30. The Chase
The Chase
He was fast and small; the kid fit into the smallest of holes in the fence and in-between the buildings with ease.
At first, I had lost sight of him, but then, out of the corner of my eye, a small black flash zoomed by.
It was him. He had made it two blocks down from the restaurant before I even took off after him.
If the kid ever joined the track team, he’d win every time.
I set off after him at full speed, running past the intersections, bypassing narrow corridors between buildings, and even hopped over a fence before I caught sight of him again.
The kid had stopped for a breather in a tight alleyway between businesses.
I couldn’t reach him physically which meant I had to snake him out.
“Hey!” I said to him. The kid shrieked. And then took off once more.
This time he headed back towards the restaurant.
It felt like I was chasing a jackrabbit.
He zoomed into an open salon and out through the back door, hopped on a parked car, and jumped over the fence like nothing.
I begrudgingly followed, with my aching back, through the salon.
The ladies, surprised to see me, squirmed in their seats or tossed their magazines at me when I rushed in.
“I’m a cop, ladies,” I yelled. They didn’t believe me. I bolted out through the back with strands of hair stuck to my shoes and flying off like leaves in the fall.
The kid moved onto another building just across the street by the time I left the salon.
From there he flew through an old mechanic’s shop and out a flower store in the back.
He sneaked through both without being seen.
My patience was running thin; this kid had my blood boiling and my knees crying for help.
I was in no mood to keep this charade up.
So, I cut the kid off. And ran around the businesses and headed straight for the alleyway exit that faced Main Street.
That’s where I caught up to him. He turned the corner, looking back for me, and ended up smacking straight into me.
“Shit! Hey man,” the kid said.
“You have something that doesn’t belong to you,” I said to him and grabbed the bag.
“This is mine! I took it fair and square. Find your own mark,” he replied.
“Mark? Hey kid, look,” I said, and flashed my badge. He froze. The kid’s eyes opened wide with fear and suddenly became deathly silent.
“Did you take anything from inside?” I said. He stayed quiet. “If you took something, I’m taking you in.”
“No! No, wait. Here,” the kid said, extending his hand to me. It was a small watch. Gold yellow with small diamonds in place of the hours on the face; expensive for a normal tourist to have.
“Good. Anything else?” I said.
The kid shook his head. I grabbed the watch and slid it into the bag. Then, suddenly, the man from the restaurant emerged from the alleyway with a friend behind him.
“Ah! So you caught the little rascal?” He said.
“Yeah. He says he’s sorry,” I said and looked down at him. “Right?”
The kid nodded and apologized.
“Now, run off,” I said to the kid. And he obliged. Normally, I’d take the kid downtown to scare him straight, but right now, he was in more danger here with these men present. I still hadn’t taken a picture of the group, and now it looked like I might’ve missed my chance.
“Here, this belongs to you,” I said to the man and handed him the bag.
He grabbed it, and for a second, the both of us refused to let go.
It was an odd feeling. I felt like asking him about Jason.
Showing him the picture to see how he would react, but if they were involved in his killing, that meant I was in danger.
Alone and without backup. I had no choice but to let them go, hoping Jean secured their prints at the least.
“Thanks,” the man replied. “It’s difficult, you know, for tourists to come to a new city. These things happen.”
“Yes. Welcome to Miami,” I said. “I’m sorry this happened. I hope your visit isn’t ruined.”
“No, quite the opposite,” the man said. “It’s been eventful.”
A small, silvery-grey sedan pulled up with the other two men from the restaurant, and he got in. They drove off quickly before I could get a word in. Or a picture. Not long after, Jean arrived with a doggie bag in his right hand.
“Where’s the kid?” Jean said.
“Gone,” I replied.
“Here,” Jean said, handing me the doggy bag.
“What’s this?” I said.
“Your lunch,” he replied. I opened the bag. “And a used glass cup in a Ziplock bag from their table.”
“Really?” I said, looking inside. “I’m not sure if these men are involved in my case, but the fingerprints might help us learn who they are.”
“I’ll send you the pictures I grabbed while you were chasing the brat,” Jean said.
“Thanks, Jean,” I replied. We headed back to the station in a hurry, excited to drop off the prints at the lab.
And on the way, I put out a BOLO for the silver car.
I had my doubts that it would work. More than likely the car was stolen and now they had no choice but to change cars.
Thanks to Jean snapping the photos and securing their prints, I can upload them to the system and send the results to the feds.
We can even put them on the no-fly list, and the moment they arrive at the airport, they’ll be arrested for questioning.
They’re not going anywhere. Not anytime soon, at least.