Dangeruss & Tazer
Chapter 27
Jonathan’s POV
As the Blood Brothers were pulling away from the warehouse, building up speed, Jonathan quickly checked the address that flashed across his GPS screen, deciding whether to turn right or left. His stereo cut out again—on command of the onboard system.
Jonathan let out an involuntary roar and put his fist down on the wheel, as he saw the truck launch off. He was sure that Patrick was aboard somewhere, bound and gagged and absolutely petrified with helplessness. The poor guy didn’t deserve ANY of this.
The Blackhawk captain’s emotions told him to floor it and kill the perpetrators, get his gun out of the trunk, dive up to the side of them in another lane like a ninja, and confront them both, by just shooting madly and wildly, like a trigger-happy son of a bitch, in a climactic thick-crust apocalypse. But he thought the same thing when someone cut him off on the freeway, and he'd never done it—yet.
He could handle this. This was doable. Definitely doable. He could play things safe and still save his friend. He cranked up the police siren and flashing lights, he’d borrowed to put on top of his car, as an undercover cop, to maximum brilliance and put his headlights on auto flash.
He made the warning buzzer override, jamming the stereo over to another music station. But Jonathan and Russell both couldn't understand a word that came spewing out. You could buy tapes, learn-while-you-drive, and learn to speak Spanish. Russell change it to a police scanner and traffic report. He thought that that would be more useful and helpful than a Spanish station. But for this moment, they didn’t care, they just needed to make sure everything was going their way. If they hit a problem, they could easily take care of it.
Jonathan gripped the wheel. His eyes got big; he could feel the pressure driving them back into his skull .
Jonathan knew the streets of Chicago. And he knew where he was. He had been there for more than five years now and he knew all the roads, forwards and backwards. If he looked at it, scoped it out, memorized the locations of every shed, building, and the picnic table, he could find them even in the dark.
He saw the Blood Brothers tear through the neighborhood of Weathering Height and scream down Heritage Boulevard, ripping the turn onto Strawbridge Place. (They ignored the “Dead End” sign and the speed limit and the “Children Playing” ideograms that were strung so liberally throughout the neighborhood and all of Chicago’s residential streets for that matter) He then thrashed the speed bumps with his mighty radials, blasted up the driveway of Number 15 Strawbridge Circle, cut a hard left around the backyard shed, careened into the backyard of Number 84 Mayapple Place, avoiding its picnic table (which was tricky), getting into their driveway and out onto Mayapple, which took them to Bellewoode Valley Road, which ran straight to the exit of the Burbclave.
Jonathan knew the safer way around and a short cut. He managed to cut the time in half and closed in the distance between them. He saw Sean Avery forcing Patrick to wave with his bound wrists. Patrick appeared to scream and put up a fight, before Sean slapped him hard across the face.
Jonathan rolled his window down. “Don’t worry Kaner, Tazer’s coming!”
He heard the pitiful sound of his friend’s muffled voice, trapped behind the adhesive. He sickened him that Patrick had to go through this and he began to wonder what else the poor man had been subjected to. What if Jonathan rescued Patrick, but he was so traumatized that he couldn’t ever return to the ice? What if Chicago was going to lose their superstar goal scorer either way.
No! The captain couldn’t think like this. Patrick was going to be okay. He was going to be fine and make it. And Jonathan was going to be there for him.
This truck sped forward once more, at top speed. It was almost flying through the residential area, with Jonathan’s sweet ride trailing behind. The distance continued to grow and shrink, depending on whether Sean Avery wanted to taunt Jonathan Toews with Patrick Kane’s helplessness. Both cars were going so fast, that if a real police officer WAS around, they would only see a brief glimpse of something. He wouldn’t even be able to catch them, before they were both entering Heritage Boulevard, he probably wouldn't be able to swallow it until about the time they were shrieking out onto Oahu.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes and fixed his sunglasses in place, mimicking a serious race car driver.
The Blood Brother’s POV
No. It couldn't be.
Someone was shadowing him. Right off his left flank. The determined Blackhawk captain, rolling down the highway right behind him, just as he was laying in his approach vectors to Heritage Boulevard.
Distractedly, he gazed into the rearview, seeing the flashes of red, white and blue. The tailgater was not just a punk out having a good time. He was out to rescue their prize. He heard his partner’s furious voice in his ear, “Crabs you moron, drive! Lose this fucking son of a bitch!”
Naturally.
They were all in a hurry, and the flashing lights weren’t helping any. But he was the fastest thing on the road. And he had to shake the pesky Chicago Blackhawk and his Seattle Seahawk partner.
No need to get rattled though. With the shortcut through the next road, he would have plenty of time. He passed a slower car in the middle lane, then cut right in front of him. The tailgater in Jonathan Toews would have to fall back or else be slammed sideways into a slower vehicle.
Done.
The cop duo wasn't ten feet behind them anymore—they were now thrice as far back, behind them. But they still carried in the chase, un-phased by the little incident.
Michael Crabtree snickered to himself, as he glanced into the rearview mirror seeing the outcome. He almost missed the turnoff for Windsor Heights. He had to jam the brakes, let traffic clear, cut across the curb lane to enter the Burbclave. And unfortunately, that made Dangeruss and Tazer catch up.
“Fuck!” he screamed, hitting the wheel.
“Crabs, head to the river in Chicago and stop on the bridge!” the instruction comes next.
“Are you insane, Avery?”
“No, just do it! I’m not going to get caught by fucking Jonathan Toews!”
A soft and curt muffle came, followed by a loud smack. “Don’t mouth off Kanerboo, have you learned nothing!”
This was it—got to pay more attention to the road—he swung into the side street, no warning, hoping maybe to whipsaw the dumbass tailgater into the street sign on the corner. Doesn't work. The smart ones watch your front tires, they see when you're turning, can't surprise them. And it was impossible to trick Jonathan Toews. He was a tough customer, ready and willing. He wanted his friend back and it wouldn’t be easy to shake the man who was more comfortable to Chicago, than he was.
Down Strawbridge Place! It seemed so long, longer than he remembered—natural when you were in a hurry or in a car chase. He saw the glint of cars up ahead, cars parked sideways to the road—these must be parked in the circle.
And there was a house. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. He made that driveway the center of his universe and put rescue duo out of his mind. The slope of the driveway slammed his front suspension halfway up into the engine compartment, but that was what suspensions were for. He evaded the car in the driveway—must have visitors tonight, with all of the cars—cut through the hedge, into the side yard. He saw a tiny shed. A shed he absolutely must not run into. Then there was a picnic table in the next yard and a fence.
This was no time to put on the brakes. He had to build up some speed, knock it down without blowing all this momentum. It was just a four-foot wooden thing, anyway. The fence went down rather easy, but he lost about ten percent of his speed. Strangely, it looked like an old fence, maybe he made a wrong turn somewhere—he realized, as he catapulted into an empty backyard.
Jonathan’s POV
Jonathan saw Michael Crabtree’s maneuver and he jerked the wheel to the side, going down a side street, parallel. If the captain of the Blackhawks, hadn’t been watching, he’d have been careened into by the bastard. The Blood Brothers zoomed back out onto the road, cutting Jonathan off, causing him to screech to a sudden halt. Luckily he had a full tank of gas and the needle was still above the halfway marker.
They continued going incredibly fast that the tires had quit squealing on the corners and instead they just groaned on the turns. The steering wheel had gone sticky under Jonathan’s white-knuckled grip. And it was harping on Michael’s as well.
They roared down more deserted roads, before merging back onto Madison and passing the silent United Center. Both drivers were driving to kill, but Jonathan knew this stretch… and he knew he was not about to slow down. He was going to get Patrick and things were going to be okay.
As the Blood Brothers were pulling away from the warehouse, building up speed, Jonathan quickly checked the address that flashed across his GPS screen, deciding whether to turn right or left. His stereo cut out again—on command of the onboard system.
Jonathan let out an involuntary roar and put his fist down on the wheel, as he saw the truck launch off. He was sure that Patrick was aboard somewhere, bound and gagged and absolutely petrified with helplessness. The poor guy didn’t deserve ANY of this.
The Blackhawk captain’s emotions told him to floor it and kill the perpetrators, get his gun out of the trunk, dive up to the side of them in another lane like a ninja, and confront them both, by just shooting madly and wildly, like a trigger-happy son of a bitch, in a climactic thick-crust apocalypse. But he thought the same thing when someone cut him off on the freeway, and he'd never done it—yet.
He could handle this. This was doable. Definitely doable. He could play things safe and still save his friend. He cranked up the police siren and flashing lights, he’d borrowed to put on top of his car, as an undercover cop, to maximum brilliance and put his headlights on auto flash.
He made the warning buzzer override, jamming the stereo over to another music station. But Jonathan and Russell both couldn't understand a word that came spewing out. You could buy tapes, learn-while-you-drive, and learn to speak Spanish. Russell change it to a police scanner and traffic report. He thought that that would be more useful and helpful than a Spanish station. But for this moment, they didn’t care, they just needed to make sure everything was going their way. If they hit a problem, they could easily take care of it.
Jonathan gripped the wheel. His eyes got big; he could feel the pressure driving them back into his skull .
Jonathan knew the streets of Chicago. And he knew where he was. He had been there for more than five years now and he knew all the roads, forwards and backwards. If he looked at it, scoped it out, memorized the locations of every shed, building, and the picnic table, he could find them even in the dark.
He saw the Blood Brothers tear through the neighborhood of Weathering Height and scream down Heritage Boulevard, ripping the turn onto Strawbridge Place. (They ignored the “Dead End” sign and the speed limit and the “Children Playing” ideograms that were strung so liberally throughout the neighborhood and all of Chicago’s residential streets for that matter) He then thrashed the speed bumps with his mighty radials, blasted up the driveway of Number 15 Strawbridge Circle, cut a hard left around the backyard shed, careened into the backyard of Number 84 Mayapple Place, avoiding its picnic table (which was tricky), getting into their driveway and out onto Mayapple, which took them to Bellewoode Valley Road, which ran straight to the exit of the Burbclave.
Jonathan knew the safer way around and a short cut. He managed to cut the time in half and closed in the distance between them. He saw Sean Avery forcing Patrick to wave with his bound wrists. Patrick appeared to scream and put up a fight, before Sean slapped him hard across the face.
Jonathan rolled his window down. “Don’t worry Kaner, Tazer’s coming!”
He heard the pitiful sound of his friend’s muffled voice, trapped behind the adhesive. He sickened him that Patrick had to go through this and he began to wonder what else the poor man had been subjected to. What if Jonathan rescued Patrick, but he was so traumatized that he couldn’t ever return to the ice? What if Chicago was going to lose their superstar goal scorer either way.
No! The captain couldn’t think like this. Patrick was going to be okay. He was going to be fine and make it. And Jonathan was going to be there for him.
This truck sped forward once more, at top speed. It was almost flying through the residential area, with Jonathan’s sweet ride trailing behind. The distance continued to grow and shrink, depending on whether Sean Avery wanted to taunt Jonathan Toews with Patrick Kane’s helplessness. Both cars were going so fast, that if a real police officer WAS around, they would only see a brief glimpse of something. He wouldn’t even be able to catch them, before they were both entering Heritage Boulevard, he probably wouldn't be able to swallow it until about the time they were shrieking out onto Oahu.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes and fixed his sunglasses in place, mimicking a serious race car driver.
The Blood Brother’s POV
No. It couldn't be.
Someone was shadowing him. Right off his left flank. The determined Blackhawk captain, rolling down the highway right behind him, just as he was laying in his approach vectors to Heritage Boulevard.
Distractedly, he gazed into the rearview, seeing the flashes of red, white and blue. The tailgater was not just a punk out having a good time. He was out to rescue their prize. He heard his partner’s furious voice in his ear, “Crabs you moron, drive! Lose this fucking son of a bitch!”
Naturally.
They were all in a hurry, and the flashing lights weren’t helping any. But he was the fastest thing on the road. And he had to shake the pesky Chicago Blackhawk and his Seattle Seahawk partner.
No need to get rattled though. With the shortcut through the next road, he would have plenty of time. He passed a slower car in the middle lane, then cut right in front of him. The tailgater in Jonathan Toews would have to fall back or else be slammed sideways into a slower vehicle.
Done.
The cop duo wasn't ten feet behind them anymore—they were now thrice as far back, behind them. But they still carried in the chase, un-phased by the little incident.
Michael Crabtree snickered to himself, as he glanced into the rearview mirror seeing the outcome. He almost missed the turnoff for Windsor Heights. He had to jam the brakes, let traffic clear, cut across the curb lane to enter the Burbclave. And unfortunately, that made Dangeruss and Tazer catch up.
“Fuck!” he screamed, hitting the wheel.
“Crabs, head to the river in Chicago and stop on the bridge!” the instruction comes next.
“Are you insane, Avery?”
“No, just do it! I’m not going to get caught by fucking Jonathan Toews!”
A soft and curt muffle came, followed by a loud smack. “Don’t mouth off Kanerboo, have you learned nothing!”
This was it—got to pay more attention to the road—he swung into the side street, no warning, hoping maybe to whipsaw the dumbass tailgater into the street sign on the corner. Doesn't work. The smart ones watch your front tires, they see when you're turning, can't surprise them. And it was impossible to trick Jonathan Toews. He was a tough customer, ready and willing. He wanted his friend back and it wouldn’t be easy to shake the man who was more comfortable to Chicago, than he was.
Down Strawbridge Place! It seemed so long, longer than he remembered—natural when you were in a hurry or in a car chase. He saw the glint of cars up ahead, cars parked sideways to the road—these must be parked in the circle.
And there was a house. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. He made that driveway the center of his universe and put rescue duo out of his mind. The slope of the driveway slammed his front suspension halfway up into the engine compartment, but that was what suspensions were for. He evaded the car in the driveway—must have visitors tonight, with all of the cars—cut through the hedge, into the side yard. He saw a tiny shed. A shed he absolutely must not run into. Then there was a picnic table in the next yard and a fence.
This was no time to put on the brakes. He had to build up some speed, knock it down without blowing all this momentum. It was just a four-foot wooden thing, anyway. The fence went down rather easy, but he lost about ten percent of his speed. Strangely, it looked like an old fence, maybe he made a wrong turn somewhere—he realized, as he catapulted into an empty backyard.
Jonathan’s POV
Jonathan saw Michael Crabtree’s maneuver and he jerked the wheel to the side, going down a side street, parallel. If the captain of the Blackhawks, hadn’t been watching, he’d have been careened into by the bastard. The Blood Brothers zoomed back out onto the road, cutting Jonathan off, causing him to screech to a sudden halt. Luckily he had a full tank of gas and the needle was still above the halfway marker.
They continued going incredibly fast that the tires had quit squealing on the corners and instead they just groaned on the turns. The steering wheel had gone sticky under Jonathan’s white-knuckled grip. And it was harping on Michael’s as well.
They roared down more deserted roads, before merging back onto Madison and passing the silent United Center. Both drivers were driving to kill, but Jonathan knew this stretch… and he knew he was not about to slow down. He was going to get Patrick and things were going to be okay.
Notes
It's the Car Chase Part 2!!!!
Well, I hope you liked and enjoyed the Car Chase, it was fun to do. I had to do a lot of research and read some novels, to see how it was done. I don't think these streets are accurate at all, but I just kind of made them up.
I've never been to Chicago.....but I WANT TO!!!!
Someday....someday I will go there and see the UC and the river and Downtown.
Thanks for reading and of course don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts and/or if you find any mistakes that I should go back and correct in the comments section!
Up next, Kaner is FINALLY rescued!!!! Heroically by Jonathan! (I can envision Johnny freeing Kaner and then scooping him off his feet and carrying him away into a sunset, like a Disney Prince and Princess! But not for this story, unfortunately....I'm going to have that be for "No Place I'd Rather Be..." the Psych/NHL crossover story I'm doing!)
Okay, I'll stop now! Thanks again! And stay tuned! :)
@EvelynaKitty
Alright! I shall wait then ;)
9/19/14