, several moments passing, before a single boot appeared beneath the open door, a second one following right after.

  Remaining there, Reed focused his full attention on the man, knowing that once Slade stepped out it would be his job to approach, to take the man into custody.

  To cover more than eighty feet of open street, completely exposed.

  Continuing to stare at the feet planted on the asphalt, Reed waited for the man to emerge, expecting him to see the situation for what it was, to step out with his hands raised.

  Instead, Slade did the very last thing on earth Reed expected him to.

  In one quick flash, the enormous man was out of the car and across the pavement, retracing his steps from four nights earlier. With just three long strides he was across the street and up onto the sidewalk, charging hard for the edge of the bridge.

  “We’ve got a jumper!” Grimes yelled, his voice falling into the distance as Reed sprinted from the backside of the car, seeing something that his captain couldn’t.

  Draymont Slade had no intention of going over the edge of the bridge.

  He was tossing out another victim.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  If he had any more time, The Muscle would have grabbed both the girls. He would have tucked one under each arm, just as he did while leaving the house, and chucked them both toward the
water. Twisting to either side, he would have sent them toppling end over end into the Olentangy, letting them struggle against their bindings, if they could even swim.

  There were enough cops positioned on either end that he wouldn’t have drawn them all away, but enough to have at least given himself a puncher’s chance at making a run for it.

  Otherwise, he was completely out of options, left sitting stone still in the middle of the bridge, a weapon with the serial number filed off and two young hostages tied up in the back.

  No way he could allow that to happen, a trip back to prison certain, this time for a life sentence under the damn Three Strike rule.

  Knowing there was no way he could possibly get both girls out, not with each end of the bridge already plugged, The Muscle instead settled on one.

  Which one didn’t matter, the two just more of the same nameless, faceless hordes he’d been dealing with since accepting the position.

  What mattered was that whichever one he chose was seen, providing just the bit of a start he needed.

  Knowing that there was no way he could climb out and open the rear door, The Muscle worked with what he had, instead opening the front door and turning to the side. Cold air swirled in, clutching his body, as he reclined across the seat, reaching through the opening between the two front chairs, grabbing at the one closest to him.

  No more than a hundred pounds in total, the adrenaline surging through him more than enough to heft her tiny body, The Muscle jerked her forward, ignoring the fearful call of the girl as he did so, easily pulling her free of the other one trying to hold on tight.

  Sliding her body forward onto his lap, he folded her shoulders and knees down tight, hooking a hand behind each, collecting one last breath before making his move.

  There was no audible sound from him as he surged forward, no warning to the girl about what was to occur. One moment they were sitting flat on the front seat, the next they were tearing across the short distance between the car and the edge of the bridge.