Joe leaned to the middle to see a sight straight out of Hollywood. No less than eight large trucks had blocked the road and a full unit of paramilitary grunts with full-on, hard-on artillery were lined up across the street. Thinking quickly, and with that selfsame copper instinct Joe had, Frank turned the patrol car around and headed back toward Joe’s street. “Those some friends of yours, Joe? ‘Cause they’re gonna get you and me killed if they try to grab you.”

“Frank, I don’t know if you’d believe me if I even tried to begin to explain. Just know, you did the right thing. I don’t know if I would’ve lived, but you definitely would’ve been worm food.”

“Who's after you, Joe? Who . . .” Frank trailed off as Tony stuck his service revolver in his side. With a surprised expression, Frank’s head jerked toward Tony and said, “Tony?”

“Turn around, Frank. Don’t be a hero. Just turn around and go back down the road.”

“I don’t understand,” Frank said in a perplexed voice.

Tony had been his friend and partner for the last four years. They knew more about each other than their own wives knew about them. They had sweated together, busted perps together, even drank together at the end of their shifts.

“Frank, you don’t need to understand anything but turn-your-ass-around and go back down the road. It’s not your concern,” Tony quietly said. “Just go, man, and go, now.”

While Frank and Tony were distracted with each other, Joe had managed to bring his handcuffed hands from behind his back to the front of his body. Enforcing a double jointed effort in his non-double jointed shoulders, he had been afraid he’d pull both arms out of their sockets. But, somehow, he didn’t. And thank goodness the town had never installed wire cages in the police cars – why go to the expense when the most violent crime in the past decade had been when Old Man Barron had slammed his fist into his neighbor’s mailbox?

Bringing his cuffed hands up behind Tony’s headrest, he slammed them against his left temple, just as he’d been taught by Sgt. Matters. The passenger side window shattered as Tony’s head crashed into it. If the blow didn’t kill Tony, at least it would knock him out – immediately. As he went down, he spasmed and the roar of a gunshot in close quarters temporarily deafened Joe and Frank. Blood splattered inside the patrol car as Frank, in pain and shock, tried desperately to control the car as it fishtailed across the road.

Straightening the car out, Frank never let up speed as he swung right and cut through a short side street. Pulling into the driveway of a vacant house, Frank drove around the back and hit the lights.

Stepping gingerly out of the police car, Frank unlocked the back door and helped Joe out. As Frank leaned against the car, Joe walked to the passenger side, and as he did, he noticed the ghastly yellow hue of the streetlight made Tony look alien. Joe looked up from Tony in time to see Frank sliding down to the ground.

As Joe rounded the back of the vehicle, he saw Frank tracing with his finger the path the bullet had taken as it passed through the flabby part of his ample paunch. Although Frank had lost quite a bit of blood, there looked to be very little physical damage. Still, it hurt like hell. Almost two decades on the job and this was the first time he’d ever been shot. The irony of the situation was that his first bullet injury on duty had come from a fellow officer’s gun.

“Joe, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t want to know. Neither one of us is gonna make it out of here, are we?” Frank winced in pain.

“Yeah, we are, Frank. I don’t know what to tell you, except tell the truth about everything that happened. But, if I told you what I know, you would have those same grunts after you.” Joe held his bound hands toward Frank. “So, just uncuff me and tell them I escaped.”

Frank grunted in pain as he reached into his pocket for the keys. As he unlocked the cuffs, he motioned for Joe to help him up. Gingerly leaning into the front seat, Frank found his first-aid kit but quickly realized he didn’t have Band-Aids big enough to staunch the flow of blood from his wound.

Joe walked to the passenger side and, as he looked at Tony’s still form, he asked Frank, “Think he’s dead?”

Frank leaned further into the front seat, bent over Tony and checked his pulse. Frank looked at Joe, looked back at the unconscious Tony, and said, “Not yet.”