The naked edge

8

"The cops must have radioed ahead!" the voice blurted from the two-way radio. Sirens shrieked in the background. "We're in Jackson! They've got two police cars parked sideways, blocking the street! The other police cars are still chasing us!"

Saddened, the man who called himself Bowie shook his head. He had spent the past month with the team he spoke to. He had shared meals with them, slept in the same room, and gotten to know all the pathetic, painful outrages that had been done to them throughout their lives. Social conservatives would argue that those outrages were nothing more than excuses these men used to justify their outrageous acts. There was truth to that viewpoint, Bowie thought. No matter how damaged people were, they needed to accept responsibility for their actions. They needed to exert control over themselves. Without discipline, chaos reigned. He had learned that lesson with great difficulty.

"I'm going to do a one-eighty!" the voice yelled.

Leaning closer to the radio receiver, Bowie heard tires squealing.

"They're blocking us that way, too!" the voice yelled.

Yes, chaos needs to be eliminated, Bowie thought.

Melancholy, he reached for a transmitter next to him. He pressed its "on" button and saw a red light appear. When he pressed another button, a green light appeared.

In the distance, a sound like thunder rumbled through the night.