On The Run

He awoke, crossed the floor and looked down into the street. They were still there. They’d been there all night watching and waiting from the blue sedan. They knew he would make a move some time and when he did, they were ready. He was on the run.

Nobody ever turned over big Tony and got away with it, yet here he was, holed up in a two-bit hotel room on West 51st sitting on a million dollars. Tony Capello's million dollars. He couldn't stay much longer. Time was running out. He knew it and they knew it.

Harry Dent was a Chicago cop; a detective first class and for thirty hard years of service his reward had been acrimonious divorce and a mountain of debt. He deserved more. He’d kept the streets clean, well as clean as you could expect in a cesspit and he was determined to retire with more than a police pension. And even more determined to stay alive.

It had been almost too easy, hitting Tony's courier on his way to the drug deal. Locking him up on suspicion and signing the briefcase full of dough into the secure evidence room. Well…some of it.

Down on 51st, Capello's men had the joint surrounded. Big Tony had given his old adversary twenty four hours to produce the dough or face the music....music you listen to in concrete galoshes at the bottom of Lake Michigan. Harry had never worn galoshes, even in the notorious Chicago winter storms and didn't intend to start now.

Checking his .38 revolver, he snatched up the case full of dough and made his move. Taking the service lift down to the basement he collected his battered Ford Galaxy from the rear parking lot and bounced out into the street; foot to the floor. Running was what they expected and he didn’t disappoint. He knew he would be spotted, but at least it gave him the head start he needed. The blue sedan gave chase, but was never able to get within a couple of hundred yards. They gunned it down West 51st, weaving in and out of traffic and forcing on-comers over as they battered their way Eastwards towards the Lake. So far so good. A couple of hundred yards should just be enough.

Through the underpass by the Pepsi plant they hit the ton, which was everything the Galaxy had. Over the Expressway and past the Washington Monument,  the desperate chase finally led through the iron gates of Washington Park. Innocent strollers scattered in disbelief as the madness continued at suicide tempo. The time was close now for Harry to make his move. He checked his rear view and they were still far enough behind. His life and his future depended on the next few seconds. The sharp right hand bend just before the steep fall into the lake loomed into view and Harry released the driver's door catch in readiness. Now, whilst out of sight for vital seconds he flicked on the cruise control, slowed to survivable speed and bailed out into the bushes with the case handcuffed to his wrist. The Galaxy hurtled forwards,

crashing through the fencing and smacking nose first into Lake Michigan.

As if by divine providence, the blue sedan arrived just in time for Tony’s boys to witness the Galaxy's rear end disappearing into the murky depths. They stayed just long enough to make sure Harry didn't surface,  then took off when the cops arrived. Big Tony wouldn't see the cop or his money again, but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Harry Dent had got what he deserved.

*An Easter attempt at something a little different. An IP tribute to the great Mickey Spillane.