Whirlwind

42

Garland, Texas

Red-and-blue police lights blazed in Mason’s rearview mirror.

“Oh God, what’re we going to do?” Remy looked over her shoulder.

Mason tightened his grip on the wheel and he kept an eye on the mirror, on the grill of a marked police unit coming up behind him fast.

“Quit gawking at him,” Mason told Remy. “This can’t be for us. He’ll go around.”

But the patrol car didn’t go around them. It stayed right behind their pickup truck until the cop got close enough to read a plate.

If that’s what he’s doing.

The siren was blaring, shredding Mason’s nerves. His reflex was to take the next turn while his gut was screaming at him to flee. Punch the gas and run because there was no way he was going back inside.

Damn it, why isn’t that guy going around us?

Options blurred through Mason’s mind. He eyed the mirror for any telltale signs the cop had read his plate and called it in. The cop hadn’t reached for his microphone. He was not on a cell phone. His mouth wasn’t moving like he was talking to a dispatcher on a hands-free unit.

Nothing like that.

So why’s he coming up hard on my ass?

“MASON, LOOK OUT!!!”

Standing on the road directly in front of them was another police officer, his arm extended and finger pointed at Mason. His free hand hovered over his holstered sidearm. Eyes fixed on Mason as he braked hard, the cop pointed for him to pull over to the right, up close behind another parked vehicle, a white Toyota, and shut the truck off.

The siren behind him made a last loud yelp before it went silent as the patrol car parked tight behind the pickup truck so that Mason could not drive out. The emergency lights lit up the cab with pulsating intensity.

“Goddamn it,” Mason growled under his breath. “GOD-DAMN-IT!”

It had all gone down so fast.

“This isn’t good.” Remy pulled the baby from his car seat and held him as she craned her neck in both directions. “What the hell’s going on?”

Watching the cop on the road and the cop in the car behind him, Mason dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, assessing what had befallen them. Suddenly he reached under his seat for his gun and tucked it under his left leg.

“Mason, no! Oh Christ, what’re you doing?”

“I’m not going back inside.”

“Mason, don’t! I’m begging you!”

The driver’s door of the car behind them opened and the officer got out quickly. “Please stay in your vehicle!” he said, keeping his hand on the grip of his holstered weapon as he trotted past them while talking into his shoulder microphone.

Surveying the situation Mason saw people in the Toyota in front of them waiting in their vehicle, then realized more people were doing the same in the line of cars and trucks that had been stopped up ahead.

Other police vehicles were blocking the intersection.

This is a choke point. Something’s going on, Mason thought.

The running officer joined the other officer in the street. Then two more cops came from behind, ran alongside Mason’s pickup truck. Their portable radios were turned up loud and crackling with transmissions as they jogged down the line of cars.

Several long moments passed. In all, about fifteen heart-pounding minutes went by before Mason and Remy saw one of the marked police units in the street drive off, its tires squealing.

One officer on the road began directing the line of cars to flow back into traffic, while other officers walked in a relaxed manner by the pickup truck.

“I think it’s over, Mason,” Remy said.

“Excuse me, Officer?” the woman in the Toyota asked one of them.

A cop stopped at the Toyota, close enough for Mason to hear.

“What’s going on?” the Toyota woman asked. “What happened?”

“A bank was robbed,” the young officer said. “The suspect was in the area. They grabbed him about seven blocks from here.”

“Wow, glad to hear it. Good work, thanks.” The woman started her car.

“Wait.” The cop stepped forward and pointed at Mason and his heart skipped.

“You folks should put your baby in the car seat before you drive off,” the officer said.

“Yes, sir.” Remy smiled and secured Caleb Cooper.