Humans instinctively resist killing, but for Antoine it was done without thought. He had advanced ghetto training that robbed him of any individuality, and he was weaned on craving exotic cars, bling bling and other things that he could not afford. His Timberland Chukka boots crashed on the concrete as he made his way from the robbery scene. He ran and waved a gun, which simply confirmed that the neighborhood was normal. That was the sort of day Antoine was having as he ran, because his life depended on it.
Normal.
His heart pounded uncontrollably as he escaped the crime scene. The evening was undoubtedly normal, and it lacked luck. There were at least five people aware that a crime had been committed and who the perp was. Two of them side-stepped out of the robber’s path before the Rueger that he had pointed at them went off. Another witness was perched in an apartment window and watched from a distance. She somehow rooted for the thug to get away. After all, she was glad that the man who distributed drugs on their block had taken a loss.
Having planned this robbery two months in advance, Antoine knew that he would be able to stick up the man who picked up the cash just before he hopped into his car. Antoine dug his gun deep into the man’s temple. A clot of blood had formed on the man’s face as Antoine said, “Drop the fucking bag.” The bag hit the street and Antoine pulled back his hand and back-handed the man with thunderous force. Before the man hit the ground, Antoine picked up the duffle bag and exited stage left. He had turned the corner before the man could summon backup from in the house.
It was not until Antoine had bent the corner that he heard a gunshot. He was a gangster and never ducked for cover. He kept pushing down Wayne Avenue from Seymour Street. He raced by more witnesses, who he raised his gun at and demanded that they clear his path. What he had not expected was the cop car to be parked 50-feet from the corner.
The police scrambled for cover as Antoine jetted pass them. Officer Burros radioed for backup and hopped into the pilot seat of the Philadelphia PD cruiser. Officer Neismith took off after the gunman and yelled, “Freeze!” to the robber’s back. He was duly ignored. Antoine bolted south on Wayne Avenue and with the cops now in on the chase, the heat had been turned up.
Antoine typically flatlined any witnesses—cops included—but his only mission was to seek refuge and thwart being stopped. He reached Happy Hollow Playground and prayed that the gate was open. He had sped past his get-away car, and was pissed.
The gate was open.
He disappeared inside.
He hit the corner of the gymnasium, dipped past the swings, sliding board and monkey bars. Officer Neismith continued to pursue him. The robber reached the red-brick winding hill, which kids slid down sitting in milk crates. The hill had no lights. Under the cover of the October darkness, Antoine hoped that the policeman would back off because he was afraid of what lay ahead in the darkness. He heard the park’s residents chirp, buzz and bark, but the sounds were not loud enough to mask the jingle of the officer’s keys and footsteps. He ran and hoped that he beat the other officer in the cruiser to the Pulaski Avenue park entrance.
Two shots rang out.
“Shots fired,” Officer Neismith radioed to his fellow officers. “I repeat, the perp has fired.” He drew his service revolver and ducked to the ground. There was nowhere to take cover, but in the event the gunman began to shoot all over the place, he’d be low. He took up position and awaited backup.
Officer Burros had double-parked on the other side of the park and his car lights lit up the park. Antoine knew that he could not exit there. Cell phones in the hands of spectators who lived across the street from the park recorded exhibit “A” in the event there was a criminal or civil trial. While they hated criminals, they hated criminals who wore badges too. If the police resorted to stupidity and immoral corrupt behavior they would work for his dismissal without pay. For thirty years, they had been abused in the Germantown section of North Philadelphia, and they were not having it any more. They were tired of rogue police behavior, and were determined to promote moral, or at least amoral, police conduct..
The officers heard more gunshots and they both took cover. They did not care about Internal Affairs. With bullets dancing in the air, they were prepared to take a life. They radioed each other and planned to keep the robber trapped in the park until backup arrived to surround the area. Antoine had other plans, though. He dipped out of the park through an alley. It was an exit that only a native of the area would have known about. He emerged out of the alley and onto Clapier Street and was nearly run over by an SUV. The SUV froze within seconds of helping Antoine get out of his quandary.
The driver was pissed and hopped out of his truck barking condescending obscenities. His face was distorted with anger. But that changed to fright when he saw a gun in his face.
“Get the fuck back in the truck!” said Antoine.
Without debate, the driver did as he was told. He wanted to get away from the crazed gunman.
Police cruisers zoomed pass the top of the block, desperately wanting to get to the crime scene. The police visualized feeding their murderous hunger pangs. They wanted the opportunity, since one of their own had been shot at. They were so off base.
They sped pass a Range Rover and their man was deep into the floor of the truck with a gun trained on the driver.