THE CHASE.

The old Cadillac convertible pulled slowly to the kerb behind the black Mini van, which gave Jack the perfect cover to watch the street for his prey.  Well that’s what he always called them, ever since his father had first shown him how to track someone, back home in the mountains of Montana.  Now, at thirty-five, Jack Walker was a professional hunter of men – a bounty hunter.  Tonight he was waiting for a man known as Carlos, who had a price of twenty thousand dollars on his head for jumping bail, and other bad habits.  Looking at his watch he saw that it was a quarter past midnight.  The bar didn’t close until two, so Jack settled in for a long wait.

Thirty minutes later, as he was stretching his legs, he saw Carlos coming out of a side door. Walker, taken by surprise, was frozen for a split second.  He dropped to the ground out of Carlos’ eye line but it was too late – he’d been spotted.  His prize bolted like a racehorse out of the stands, sprinting down the inky black ally-way without a backward glance.  Walker ran after him trying to close the lead that Carlos had gained.  As he ran Jack found himself falling into a familiar race between himself, the hunter, and the prey.  He could feel his heart pounding as he found his pace quicken to catch up with the runner, now nearly out of sight as he rounded the bend in the alley.

The sudden blaze of lights and sound after the quiet tunnel of the alley blinded him. The men’s brightly coloured shirts and the chattering of the crowd made him think of tropical birds.  Slightly dazed, it was only the screeching of tyres that told him his quarry was already crossing the road.  He had slipped between two of the city’s world famous Art Deco style hotels. Jack saw him jump over a fence into a yard.  As he followed, a downpour of rain in almost horizontal sheets cut into his shoulders.  He leapt the fence, crashing into a maze of dustbins.  He had made a huge mistake – it had not crossed his mind that the prey would turn on the hunter.

Carlos launched himself at his adversary, striking him full on the face.  Walker went down in a heap.  At the same time he could feel the rush of air as the balled fist flew toward him.  He allowed it to strike him and, as the arm was extended to its fullest, he chopped down hard on the exposed and vulnerable biceps.  Lunging forward, he jammed his shoulder into the sternum of the other’s body.  A knee came up, connected with the inside of Jack’s thigh, and a line of nerve pain flashed through the numbing leg.  He grabbed a handful of clothes and jerked the attacker’s body against the fence.  The body bounced back, rammed into him, bowling him off his feet.

The attack was over as quickly as it had begun, with Carlos climbing the fence into the next yard in a final attempt to escape.  The hunter leapt like a cat on its victim, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him down off the fence.  He jabbed with an elbow, and was rewarded with a knee to his already aching kidney.  He doubled over but was hauled painfully to his feet, a forearm pushed against his windpipe.

“I could kill you and no one would even hear your cries of pain”, said Carlos with a rasping whisper.

But Walker was only half-listening.  He had relaxed a little while Carlos was talking, leaning backward.  This left the smallest bit of slack between the bar of his forearm and Jacks’ windpipe.  He now turned on his feet, dropping a shoulder as he did, so that the other was obliged to focus his attention on keeping his arm in place.  In that instant, he used the heel of his hand to strike just below the ear.  The body fell hard, and didn’t stir.  Jack leaned back against the fence and lit a cigarette.

It’s going to be one hell of a walk back with this guy to carry, he thought.  “But that’s why I get paid the big bucks”, he said aloud, blowing out a series of perfect smoke rings.

The Day Knight-Rider Caught Fire

One of my clearest memories of childhood is the smell of smoke – not just any smoke but the acrid fumes of burning rubber.  This is one of the strongest and blackest smokes you can imagine.

When I was much younger, a mere child in fact, I loved to watch television on a Saturday as that’s when the world of the A-Team and Knight Rider opened up to me.  They were different from everything else on at the time, and they drew me in completely.

When I was in the car with either my mum or dad I would have them pretend that we were driving the Trans-Am from Knight Rider.  When we got on to a long stretch of road or a motorway I would always be found straining with great glee on my seat belt, leaning forwards shouting, “Hit the turbo boost button!”  At this command the driver would push in the cigarette lighter and accelerate a little.  I thought that this was the best thing ever and would get them to do it again and again.

Now, on one particular day my mum was driving me down to my grandmother’s house, which was great, apart from the fact that she had forgotten my toothbrush.  We stopped at the local supermarket to buy a new one.  My mum said to me, “Now I won’t be a minute, just stay here and I’ll be right back”.  So, there I sat, waiting like a good boy should.  Time seemed to be ticking by very slowly that morning, it felt like ages since she had entered the shop.  Isn’t that always how it is for the young, time seems to take longer to pass.  Anyway, I sat there in the back seat watching people come and go with their weekly shopping; most were women with gaggles of noisy kids hanging from their shopping trolleys. 

After a while I got bored, which I did very easily, so I started to poke around under the front seats and in the glove box, even those little trays on the front doors.  I found all sorts of things, from a half-empty packet of Polo mints to a set of mini screwdrivers.

 Nothing was as interesting as the fact that the keys were in the ignition.  I now had access to the radio, which I turned up full playing pop music.  It was then that it dawned on me that this was my big chance to ‘hit the turbo button’.  The very thought brought a wide grin to my face.  I pushed in the cigarette lighter with great trepidation, expecting a sudden and immediate burst of speed.  It was clear straight away that the turbo wasn’t on that day so I went back to exploring the rest of the junk in the car.  Soon after turning away from the cigarette lighter I heard a popping noise.  As I looked back at the dashboard I noticed that the turbo button had popped back out, so I started to push at it and then pull on it.  When it slipped easily out of its groove it burned my thumb in the process.  I dropped the offending lighter on the floor in order to suck my thumb, which was very painful.  As with all children of a certain age the act of ‘thumb sucking’ can be like a natural sedative.  In a few minutes time I had started to nod off.

Before long an all too familiar smell assailed my nostrils - burning rubber.  In my haste I had dropped the lighter under the front seat on to one of the rubber mats, and forgotten all about it.  Soon there was smoke billowing from under the seat in black waves.  It was the first time in my life I had ever felt real fear.  At that moment my mother appeared at the back door and pulled me right out of the car.  She then threw a bottle of water over the burning button.  I remember bursting into tears as soon as she turned back to me, and the look on her face as it became clear what had almost happened.

After scolding me for not staying in the back seat no more was said on the matter, but for years after, anytime I went to any family member’s house, all matches and lighters were put well out of reach, and I never again asked for turbo-charged travel.