Round and Round
Smokestack
As he sped away from the convenience store, Smokestack shoved a hand down his pants, tugged the bank bag from his underwear, and tossed it to the Switchman in the passenger seat. “Split that up. Then we’ll bail and go our separate ways.”
The Switchman unzipped the bag, dumped the bills onto his lap, and hurriedly began to separate them into stacks, fumbling with his gloves on.
The Conductor stuck his head between the seats. “Hurry up!”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” The Switchman barked. “It’s not easy with these damn gloves.”
When the Switchman finished counting out the bills into three equal piles, Smokestack reached over, grabbed his share off the Switchman’s lap, and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans with his Zig-Zag rolling papers and the steam train engine. Or what was left of the engine, anyway. The chimney had come off at some point and fallen out of his pocket.
He scanned the street ahead, looking for a place where they could ditch the car.
WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP.
Shit! He looked out the window. The police helicopter swooped into place to hover in the air above them.
The Switchman put his hands on either side of his head. “We’re screwed!”
Smokestack mashed the gas pedal to the floor and careened out of the lot. The helicopter had a bead on them, following as they raced north up Henderson.
“Stop!” hollered the Conductor from the tiny back seat. “We need to make a run for it!”
Smokestack began to slow down. Though the chopper was on them, street patrols had yet to reach them. If they bailed out and ran in different directions, the chopper would be able to trail only one of them. There was a chance two of them could escape. He only hoped one of the two would be him. He realized, however, that the odds weren’t in his favor. Too much dope and too many donuts had made him pudgy and slow. The others were in far better shape.
Woo-woo-woo!
He eyed the rearview mirror to see a FWPD cruiser gaining on them from behind. “Aw, hell!”
He punched the gas, only to find himself speeding toward another cruiser heading down Henderson from the north. He braked and banged two furious fists on the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
With Trimble Tech High School blocking them on the right and Harris Hospital on the left, there was no way out.
Or was there?