A boom of thunder ricocheted through the tall downtown skyscrapers. Rain blanketed the bustling city streets as traffic exponentially increased with the morning rush nearing. Full darkness still consumed the downtown with the barrier of clouds and rain giving the approaching sunrise a losing battle.
Roger charged through the rain, which pelted his face. He kept his head up as he traveled in the direction of his wife. Miles tried to keep pace, but the lack of food inside his belly made his muscles fail. Although Roger lacked any sort of tangible caloric intake just like his friend, he was acting not on stored energy, but on stored love. A gust of wind punched Roger’s right shoulder. He spun around and bounced off a metal trashcan. The opportunity allowed Miles to gain some ground.
“Hey! It’s horrible out here! Shouldn’t we take cover? Wait till this blows over?” Miles yelled through the rain.
Roger kept moving, but the right side of his stomach pained him. At first, he assumed it was his hungry gut, but the throbbing seemed external and concentrated on his right side. Roger glanced down at his shirt and saw the deep color of red saturating the already rain-drenched fabric.
“Hey! Are you okay?” Miles asked.
Roger raised his shirt and saw a one-inch gash on his abdomen. The puncture was deep, splitting apart all layers of skin, but the rainwater washed away the blood making it appear less severe. Nevertheless, the wound required medical attention and added even more damage to his already damaged body. Roger tasted the rain and looked in the direction of his final destination.
“I have to get to my wife. I need her, and she needs me.”
“I hear you, my man. But you can’t fight Mother Nature, my daddy always said. Too bad we don’t have a car. Damn, I wish I had my old beater. She would’ve got us there, no problem.”
A truck splashed water on Roger’s feet as he looked toward the morning traffic. Miles’ logic made sense, Roger figured, as finding a vehicle would shave off time from the uphill journey. Roger darted into the traffic like a toddler chasing a rolling ball. He eyed a dark SUV traveling through the rain. It was tall, wide, and painted jet black. As Roger stared at the approaching headlights, he realized it was the same model he owned—at least until the accident. The lights headed closer and closer as Roger recognized the vehicle might not stop. Either way, he was unable to move, unable to dive for cover in case the SUV failed to halt. He had made up his mind to flag down a vehicle. Abruptly, Roger heard the squeal of rubber sliding across the water-coated tar. The SUV stopped as Roger felt a gush of rain fly from the hood.
Roger moved around to the driver’s side as the window rolled down halfway.
“Excuse me,” Roger said to the shadowy interior.
“Are you nuts? I almost hit you!” the driver’s deep voice barked.
Roger saw the beady eyes of a muscular African American businessman dressed in a suit.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Miles screamed to the cars behind the stopped SUV. He had followed Roger into the street and was now acting like a traffic cop.
“Can I borrow your car? Or, uh, I mean can you give me a ride?” Roger asked the infuriated businessman.
“Man, you’re crazy! What’re you on?”
Unbeknown to Roger and Miles, a police car had stopped several cars behind the stalled SUV. Its occupant was a cop patrolling the streets looking for the “hi-pri” man, Roger Belkin. The patrolman raised his neck as he attempted to discern the hold-up ahead. Through the murkiness, he saw the figure of a short tousled man, a bum he reasoned, standing in the middle of the road directing traffic. Instinctively, he engaged his red and blue lights and flipped his siren.
Roger heard the unmistakable siren wail and looked in its direction. He saw the raindrops dispersing the vivid red and blue lights of a vehicle that was undeniably a police car. Both Roger and Miles scurried back toward the sidewalk as a passing vehicle in the oncoming lane hit its horn.
The black businessman punched the throttle; his SUV launched forward.
The patrolman saw the duo hustling down the sidewalk, one short and one tall. He remembered the call from the dispatch informing him and his fellow officers to look out for a parade of two bums, one short and one tall, the tall one being the wanted Roger Belkin.
“Hey! Stop! Both of you!” the patrolman yelled over his loudspeaker as he nailed the gas and sped toward the fleeing couple.
Several blocks away, Det. Cleveland raced through the heavy traffic toward the hospital. He drove erratically, seatbelt unfastened and trench coat partly hanging out of his driver’s side door, as he scanned the streets in search of Roger. The city map lay crumbled on the floor of the passenger’s side as his stop at the restaurant had significantly lowered his search radius. The answer to Roger’s location was now up to his eyes. His eyes, however, were filled with gloom and blaring headlights. As the detective monitored the unclear sidewalks, a voice cut in on his police radio.
“Attention all units, we have two suspects on foot at First and Poplar heading south in the direction of Southern General Hospital. One fits the description of Roger Belkin wanted for Grand Theft Auto and in connections to Retail Theft. All units are asked to assist. Take any and all precautions as the suspects are assumed to be armed and dangerous.”
Det. Cleveland widened his eyes and pressed his right foot farther to the floor. He knew he was running out of time as the city’s army focused their might on the misunderstood man. He attempted to navigate the downtown road, but the heightened traffic prevented his full speed maneuvering.
“Come on! Move!” he commanded.
Det. Cleveland glanced at the center console and realized he had a solution underneath his right elbow. He unearthed a red police light mountable to the roof of a vehicle. The light rarely saw any use, but at this point, he needed something to make a passageway through the wall of traffic. While the detective usually relied on stealth rather than force, now was a time that force was the only option. He lowered his window halfway as the rain poured into the car’s open wound, which further doused his already soaked trench coat. Through the wind, Det. Cleveland flipped a switch, which engaged the red rotating light. At first, he could not tell if the light actually worked, but a stubborn truck in front moved to the right and slowed. With that problem solved, he pegged the gas, as his car’s speed was now his only barrier to reaching the hospital.