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I’d never been involved in a high-speed pursuit before, and unlike what I’d seen in those old Burt Reynolds Cannonball Run movies where everyone drives at a hundred miles an hour while listening to music and enjoying the scenery, the real experience was nothing like the cake walk they portrayed in the films. Added to the tension of just trying to maintain control of the Jeep was the fact that I had a prisoner bouncing around in the rear compartment of my vehicle, who most likely would sue me, the Roscoe city government, and anyone else he could if anything happened to him. But, I couldn’t worry about that now.
Not being a native of the area, I could only guess where the suspect was headed, but common sense told me that it probably wasn’t the interstate highway. That would be a suicide move if ever there was one. Up ahead, Deputy Koestner appeared to be gaining on Winona, as his cruiser’s pursuit engine reached its maximum torque, propelling the white-and-gold vehicle over the blacktop at a dizzying rate of speed.
In less than thirty seconds, he had caught up with the suspect, and it looked as if he were going to pull alongside, perhaps to attempt a pitting maneuver. Suddenly, just as the deputy’s vehicle drew even with the Ford, the truck swerved hard to its left, catching the right front fender of the police cruiser and sending it careening wildly into the oncoming lane. I pumped hard on the Jeep’s brakes and managed to slow down enough to miss the spinning cruiser, which had come almost to a stop in the road. I continued on after the Ford.
Ahead of us was the little town of Franklin, its main street only a few blocks long, lined with ancient houses and the occasional retail shop. I thanked God that it was raining and that most likely no one would be out and about on the sidewalks. At the rate of speed that Winona’s truck was traveling, it was doubtful that she’d be able to stop if an unsuspecting pedestrian dared step into the roadway. I faced the same dilemma.
The bright reflection of the Jeep’s flashing, multicolored lights bouncing off the many windows lining the little town’s main thoroughfare, made it seem as if a squadron of police vehicles were in pursuit of the Ford. The sound of the digital siren reverberating off the buildings only served to reinforce the illusion.
A glance in my rearview mirror revealed that there were now at least two police cruisers behind me, spaced so closely together that they gave the impression of being one long vehicle—and they were closing fast. Suddenly, the truck ahead slowed down abruptly. In fact, its speed decreased so quickly that at first I thought its engine had quit. But I soon discovered otherwise. It was making a sharp right turn.
I braked hard with my left foot and stepped on the accelerator with my right, sending the Jeep into a controlled slide around the corner, while maintaining the same distance between it and the fleeing suspect’s vehicle.
In the distance, through the driving rain, I could see the faint outline of what appeared to be a large, concrete structure—perhaps a dam, or some sort of spillway—off to the right. Was that the end of the road? I wasn’t sure. If it was, Winona was done for. I pumped the Jeep’s brakes gently, slowing the car enough to where I felt I had a bit more control. The rain-soaked windshield made it nearly impossible to see. Everything was a blur.
Just when I thought it couldn’t rain any harder, however, a torrent of water cascaded onto the glass and completely obliterated my vision. I slammed on the brakes and screamed aloud involuntarily, as the Jeep went into a spin. In the back seat, the preacher’s voice matched mine with its intensity.
After what seemed like an eternity, the spin ended, and the Jeep came to a sideways stop in the middle of the road. I opened the door and stepped onto the roadway.
The pickup had disappeared.