Chase

Five

Chipper remained crouched under the seat in the subway car, wondering when they would start moving again. He knew the car couldn’t sit in the tunnel indefinitely.

The train began to move.

Chipper thought back to what had been said over the intercom. When they came into the next station, the doors would not be opening immediately. That meant the authorities would be able to board the train and go through it car by car, looking for him.

He had to get off the train.

The wheels squealed and the lights flickered.

That voice came on again.

“Attention, passengers. We are almost at the station. Please remain seated. We will be opening the doors one car at a time while security moves through the train. Please do not be alarmed. This is a standard security precaution.”

Someone said, “I wonder what’s going on?”

The cello player stopped playing. The homeless man continued to ask people for money.

If they were opening the cars one at a time, that had to mean these so-called “security” people would be starting their search at one end of the train, and as they passed through each car, they’d release the passengers. Which meant Chipper wouldn’t be able to get out of this car until it had been searched.

The dog was in the third car from the front.

The wheels squealed again. Much louder this time.

The lights flickered.

And then went out.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

The lights came back on.

The dog was gone.

Moments later, the train rolled into the station. People on the platform crowded up to the doors, expecting them to open, but they did not.

The three men who boarded through the front door of the first car didn’t look like transit police. They wore dark suits, white shirts and ties, and very stern expressions. And if one looked closely, one could see a slight bulge under their jackets, just below their shoulders. Each man had a wire coming up out of his jacket connected to a small device tucked into his ear.

“Everyone remain calm,” the first man shouted to the anxious passengers. The three men scanned the car as they walked through it. They looked mostly at the floor and under the seats.

They went from one end of the car to the other, at which point the first man touched the device in his ear and said, “First car clear.”

The doors opened and the passengers who wanted off at this station bolted for the platform.

The three men moved slowly through the second car, and when they did not find what they were looking for, the all-clear was given for those doors to be opened. Again, some people disembarked, and others got on.

Now, here they were in car number three.

The homeless man, who was standing at the far end of the car near the woman with the cello, approached, bearing a toothless grin.

“You guys got any spare change?” he asked.

The first man pushed him aside and he toppled into an empty seat. If any of the other passengers in this car had thought about asking what was going on, that was enough to dissuade them.

The three men in suits stopped in the middle of the car, scanned their eyes from one end to the other, then bent to check under the seats. Nothing.

The second man asked the first, “How many cars are there?”

“Seven.”

“He must be further up.”

They proceeded to the end of the car, and just before they passed through into the fourth, the first man touched his ear again and said, “Clear car three.”

The doors opened.

Several people exited the train. The thick-legged woman who had taken a seat above Chipper grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

But this was not the stop for the woman who had been playing her cello. She hadn’t wanted the homeless man to take the few coins that had been tossed into her case when the lights went out, so she had gently tapped the lid and closed it when everything had gone dark.

Intending to resume playing, and with any luck, take in some more money to help her pay for her music lessons, she leaned to open the case once more.

Like a jack-in-the-box, Chipper sprang from the case and slipped between the doors to the subway platform in the instant before they closed.

But he was not quite quick enough.

The doors had closed on his tail. Three inches of Chipper was still in the train. He went to run and was stopped short. He looked back and saw the problem.

Some of the passengers who’d remained on the car could see his predicament, and were shouting. Chipper couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was worried all the noise they were making was going to draw those black-suited men, now searching car number four, back to car number three.

And what if the train began to move?

Chipper would be dragged by the train into the tunnel, dangling from the door, slammed up against the walls.

One of the passengers filled the windows of the double doors. It was the homeless guy! He dug his fingers in between the doors and struggled to pry them apart.

Chipper tugged hard, but his tail remained trapped.

The man grimaced, his eyes squeezed shut, and he put everything he had into pulling the doors apart.

For a second they parted no more than a fraction of an inch. But Chipper was pulling with everything he had at that moment, and he tumbled forward and rolled as his tail came free.

He was stunned, briefly, but then he was on his feet again. But before Chipper ran for the stairs, he looked back at the man in the subway car window and gave him a wag of thanks with his slightly mangled tail.