EDITING: Politics and Poison

Chapter Nineteen: Shots Fired!

Joe Hardy: There was no time for words. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nancy snatch up Frank's hand and drag him to the right, out of the way of the van.

I dropped into a roll in the opposite direction, felt the sting of gravel upon my exposed skin: my hands and neck and face. Dust rose everywhere, and blinded my eyes. But I could hear the sound of an engine revving hard, as the van came in for a second attempt.

"Oh shit," I said to myself. The van had to back up, I could see it in my peripheral vision. And its pause gave me time to get up, and run. I couldn't see my brother, or Nancy. So I prayed to God that they were okay. No matter how many times I dodged, the van kept coming.

I'd run out of places to go.

And I knew it was the end, because I was pinned against the guard booth corner, with a fence on one side, charging van on the other. I was too tired to move, let alone think, when suddenly, the van stopped.

I could not understand why, until it started to back up and I could see the front of the booth.

Hannah Gruen had heard the commotion, and was standing in the doorway, screaming.

The van had backed away enough, and had acquired enough space to make to turn, in a plume of dust. I felt a sense of desolate hopelessness, as I realized that the driver was going to get away, and I might never know who he was.

Shivering with cold and misery, I sought out Nancy and Frank.

They were on the other side of the booth's front. And Hannah was rushing toward them.

The knowledge that they were safe, and a sense of adrenaline overpowered me. I uncurled my body, and lighted my gaze upon the retreating van's rear. I couldn't help admiring the black Ford Transit, with its double doors and wide cargo step, before I took off, running after the vehicle.

My calf muscles burned, as my legs ate up the distance between the van and myself. I could hear Nancy and Frank yelling, Hannah sobbing, as I threw myself at the back step. I hit hard with my knees, felt my jeans and the skin underneath tear, as I latched freezing hands onto the waist high door handles and with great effort, hauled myself to my feet.

It was too cold to be standing out on the rear of the van long. My joints ached, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, especially once the vehicle hit the streets.

Keeping my face out of view of the rear windows, I knew the only card I had to play, was that the driver was not aware of his additional cargo- me. I gripped one handle with all the strength in my left hand, and with my right, squeezed the trigger of my glock.

The force of the shot almost knocked me off my step. And my ears felt numb in the wake of the shot, reminiscent of a back-firing car. With my free hand, I tested the butchered door handle, and pushed down upon it. The door swung open, and for the second time in three seconds, I almost fell, clinging to the left hand door, with all of my might.

Getting inside was harder than my foolhardy brain had anticipated, and it was made more difficult, as the driver was now aware of my presence, and was swerving the van from side to side.

I pushed my way into the cargo area, littered with boxes of cooking utensils, and baked goods in plastic bags. Making my way around them, I cocked my gun, training it on the figure hunched in the drivers seat. My voice was hoarse, as I yelled, "Bayport PD, stop the car!"

Either the guy was a smart ass, trying to prove me wrong, that the van was not a car. Or he was just dumb, putting his foot on the accelerator with a gun pointed at the back of his head.

I knew the reason didn't matter. He'd just pulled onto the main road, and people in cold weather gear were flocking on the curb, watching the van fishtail across the road, with its broken rear door flapping uselessly about. It wasn't safe to let this guy drive one more mile.

"I said stop!" I yelled, angling my glock at the ceiling, and letting a shot rip through the metal.

The driver screamed, finally getting the message, and careened to a stop in the middle of the road. Car horns sounded, as drivers frantically swerved to avoid the obstruction in their path.

"Turn on the hazard lights," I said sternly.

Shaking hands did my bidding.

"Now take off your glasses and hood. Then put your hands where I can see them," I continued.

The glasses came off, and insolent eyes pierced mine via the rear-view mirror.

I transgressed the cargo area as steadily as I could, gun fixed, unwaveringly upon the man in the drivers seat. My knees were bleeding steadily, and my trigger finger was bruised. I felt like collapsing then and there, but kept going. I slid my fingers into my pocket, and withdrew my badge, flicked it open with a single deft movement I always felt proud of (it had taken months of practice to perfect- which means, months of dropping it and having to apologize whilst picking it up).

As I reached the driver's cabin, the hood was slipped off, and two square hands wavered in the air.

I hesitated, feeling shocked, as the puzzle pieces rained around me, falling into place. The shock of truth hit me hard and I sputtered, "Norman Gruen?"

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Police radios squealed, as marked cars surrounded the van in a star formation. I was caught in the glare of bleeding red and blue lights, flashing on every side.

"Drop your weapons," McGuinness's voice boomed from a megaphone.

"Already done Captain," I muttered, tilting my hand upside down, and letting my glock slide off my thumb. It hit the carpeted floor hard, and was lost amongst feet, as officers swarmed into the van.

Collig appeared in a police slicker, breathing hard. "Are you okay Joe?" he demanded.

I knew he wouldn't believe me, as I stood in a pool of my own blood, surrounded by the shot riddled van. My hair was in disarray, and my clothes were torn. My suspect had disappeared, surrounded by police men with weapons and handcuffs, as they hustled him onto the street, through the drivers door.

"I'm okay," I finally said.

I didn't expect what happened next. A saucer like hand landed hard on my shoulder. Collig's voice stumbled into my ear as he said, ""you're a dick Joseph." And then, he laughed.

He jerked his chin at the back doors. "Nancy and Frank are here. They called, and came after you straight away. Gruen wasn't the only person speeding today." His face crinkled, perplexed. "And Joseph... they're holding hands."

Aaaaand, the town was onto the romance of the year.

I let him guide me to the back of the van, and was happily given to a pretty nurse, who gave me some painkillers, and bandaged my knees. She wanted to take me back to the hospital with her (I suspect it was my charm and good looks) but I declined, telling her that I wasn't done.

"You must really be in love with Bess if you can turn down an offer like that," Nancy commented, as she stepped up to me and pulled me into a gentle hug.

"Cut it out," I complained.

"You're a fuckwit Joe. You could have been killed. And look at all these innocent people- you are so lucky that no one got hurt!" Frank exploded, bearing on me with an anger reddened face.

I sulked. "I made Gruen turn on his hazard lights-"

"After careening down the main road with a gun y0u were shooting everywhere!"

I turned, defeated to Nancy. "Actually I prefer your kind of conversation," I mumbled. "What were you saying about Bess, Nancy?"