Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story by G.P. Sorrells (ebook reader computer TXT) 📗

of one police cruiser. “Pull over now. If you resist, we will be forced to use aggressive measures to subdue you.” Micah pushed the pedal further, creating some distance between himself and the cruisers. “This is your last warning. Pull over now. Failure to comply will result in damage to your property.”

“You up for this, Jimmy?” Micah looked over at Castillo, who was sweating profusely. He seemed in that moment like the guy who talked the talk but had rarely found himself in a situation where reprisals for his action was a serious consideration. “How about you?” Micah glanced in the rearview at the girl.

“Do what you gotta do. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Without warning, Micah ripped the handbrake up and forced the Impala into a dangerous turn down a side street. He narrowly missed a parked car as he straightened out the wheel and mashed the gas. The first cruiser tried to follow suit and plowed into the parked car. The second cruiser slammed on their brakes and maneuvered around the carnage, picking up speed when they cleared the wreckage. The trick had bought Micah some time, but he had to create a larger stretch of space between his car and the trailing cruiser if the situation had any hope of ending without gunfire being exchanged.

Castillo sat in his seat, rigid. He tensed up whenever Micah took a sharp turn, but he locked his eyes on the road. It was almost trancelike the way his eyes focused on nothing. “I’ve got a safe house a couple of blocks away from here,” he blurted.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Micah said, shifting gears and weaving through another side street.

“Let’s see,” Castillo said, glancing at the quickly disappearing street signs. “Continue down this road for two more blocks. Turn left at the gas station, then take your first right, then left again. You’ll see a rundown townhouse with a garage. That’s the place. We can lie low there for a little while.”

Micah obliged and drove over to the safe house. The second cruiser hadn’t come close to catching up, but they could still hear the sirens off in the distance.

“Pull over here,” Castillo said, guiding Micah to a spot in front of a dilapidated structure that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. “Let’s get out quick. We still have some walking to do.”

The trio walked down the block, ten buildings away, before stopping beside a similarly run-down building. Castillo kneeled and fumbled with a padlock on the front of a one-car garage. Inside the structure sat an immaculate McLaren P1. The curves of the exotic piece of machinery, along with the bright orange hue, existed in stark contrast to the dull, industrial world surrounding it.

“That’s a beautiful ride, Jimmy,” Micah said. “Don’t think it’ll fit all three of us.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Castillo said, pulling a key ring off an adjacent wall and tossing it to Micah. He pocketed a fresh set. “I’ve got my own wheels in a garage nearby. It’s better if we split up. You take care of this situation,” he said, gesturing at the girl, “and we’ll meet up again later.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

“Yea, thanks,” the girl chimed in, meekly.

Castillo nodded. “When you hear the signal, get out of here and just drive. You’ve got a full tank so just create as much separation as possible before returning to anywhere familiar.”

“What signal?”

“You’ll know,” Castillo smiled. “Trust me.”

-#-

The still air was interrupted a few hours later by the sound of a lone police cruiser rolling to a stop behind Castillo’s Impala. An officer stepped out and approached the empty vehicle. “Dispatch, we have secured the vehicle suspected to have been involved in the evasion of officers sent out to the distress call from the Magic City Motel. No sign of life inside. Vehicle is in front of some empty buildings in Overtown. Will report after completing a search.”

“Roger that,” came a voice from his radio.

The officer approached the Impala and jiggled the handle. He felt the lock disengage and pulled up and the handle. The man felt little after that as the whole of his body was consumed in a massive fireball.

“That must be our cue,” Micah said, firing up the McLaren. He rolled the supercar out of the garage with the gingerly hesitation of a teenager scared to scuff the paint for fear of retribution from a parent who spent countless hours perfecting the shine of its pearlescent coat. The smoldering wreckage down the street was a grim reminder of the fate that waited for him if he strayed too far from his goal.

Chapter 43

In the time since Osteen’s death, Vivian hadn’t set foot inside a squad car except to drive to or from the station. Aware that she had taken the loss harder than expected, her superior officers had given her the option to work from her desk for as long as she needed to in order to get herself back in a healthy enough headspace to return to her normal duties. There wasn’t a set parameter for how long she would be away from gruesome crime scenes like the one Osteen met his end in, but she had to stomach the sight of copious amounts of blood without devolving into a nervous wreck.

At first, she spent much of her working hours trying to figure out how best to pass the time with as little visual stimulation as possible. She would organize filing cabinets around the office, careful not to inadvertently open any folders of investigations, ongoing or past, for fear of seeing a corpse in a grotesque display of its last moments on earth. She even took it upon herself to be the gopher charged with picking up the round of coffee orders for the Precinct during her shifts, just to have an excuse to escape the stifling air within the building and instead clear her mind. Even if only for a short while.

Gradually, she moved far