The Switchman unzipped the bag, dumped the bills onto his lap, and hurriedly began to separate them into stacks, fumbling with his gloves on.

The Conductor stuck his head between the seats. “Hurry up!”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” The Switchman barked. “It’s not easy with these damn gloves.”

When the Switchman finished counting out the bills into three equal piles, Smokestack reached over, grabbed his share off the Switchman’s lap, and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans with his Zig-Zag rolling papers and the steam train engine. Or what was left of the engine, anyway. The chimney had come off at some point and fallen out of his pocket.

He scanned the street ahead, looking for a place where they could ditch the car.

WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP.

Shit! He looked out the window. The police helicopter swooped into place to hover in the air above them.

The Switchman put his hands on either side of his head. “We’re screwed!”

Smokestack mashed the gas pedal to the floor and careened out of the lot. The helicopter had a bead on them, following as they raced north up Henderson.

“Stop!” hollered the Conductor from the tiny back seat. “We need to make a run for it!”

Smokestack began to slow down. Though the chopper was on them, street patrols had yet to reach them. If they bailed out and ran in different directions, the chopper would be able to trail only one of them. There was a chance two of them could escape. He only hoped one of the two would be him. He realized, however, that the odds weren’t in his favor. Too much dope and too many donuts had made him pudgy and slow. The others were in far better shape.

Woo-woo-woo!

He eyed the rearview mirror to see a FWPD cruiser gaining on them from behind. “Aw, hell!”

He punched the gas, only to find himself speeding toward another cruiser heading down Henderson from the north. He braked and banged two furious fists on the steering wheel. “Dammit!”

With Trimble Tech High School blocking them on the right and Harris Hospital on the left, there was no way out.

Or was there?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ramp It Up!

Megan

Woo-woo-woo!

There it was! The little green Fiat! Just a block away and headed right toward me, the police helicopter hovering in the air above it. There was no way they could escape now.

I threw a victorious fist in the air. “We got ’em, Brig!”

My partner barked in excitement. Woof-woof!

Flashing lights came up Henderson from the south, the sound of the second cruiser’s siren blending with my own.

I quickly gained on a sedan whose driver had yet to yield. Blurgh! What part of woo-woo-woo did he not understand?

The Fiat veered over the yellow center line and the sedan’s brake lights ignited. The threat of a head-on collision finally got the driver’s attention.

I jammed on my brakes, my cruiser stopping mere inches from the other car’s back bumper. Tires squealing, the Fiat turned in front of the car and entered the Harris Hospital parking garage. Looked like these guys had no plans to give themselves up without a fight, something they had in common with Phillip Gunderbaugh. Is he one of them?

Looking over my shoulder, I threw my cruiser into reverse and backed up a dozen feet. I turned to face the front, shoved the gearshift into drive, and began to pull around the sedan only to find its driver starting to move forward. Oh, for the love of God! I grabbed the microphone for my public address system. “Pull to the curb!” I yelled.

The driver finally obeyed, easing over to the right to get out of my way.

Derek’s cruiser barreled down on the entrance from the other direction, but I wasn’t about to let him get in before me. The two of us nearly collided in our haste to enter the garage. Luckily, my front bumper had a few inches on his. I pulled into the lane, stopped to grab a ticket, and sped through the instant the gate lifted. Derek drove through on my tail.

I drove as fast as I dared up the first three levels, keeping a sharp lookout for the Fiat. Derek trailed behind me, our sirens echoing off the concrete walls of the structure. Lest I cause permanent hearing loss to people in the garage, I cut off my siren. Mackey took my lead and did the same, though we both left our lights flashing.

When we reached the fourth floor, I grabbed my radio mic. “Mackey!” I called. “Go down and cover the exit!”

For once, the guy didn’t argue with me.

“I’m on it.” He broke off at the next ramp, heading down instead of following me up.

I continued round and round, circling all the way up to the uncovered parking on the roof but finding no evidence of the Fiat. I grabbed my radio mic again to contact the chopper. “Has the Fiat left the garage?”

“No,” they replied, the whup-whup-whup sounding in the background. “Haven’t seen anyone leave on foot either.”

Good. The bank robbers were still inside the garage.

Having reached the pinnacle, I began to circle down. I was on the third level when Derek’s voice came over the radio. “Found the car! Second floor.”

I grabbed my mic. “Almost there.”

I circled the corner and there it was. The little green Fiat parked between a pickup and a minivan. I pulled my car to a stop behind Derek’s cruiser, angling it so they wouldn’t be able to get past it if they backed out.

Derek climbed out of his car and hunkered down beside it, his gun at the ready.

I ordered Brigit to lay and keep her head down. The last thing I wanted was my partner to get hurt if this ended in a shootout. She obeyed and I gave her a “good girl.”

Keeping my head low, I slipped out of my patrol car, readied my gun, and bent down beside my front bumper.

Derek hollered over his hood. “You in the Fiat! Come out with your hands up!”

We waited for several seconds but there was no movement.

I peeked through the windows of my car at the Fiat. With the dim lighting in the garage, the shadow cast by the minivan, and the tinting on the car’s windows, it was difficult to tell whether anyone was actually still in the car. They could be ducked down in the seats.

“Is anyone inside?” I called to Mackey.

He raised a palm to indicate Who knows? and called out again. “Everyone in the Fiat come out now! Hands in the air!”

Still nothing. We’d have to go in. Ugh. For all we knew, the bank robbers were ducked down inside ready to open fire at close range when we approached. I was tempted to suggest we call the SWAT team, but I knew Derek would never go for it. The guy lived for this kind of dangerous confrontation. Once again, I found myself wishing for more testosterone. Maybe they could put it in some type of fruity smoothie drink. A citrus-flavor one. They could call it a Tangerinerone.

Though I considered this case to be mine, not his, I voiced no objection when Mackey took charge now. He waved a hand, motioning for me to follow him as he approached the car.

I took a breath to steel my nerves and crept out from behind my car, approaching the Fiat from the right while Mackey approached from the left. When we reached the car, he shouted “Doors! Now!”

I grabbed the passenger door and yanked it open while Mackey opened the driver’s side door. We peeked into the cab, our eyes meeting over the empty space.

“Dammit!” He slammed his door and stood fully upright. “They must be on foot somewhere in the garage.”

“I’ll send Brigit after them.” I was headed back to my cruiser to let her out when an odd noise reached my ears. Hoo-hoo-hah-hah. Hoo-hoo-hah-hah.

What was that sound? The ventilation system? Some type of hydraulics for the elevator?

The question was answered when a thirtyish man and a very pregnant woman performing breathing techniques rounded the corner at the bottom of the ramp.