The Asphalt Dodger

Whirring Sirens rang down avenues and through busy intersections as several patrol cars darted down streets in hot pursuit of the fleeing culprit. Anxiety came over me as I sank into my black leather seat on the patrol side. “Hey Kid,” barked Officer Bailey turning his head while doing eighty down Michigan Avenue “What’s a matter with you? Is your uniform on too tight?” 
“Sorry Partner,” I mumbled in my fading Southern Drawl “I guess I just never went flying through downtown like this? Who are we after anyway? Cause unless it’s Charles Frickin Manson I’ll be less than impressed.”
His smile showed off his gold tooth “Some yahoo went and robbed the downtown First National. He shot the clerk before anyone noticed, but we think we got him cornered.”
“Well you think every officer in the damn city needs to be after him?” I quipped back “I mean Jesus it’s only one guy!”
“He wasn’t alone,” he said as he focused back on the road “There was a huge van parked outside and it drove off without him.”
I opened my mouth as if to make a snappy remark, then shut it thinking more about the poor guy, and then I questioned “Now who does that? Who leaves a fellow out to dry like that. Shouldn’t they agree to never leave anyone behind? See if I was the robber…”
I turned to see Officer Bailey with one eye on me and the other planted on the sawed off shotgun between the two of us. I bit my tongue before I could continue blabbering.

All eight police cars swept into the nearby parking lot cornering the Lone Gunman as he tore through an alleyway. He began to climb a barbed wire fence when one of the K-9 dogs sunk his teeth into his calf. He fired at the dog causing it to squeal and limp back to the officer. As he cleared the fence I finally got a good look at this so called culprit. From the exterior he just looked like a normal guy, twenty-five, maybe twenty six, Caucasian, he wore a grey hood, black sweats and a grey stocking cap. He ran like he was trying to stretch a double into a triple, almost gliding on thin air as his feet hit the pavement hard. Once he reached the Parking Lot he slammed on the breaks as he came face to face with sixteen Officers pointing handguns and powerful rifles with Lieutenant Kelly blaring in his megaphone “Show us your hands!”
I held my gun with both hands tightly as the guy froze dormant hands at sides. A magnum revolver was perched in his firmly waistband. I put myself in his position, standing face to face at the end of a barrel. He relaxed, held the chrome peacemaker in his right hand, cursed some expletives and raised it to his temple.