Chapter 31 #2
Dirty spray fanned behind the pickup like a rooster tail as it chewed its way through the winding neighborhood streets.
Travis cringed when he spotted children playing in their front yards, dangerously near the oncoming pickup.
He laid on his horn, yelling, “Watch out,” though they couldn’t hear him.
Mora blasted ahead, never touching his brakes.
An older child snapped his head up at the horn and the approaching police siren.
He grabbed a smaller one by the pink coat and yanked her toward the porch.
The others bolted for the porches, then turned to watch the chase thunder past.
“That was close,” Samuel said, his voice tight. “One more second …”
Travis released the breath he’d been holding. “Too close.”
Then, as Flash had predicted, Mora whipped a left onto the busier four-lane Navigation Boulevard.
Horns blared, followed by the hollow bang of one car striking another.
As the main street’s traffic slowed, Travis made a careful turn between the cars while Mora pulled away through tracks cut in the gray sludge.
He let the Jeep’s weight settle before feeding in more throttle. Every block pushed Mora nearer to Engine Eight’s trap.
“Let me know when he’s getting close,” Flash said through the connected cellphone lines. “We’ll pull out right ahead of him, so he doesn’t see us until it’s too late to turn off somewhere.”
“Still a number of blocks to go,” Samuel replied. “We’re crossing North York now. Hey, this signal is operating!”
Travis pressed harder, clearing the yellow light, while the blaring patrol car followed him as it turned red.
Adrenaline surged through him as he commanded his Jeep to close the gap.
A patrol car shot into the next intersection, forcing cross traffic to a halt.
Another waited nose-out in a restaurant lot two blocks from the roundabout.
Mora’s pickup continued to weave between crawling vehicles, trying to beat his pursuers to the highway on-ramp.
The suspect ran the next red light, forcing Travis and the police car to do the same, then the traffic lights went dark again.
A sign announcing the traffic circle sprouted from a pile of snow between the street and sidewalk. “OK, two blocks. Almost there.”
“Do it, Flash,” called Bouvier. “Officers have stopped the cross-street traffic. It’s all you.”
The unmistakable wail of Engine Eight announced Flash’s arrival.
The big red engine swung broadside across Navigation Boulevard, sealing the entrance to the roundabout.
Mora must have realized he was about to crash into the broadside of the firetruck.
His tires skittered, shooting up an icy fan as he wrenched the pickup into a U-turn.
His tail end skidded, banging into the red engine.
Mora revved his motor, yet the wheels only churned against the slush.
Travis braked, turned the wheel, and let the Jeep rotate across the opening behind Mora.
He and Samuel jumped out and advanced, each keeping one hand near his sidearm.
With Mora’s truck stopped and law enforcement moving in, Flash shoved open the passenger door and planted one boot on the running board, fully geared and glaring down at the driver.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear the sirens, see the lights?” she railed. “Your truck scratched my beautiful engine. I’ll make sure you get a bill from the HFD.”
Travis would laugh about this later, but right now he had a murder suspect to apprehend. “Isaac Mora, you’re under arrest. Turn off your engine and show me your hands.”
Uniformed police officers surrounded his pickup. Mora stepped out, hands raised as Travis had ordered. He wore a surprised expression, acting completely innocent. “You mean you really are FBI agents?”
“We identified ourselves,” Samuel replied with irritation.
“Anyone can say they’re a cop,” he answered defensively. “Two burly guys with guns show up at my door? I thought you were collecting a gambling debt—maybe there to break my legs. Now that I know you really are agents, I’m happy to come in and answer questions.”
Samuel stepped forward. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
“Sure.” He complied. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”
Travis thought the brilliant janitor looked very ordinary. Then he raised his gaze to Flash, standing in the doorway of Engine Eight, appearing larger than life. He gave her a snappy salute. “Thanks for the assist, and sorry about the scratch.”
She laughed and returned a two-finger salute, Boy Scout style. “Anything for you, Agent Ice.”
Basking in the satisfaction of having caught the suspect, Travis patted him down for weapons and put him into the nearest patrol car. “Please transport Mr. Mora to FBI headquarters.”
“Sure thing,” the officer replied. “That’s what Detective Bach instructed us to do with him.”
“I’ll have an evidence tow take the suspect’s pickup to the HPD vehicle processing bay,” said another officer. The fire engine turned off its lights and eased away.
“You know, I really like car chases better than foot chases,” Samuel commented as they climbed back into the Jeep.
“I just prefer the kind where I’m not being shot at,” Travis quipped.
“So, Mora is in custody?” Bouvier asked. He’d forgotten she was still on the line.
“Yes, ma’am,” Travis replied. “Lieutenant Cash was a big help. HPD is bringing him to you now.”
“Good work, Agents Ice and Hernandez. Now get back here.”
Pride swelled in Travis’s chest at the meager words of praise, all the more meaningful because they were rare.
“On our way,” Samuel answered and clicked off the call. “That was fun,” he said to Travis. “I’ll take it over staring at screens, but I could’ve done without the kids in the street.”
Travis had to agree.