The coast guard chopper ID’d their car at about the same time things really kicked off inside it.

Eddie pulled his gun as Spencer turned north on Van Dyke.

“Y’know, Spencer, I’m fucking tired of your shit. Like you think you’re just the kick-ass champ of all things with wheels. Drive to the fucking meet!”

The cop car waiting at the light they were passing through was treated to the somewhat surreal sight of a man putting a gun to the head of his driver.

By the time the Yo-Yo clocked them it was too late. The cruiser pushed a left through a red, and followed.

The Yo-Yo watched their new tail in his side-view mirror. “So help me, Eddie, what the fuck?”

Spencer watched the cruiser draw closer, checking them out.

“Just drive normal,” said Eddie, sitting back. “They’ll think we were dickin’ around.”

The cruiser lit them up and gave a blip on its siren.

Spencer, shaking his head hopelessly, ignored it and shifted down. “We could have done this, Eddie.”

The cop car moved up close. Spencer threw a left, slipping like a phantom through three lanes of traffic.

The cops had to work their way through with sirens and lights. They sent the 10-35 call out as they put the hammer down. More cops answered. The chopper answered, dropped down, and closed.

They continued northeast, the roads becoming emptier, the city ghostlike. Spencer used all three lanes to smooth corners. Engine wail echoed among abandoned buildings.

Spencer didn’t even know about the chopper, but he knew something was converging units on them. However hard he worked, he seemed to lose one just as another found them.

Sweat stung his eyes and soaked his back. He dropped off the power a little. A cruiser came right up behind, looking for its chance to flick them into a spin.

“He’s comin’ up, he’s comin’ up close,” yelled Eddie, holding on to the seat and the duffel bag.

“You keep up that driving shit, Spencer,” said the Yo-Yo. “Either till they take us down or we get loose.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to . . .”

They skimmed a wall as they skidded onto a track running between derelict factories and warehouses.

“To concentrate. This guy’s good, so I want him close. Be ready to bail.”

“We’re not running, Spencer. Get us loose.” The Yo-Yo racked the slide back on his gun and checked the chamber.

Spencer tried to shut out the sound. Last week he’d been selling cars. Just yesterday, he’d had an amazing daughter and the best friend a man could hope for, even if he’d only just realized it at the time.

Stick to the plan.

He glanced around at the Yo-Yo. “We’re going to have to make them think we’re running, OK?”