Trouble & Strife Read online

  He could barely see the tail end of the sedan as it disappeared in the distance. He took a few additional deep breaths to calm down further. As he headed into the building he was plagued by the need to file a report with the police. He made a mental note to do just that the moment he was done in the operatory. “Bless a young couple with the miracle of conception, report a lunatic driver—priorities in order. Check.”

  Officer Ty Bembrey had just come from a call on Obie Drive. A stray cat had been found dead and was lying in the gutter looking as if it were road kill. He’d been in the neighborhood several times as one of the residents had complained about the feral cats urinating on her porch. He noticed what looked like knife wounds in the cat’s abdomen as he bundled it up in a towel he kept in the cruiser’s trunk and placed it in a trashcan moments ahead of the weekly sanitation pickup. He noticed an elderly gent peeking through the blinds as he cleared the carnage and knocked on the man’s door before leaving. “You kill another cat and I’ll write you up a hefty fine. Am I getting through to you, old timer?”

  “But I…”

  “The hell you didn’t.”

  Bembrey got back into his car and was approaching Fayetteville Road when a black sedan shot by, tearing up the roadway at high speed. In Bembrey’s estimation the “speeder” was doing close to eighty miles per hour—way above the speed limit and coming up on a school zone. He also noted that the car seemed somewhat out of control swerving back and forth over the divider. He immediately switched on the lights and siren. Gripping the microphone with one hand he swung the wheel and took off in pursuit. “This is unit one-twelve calling for assistance. I’m in high-speed pursuit of a black sedan heading north on Fayetteville Road. The suspect just passed Cook Road. Over.”

  Bembrey accelerated as fast as was practical but his cruiser wasn’t closing the gap between him and the runaway vehicle. A call came over the radio. “This is unit one-o-nine. I’m northbound on Barbee Road. I’m gonna intersect with y’all in about five or so seconds. Keep your eyes peeled for me, one-twelve. I don’t want you to T-bone my ass.”

  “Roger that,” Bembrey said. “Exercise caution. The suspect is traveling at high speed.” His speedometer read eighty-five. He was now pacing the sedan but still not making up any distance. He saw a shadow up ahead and realized the car was coming up on a slow-moving sanitation truck. He was five hundred feet behind it when his heart began to knock in his chest. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The second police cruiser had now taken up position blocking the intersection at Barbee and Fayetteville forcing the sanitation truck to a stop.

  The sedan was still rocketing forward. Like a missile closing in on its target it seemed hell-bent on destruction. The driver should’ve been standing on the brakes by now and ratcheting the emergency brake, trying desperately to bring the car to a stop.

  Bembrey focused on the sedan’s brake lights hoping to see a sudden flash of red. He should’ve heard the wheels screeching, clawing at asphalt. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? he thought as the familiar axiom shot through his mind. Then every muscle in his body tensed. Oh nooooo!

  The thunder from the impact roared in his ears as he screeched to a stop behind the obliterated sedan. So fierce was the collision that the windshield exploded and shattered glass traveled hundreds of feet in every direction. The noise detonated car alarms. A baby girl sound asleep in a stroller down the block began bawling at the top of her lungs. The Grumman’s two hundred-and-twelve pound English mastiff, Winston, lost control of his bladder and piddled on the front porch.

  Bembrey shuddered before unbuckling his seatbelt. “Central, this is unit one-twelve. I need an ambulance and emergency services to Barbee and Fayetteville Road.” He dropped the mic on the seat and bolted from the car, his thoughts intent on assisting the driver if it was possible. He felt his chest pounding as he approached the carnage.

  The sanitation truck driver got out of his rig—at a glance, it appeared that the man didn’t have a mark on him—didn’t even appear to be shaken. How’s that possible? he thought but quickly remembered that a fully loaded sanitation truck can weigh as much as twenty-five tons. The car slamming into the mountainous vehicle was akin to a bird slamming into a plate glass window.

  The sedan was demolished, crumpled up to the rear window post. The entire front half of the car had been compressed as if it had been placed in a compactor and was ready to be shipped off for salvage. With his head turned askew and his eyes averted, Bembrey approached, afraid of what he might see. He was already nauseous in anticipation of the scene he was about to come upon, already certain the driver had been ripped in two. “Son of a—”

  “What?” the truck driver asked. “What is it?”

  “What in the hell?” Bembrey said, his face a portrait of astonishment. “This is crazy.” He drew a deep breath, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “Where’s the damn body?”

  The truck driver scanned the vehicle interior before turning to the back of the sanitation truck where he suspected the body had landed after rocketing through the windshield. He too was dumbfounded. “It just ain’t possible.”

  Bembrey’s head was buried in the wreckage, still searching for any visible sign of the driver: blood, bone, scraps of clothing…anything. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I just don’t.”

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