Patrick pulled over to the side of the road, and the patrol car pulled in behind him. However, instead of leaving his car, the driver used the PA. “Occupants of vehicle. Turn off your engine. Step out of the vehicle with your hands clearly in view.”

“Nope. That is not normal,” I said.

“Right,” Patrick replied, and reached under his dash. There was a click as he threw a switch and the timbre of the engine changed. “Hold onto your favorite body parts. You may feel some pressure … ”

Patrick stomped on the gas and the Duster almost leaped into the air. Tires squealing and back end fishtailing slightly, the Plymouth left the ersatz law enforcement vehicle in the dust as it accelerated to warp factor one.

“Mary mother of God!” Nat yelled, attempting to keep her head from draping over the seat back. “Did Sheldon give you some new car parts?”

Patrick laughed. “No, a little more traditional. Modified 340 V-8 with a nitrous oxide boost. Zero to sixty in just under four. I don’t think you’ve ever been on board when I’ve opened it up.” He glanced in his rear-view mirror. “That’s no highway patrol. Their vehicles may not be boosted, but they’re sure as hell better equipped than that jalopy. My grandpa’s car has more oomph.”

Patrick’s comment made me feel a little better. Still, we were being chased by someone who was imitating a cop, which wasn’t something you did lightly. Or something you did if you were going to leave witnesses. Then I had an idea.

“Turn left here,” I yelled, pointing. “And stop as soon as you’re around the bend.”

Patrick hammered the brakes, fishtailed a little, but made the turn. He immediately slowed and started to pull over.

“Don’t pull off on the right. Move into the oncoming lane. Left side of the road.” I pulled my disruptor out of my pocket and rolled down the passenger window.

A few seconds later, the supposed patrol car came whipping around the corner, to find a stationary quarry sitting in the oncoming lane. The driver hit the brakes, but with even less warning than Patrick, the patrol car slid past the Duster, the sound of his ABS system’s desperate thrumming loud in the air. I watched the scene in slow motion as the driver swiveled his head, his mouth forming an O. I had time to think that he looked more gangster than cop, unless dress codes had loosened drastically.

As he came even, I used the disruptor. The driver slumped, his foot still on the brake, and the car rolled to a stop. I threw open the door, ran to the patrol car, reached in, and turned off the engine.

Patrick and Nat got out of the Duster and came over to help. Patrick leaned past the driver and began searching him.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.