“Have you ever done anything where you absolutely knew it was a bad idea, but you did it anyway because it was way too cool to pass up?” asked John.

Image Credit: Michal Zacharzewski

“No, I think that this will be the first.” said Tim.

“Are you in position?” asked John.

“Yes.”

“Scanning all regular frequencies now for activity,” said John.

“Do you have all of the maps up?” Tim wondered.

“Yep, what’s your location now?” John asked.

“I am 435 southbound just south of I-70.  Right now I’m at the speed limit and I am exposed.  Traffic is light,” Tim noted.

“Are you sure that this is going to work?  I mean, I know that you understand the system pretty well, but this hypothesis of yours hasn’t really ever been done before,” John started, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you get arrested or killed, don’t blame me.”

“I appreciate that vote of confidence, but if I get arrested or killed, it’s because I’m an idiot and get caught.  Or somebody runs me and my bike off the road.  Either way, it’s because of my stupidity, not yours,” said Tim.

“Well, that takes a load off,” said John.

“But if we don’t catch any bad guys or if we lose ‘em in the pursuit, than it’s your fault,” Tim retorted.

“Glad we now have the proper assignment of blame, can we get to work please.  Let’s keep quiet so I can listen to the police and find you some work,” John said.

“Deal, I’m still 435 south just north of K-10, find me something,” said Tim.  Silence followed so that John could listen to his scanner.  He kept an eye on the map where the icon tracked Tim’s movement by way of GPS.  John had two another monitor with a different, more detailed aerial view.  The other consisted of roadways alone and the blinking representation of Tim on his motorcycle.

John had three monitors altogether and a television mounted on the wall that had four pictures boxed in of news programs.  The third monitor he used for internet inquiries, gaming, and naked girls.  He paid most of his attention to that monitor.

He had a wireless, voice activated radio attached to his ear and a digital police scanner on the desk.  It squawked obnoxiously as it switched from frequency to frequency of all of the different jurisdictions in the area.  John listened to the radio for action, watched the screens to track Tim’s movement, and waited.

Tim passed a small car to keep from having any obstructions should he need to get somewhere.  But he was careful not to call attention to himself or break any laws.  He needed to remain mobile, and besides, there would be plenty of laws to break when the time came.

He thought back to the first time he had this idea.  He was sitting in dispatch after having been placed there temporarily when he broke his ankle on the road.  He had just finished his training and was eagerly taking calls and putting them out over the radio.

Drunk drivers and auto thieves kept getting away, though.  There were a few reasons for this.  The first and most obvious is most police agencies are abandoning pursuits due to liability.  Chasing drunk drivers and other criminals on the highways is dangerous and cost lives and money.  Not because of the police, but because of the bad guys.  The public doesn’t always see it this way however.

The second reason bad guys get away from them is a lack of coordinated effort over jurisdictional boundaries.  With the state line so close, the risks go way up for the police to go so far outside their jurisdiciton.  Likelihood of conviction also goes way down when this happened, and cooperation between agencies go down as well.  Not that they don’t want to cooperate, it’s just that there are a lot of considerations and channels that intent has to filter through before anything can actually get done.  By this time, unless there is a lot of support in just the right way all around, the bad guys got away.

This was nearly unbearable to Tim.  He hated to see bad guys get away.  The whole reason he joined the force was to catch them.  More and more often, though, the rules of engagement allowed them to get away.  What incentive is there for them to stop, then?  Tim knew the answer: none.  If only they could pursue with unending support then bad guys would stop getting away with their crimes.  But tactics would need also to be improved, and Tim knew how.

Obviously, the flashing lights, loud sirens and marked cars would have to go.  Also, they would have to improve speed and mobility.  Speed bikes were the most clear solution to all of the problems.  If someone could ride one efficiently, then escape could not happen.  Fuel efficiency also played to favor the chaser than the crook.  Unfortunately, none of this could or even should happen legally.  And this is when Tim realized someone would have to risk it all in the name of justice.  Such a feat would require a vigilante.  It would require someone to become a superhero.  This idea may have served to motivate Tim as much as justice, but it was required to overcome the fear and risk in order to complete a role left unfilled in the lofty pursuit of justice.

Tim swerved effortlessly in and out of traffic.  He enjoyed the idea of being the only REAL superhero the world could practically generate, but he understood that there was a lot of work, practice, planning, and commitment involved in such a pursuit.  He already understood police procedure and criminal psychology.  He had and maintained the fighting skills that would be required to subdue the bad guy.  He procured the protective gear, weapons, restraints and communications equipment, but he needed someone to feed him intelligence.  He needed a dispatcher.

In the movies and comics, the hero just appeared in the place where a crime occurred.  In the real world, it could never be so easy.  If there was a way to interrupt an incident in the nick of time, the police would have already done it.  Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.  The police only usually came after the fact.  Tim had toyed with the idea of scouting the rooftops and looking for fights and muggings with which to break-up, but there was no real practical way of making that happen.  Then he considered posing as a drunk and goading crooks to victimize him.  Only, such a sting required a lot of time, patience, and luck.  Plus, there were more variables in such a situation than could be controlled.  The predator had the advantage, especially with only a single actor involved in springing the trap.  Tim realized that The Pursuit was the only and most effective means of accomplishing vigilante justice as well as it being the one where the police needed the most assistance.  In addition, with the help of a dispatcher, he could follow the action and engage with such a tactical advantage that the bad guy wouldn’t know what hit him before it was over.

Tim hoped that it would work out the way he expected.  He feared it wouldn’t.  Yet the freedom of his actions, the ability to engage or disengage as he saw fit, both thrilled him and put him as ease.

If it starts to go bad, he thought, I’m out.  Tim DID have that luxury.

John was a lucky find.  Not only was he an old friend, but he was one who was particularly skilled with computers and technology as well as an absolute comic geek.  He had partaken in mild marijuana usage and distribution as well as small-time hacking in order to properly desensitize himself in circumventing the law.  In short, John was groomed for this support role.  He could be in the action, but safe behind a screen.

“Tim, I got something, and its coming your way,” John said suddenly over the radio, “turn around now, they are about to start passing you northbound.”

Tim found the next cut-through in the grassy median and headed backnorth on the highway.  He maintained the speed limit.

“Where are they?” Tim asked.

“Coming up on the curve.  They should be on you shortly.  Two white male subjects, unknown weapons, in a stolen car.  A blue Chevy Impala with Missouri tags.  There are two local cops on him now, they are about to terminate.  Yep, yep, they just officially terminated.  Highway patrol has no one in the area and neither does city.  Last speeds were at 90 or so,” John said.

Lights appeared behind Tim until the officers shut them off.  An unidentified car was coming up quickly behind him.  Tim hit a switch on his dashboard and his license plate retracted into a metal casing.  He switched off his lights.  With his all-black attire and the low-gloss black paint of his motorcycle, he was virtually invisible.  The blue Impala passed him and Tim pulled back on the throttle.

“I’m in pursuit.  You tracking me?”  Tim asked.

“Yeah, I got you.  Keep me posted,”  said John.

In just a few short seconds, Tim realized the police cars were no longer following at all and the Impala had slowed down considerably.  It was completely anticlimactic.  He continued to follow behind them.  He saw the two crooks high-five each other and eventually wind-down as they stopped looking behind them for pursuers.  Tim followed them for several more miles before they turned off the highway, onto a side street and eventually parked in a remote area.  Tim was certain he managed to remain undetected.  The two crooks stayed in the car.  Tim saw the driver talk on a cell phone.

Tim was certain that he was arranging for some sort of pick-up of the vehicle.  He was wrong.  The two crooks got out of the car and started stripping it right there in front of him.  The area was not well lit and they were forced to do what they could in the dark.  Tim was parked not all far away, but he was further concealed by the dark shade of the trees.

“I’m going in,”  he whispered to John.

One of the crooks suddenly got up and began walking towards Tim.  Tim slowly was off his bike and crouched behind it.  The crook, the passenger he thought, was still unaware of Tim’s presence.  The passenger had taken out a cigarette and began to smoke.  His journey from the car to the foliage was distracted by trying to light it.  It was only a matter of time before Tim was found out, so he retreated into the woods.  The passenger saw the bike and looked around viciously for anyone.  When it was clear to him that no one was present, he decided to take a look.

It wasn’t long before the crook was satisfied with the rare find and good luck and decided it was safe to take a leak into the bushes.  It was then that Tim maneuvered behind him and head-butted him.  Of course Tim still had on his helmet and the blow to the base of the crook’s head knocked him off-balanced and on his butt.  Tim was not tall and had to leap a little in order to do it.  When the passenger was temporarily stunned and on the ground Tim worked quickly to secure the man’s hands behind him with the flex cuffs he kept on his belt.  He also secured the passenger’s feet.  The man was not quite aware what was going on, but when he realized it wasn’t the police who had captured him, he was yelling for help from his friend.

His buddy perked up quickly from inside the vehicle.  He dropped the electronics in his hands but kept the screwdriver.  The driver quickly located where his friend was and then immediately ran over to his location.  Tim stood still while the passenger wriggled around on the ground, trying in vain to get free.

“What the fuck are you doing!?”  the driver asked.

Tim did not respond.  He merely stood there.  The driver could only see his reflection in Tim’s dark mask.  Tim clenched his gloves into thick fists.  The driver held tight to his screwdriver.

“I don’t want no trouble, just leave and I won’t hurt you,”  the driver said, visibly shaken, “did you hear me?  If you don’t leave, I will FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Tim remained unmoved.  He waited for the driver to act.  Slowly, predictably, the driver charged with the screwdriver overhead.  He stabbed downward at Tim, but he was able to deflect the man’s arm with the hard plastic reinforcement of his forearm.  The man stepped back and yelled, clutching his wrist.  Time  chopped down at the man’s radial nerve on the arm of the hand that held the screwdriver.  The driver dropped it and retreated a few steps.  Then he charged again, but Tim punched him in the face several times with the hard knuckles of his thick gloves.  The man went down.  Tim secured his hand and feet quickly with more of the plastic ties.

“We got two cats back in the box,”  Tim told John.

“Yes!  That is awesome.  I am placing an anonymous call from your position to the police to pick up their trash.  Good work, man,”  John said.

Tim grabbed the passenger’s ankle and dragged him twenty yards back to the car.  He sat the man against it.  He went back and did the same for the driver.  When he sat the man up, the driver spit on his helmet.  Tim wiped it off with his glove and wiped it back on the face of the man.  He could never have done that as a cop.  Tim then took out a black marker and began to write on the man’s shirt: I stole this car, take me to jail.

“Who are you?”  the driver asked.

“Call me The Chase,”  said Tim.

“When I find out who you are, I’m going to get my boys and we are going to fuck you home, man,”  the driver said.

“Good.  Then it’s begun,”  Tim replied.

Tim walked back to his motorcycle.  He got on, fired it up, and turned on the lights.  He took off just before the first cop arrived.