The Quisling by Randy Dean Noble

Author:Randy Dean Noble [Randy Dean Noble]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paranormal Proclivity Publishing
Published: 2023-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

25

Mullered

Boston jumped into the driver’s seat of the Dodge, watching the sports car. It waited, the threat of a revving engine the only indication it would take off any moment.

“What’s happening?” Ralph asked, sitting beside a haggard Krull in the back seat.

Boston nodded at the car with his head and then turned to watch where he was going as he backed up. “Jayson and Amber are in trouble.”

The Dodge zoomed backward and slid to a stop. Boston threw it into drive.

Ash popped the passenger door open and hopped in, which eased Boston’s tense muscles somewhat. They’d need his help.

Boston whooshed out a blast of air.

The sports car roared forward and cranked right.

Boston slammed down on the accelerator, a death grip on the steering wheel.

“That’s a Mercedes AMG GT,” Ash said. “You won’t be able to outmaneuver it. Does anyone have a phone?”

Boston shook his head. Ralph and Krull said “no” in unison.

“Maybe it will get stopped,” Ralph said. “This whole area is surrounded.”

The Mercedes drove straight at a narrow barricade of sawhorses, backed by a police car on each side blocking access on the rest of the street.

On the straightaway, it easily pulled away from them.

Boston slammed a fist on the steering wheel.

Before the police had a chance to react, the red blur crashed through the barricade, no doubt doing a number on the front and sides of the car, but that didn’t stop it.

They were not so lucky. The cop cars pulled nose to nose to block their path, and two more moved in to prevent any chance of getting around. Red and blue lights flashed all around them, which instantly caused Boston to hold his breath, his muscles to tighten, and an eye to start twitching.

Several officers moved in behind the cars, guns drawn.

Boston slammed on the brakes, careening as the Dodge slid to a stop, the passenger side angled toward their blockers.

Ash jumped out of the vehicle, hands in the air. “I’m Detective Ashra Donati, with major crimes. I don’t have time to—”

“I know who you are,” a female officer stated.

Ash approached her. “Please, let us through and get on the radio. Pursue that red Mercedes. I need a chopper up now. And get units at Crystal Wilkinson’s address; do not let anyone in or out until we get there. Give me your cell phone.”

“W-what?”

“Officer, give me your cell phone and move this blockade aside, please. Get eyes on the Mercedes. Lives depend on it. And we need ambulances by the Nexus, as many as you can get. There are multiple burn victims—be wary of them; they aren’t going to go easy, and they’ll need to be put under, every single one. Hurry, before it gets dark. I want air support to call your number as soon as they are up; if they can conference me in on an open band, even better.”

She handed over her phone. “As you say, sir,” she said. “My phone code is 7110.” She waved at the cop cars. “Let them through.”

“Thank you,” Ash said, and bolted back to the Dodge as the police cars backed out of the way.

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