Chapter 7 - The Chase on the Kennedy Expressway
The dark blue Taurus didn't pull over. Instead, the driver punched the gas, weaving aggressively through the dense wall of afternoon traffic on the Kennedy Expressway, clipping the bumper of a terrified minivan and forcing a semi-truck to veer onto the shoulder with a screech of tortured brakes.
“Unit 412 heading inbound toward downtown!” I shouted into the radio, gripping the wheel as my cruiser hit ninety miles per hour, tires screaming around a sweeping concrete overpass curve. “Suspect is refusing to yield! Requesting air support and spike strips at the Ohio Street exit!”
In the rearview mirror, the sky was darkening with heavy, bruised storm clouds, matching the electric tension humming beneath my skin. I knew who was in that car. It wasn't just some random speeder trying to dodge a ticket. It was a message. Victor Vance was daring me to follow him. He wanted to finish what started on that bridge three weeks ago.
The Taurus suddenly veered right, cutting across three lanes of traffic without signaling, plunging down the off-ramp toward the abandoned industrial district near the river—the exact same neighborhood where we had raided the slaughterhouse.
“He’s heading back to Sector Four,” I muttered, my eyes locked on the rear taillights of the blue sedan as it disappeared into a labyrinth of rusted warehouses and crumbling brick factories.
I hit the ramp at eighty, the suspension of my cruiser groaning in protest as I slammed down into the potholed asphalt of the docklands.
The streets here were narrow, flanked by towering brick walls and overgrown weeds that swallowed the evening light. The blue Taurus had stopped fifty yards ahead, parked broadside across the middle of a dead-end alleyway, blocking the path between two abandoned salt storage silos.
I slammed on my brakes, sliding to a halt ten feet away from the sedan.
I killed the sirens, left the emergency lights flashing, and unclipped my seatbelt. With my right hand resting firmly on the grip of my sidearm, I pushed open the cruiser door and stepped out into the damp, chilling air.
“State Police! Shut off the engine and step out of the vehicle with your hands where I can see them!” I commanded, my voice echoing off the brick walls.
The driver’s side door of the Taurus clicked open.
A man stepped out. He was tall, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that looked entirely out of place amidst the industrial decay. He removed his dark baseball cap, revealing a head of slicked-back silver hair and a thin, emotionless smile.
Victor Vance.
“Officer Mercer,” Vance said smoothly, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming an old friend. “I must admit, you’re far more persistent than the federal agents who chased me for a week.”
“It’s over, Vance,” I said, leveling my service weapon straight at his chest. “The syndicate is dismantled. Your ledgers are in federal custody. Put your hands behind your back.”
Vance chuckled—a low, mocking sound that grated against my nerves.
“Dismantled?” He took a slow step forward. “Officer, Apex Logistics was never anything more than a brand name. People want children. Desperate, wealthy people who don't care about bureaucratic adoption waitlists. As long as there is demand, there will always be a supply chain.”
“And you think you can just keep running it from a prison cell?” I snapped, taking a step forward, my finger resting lightly on the trigger.
“Prison?” Vance smiled wider. “Who said anything about prison?”
Suddenly, the shadows at the end of the alleyway came alive.
Four men stepped out from behind the salt silos, all wearing dark tactical gear, their assault rifles raised and pointed directly at my chest.
May you like
My heart skipped a beat. It was an ambush. I was completely outmatched, cut off from backup, and standing in the open.
“Drop the weapon, Officer Mercer,” Vance said, his voice turning cold and clinical. “Or your patrol car won't be the only thing towed out of this alley tonight.”
