The Big Bad Wolf

A MESSAGE CAME OVER the shortwave. "Suspect is going southeast. He must have seen us!" I gunned our car in the direction the Porsche had disappeared. I managed to get the sedan up to sixty-five on the narrow, winding street lined with gated McMansions. I still couldn't see the silver Porsche up ahead. "I'm heading east," I said into the two-way. "I'll take a chance he's trying to get to the highway." I didn't know what else to do. I passed several cars coming the other way on the quiet street. A couple of drivers sat on their horns. That's what I would have done too. I was going seventy-five miles an hour in a residential area. "I see him!" Mahoney yelled. I stepped down hard on the gas. I was finally making up some ground. I spotted a blue sedan approaching the Porsche from the east. It was Braves Two. We had Brendan Connolly from two sides. Now the question was whether or not he'd give up. Suddenly the Porsche shot right off the road and into a thicket of bushes that rose higher than the car's roof. The Porsche tilted forward, then disappeared down a steep slope. I didn't slow down until the last second, then I braked hard and went into a controlled shudder and spin. "Jesus Christ!" Mahoney shouted from the passenger seat. "Thought you were HRT," I said. Mahoney laughed. "All right then, partner! Let's go get the bad guy!" I steered the sedan through the bushes and found myself on a steep hill dotted with large rocks and trees. When the first branches cleared, I still had limited vision because of all the other trees. Then I saw the Porsche smack into a midsize oak and carom to one side. The car slid sideways another fifty feet before it finally stopped. Sphinx was down. Let's go get the bad guy!

MAHONEY AND I WANTED Sphinx, and it was personal with me, maybe with both of us. I let our sedan roll another fifty or sixty yards. Then I braked and the car stopped. Mahoney and I jumped out. We almost slid down the steep hill, which was slippery with mud. "Crazy son of a bitch!" Ned Mahoney shouted, as we stumbled ahead. "What choice did he have? He had to run." "I mean you. You're crazy! What a ride." We saw Brendan Connolly lurch out of the damaged Porsche. He held a handgun aimed our way. Connolly fired off two quick shots. He wasn't good with a gun, but he was shooting real bullets. "Son of a bitch!" Mahoney fired a shot and hit the Porsche - just to show Connolly that we could shoot him if we wanted to. "Put the gun down," Mahoney shouted. "Put the gun down!" Brendan Connolly started to run down the hill, but he was stumbling a lot. Mahoney and I kept gaining on him until we were only thirty yards or so behind. "Let me," I said. Brendan Connolly looked back over his shoulder just then. I could tell he was tired, scared, or both. His legs and arms were pumping in a disjointed rhythm. He might work out in some gym, but he wasn't ready for this. "Get back! I'll shoot!" he shouted - almost right into my face. I hit him, and it was like a speeding tractor-trailer backending a barely moving compact. Connolly went down, rolling crazily. I stayed upright. Didn't even lose my balance. This was the good part. It almost made up for some of our misses and failures. Connolly's ignominious roll finally stopped after twenty feet, but then he made his biggest mistake - he got back up. I was on him in a second. I was all over Sphinx, and it was where I wanted to be. Mano a mano with this bastard. He had sold his own wife - the mother of his children. I threw a hard right-handed shot into the bridge of Connolly's nose. The perfect shot, or close to it. Probably broke it, from the crunch I heard. He went down on one knee - but he got up again. Former college jock. Former tough guy. Current asshole. His nose was hanging to one side. Good deal. I threw an uppercut into the pit of Connolly's stomach and liked the feeling so much I threw another. I crunched another right into his gut, which was softening to the touch. Then a quick, hard hook to his cheek. I was getting stronger. I jabbed his broken nose and Connolly moaned. I jabbed again. I looped a roundhouse at his chin, connected, bull'seye. Brendan Connolly's blue eyes rolled back into his forehead. The lights went out and he dropped into the mud and stayed there, where he belonged. I heard a voice behind me. "That how it's done in D.C.?" Mahoney asked from a few yards up the hill. I looked up at him. "That's how it's done, Natty Bumppo. Hope you took notes."