Warning: If you haven’t read the other parts of this story, you will be confused. Check them out.
Mason slowly slid his wallet out of his back pocket, then carefully pulled his license from the worn plastic cover inside. His face had grown tense, his hand slightly trembled as he handed the license over.
“What’s the problem, officer?” Mason asked, avoiding the officer’s eye contact.
“You have a taillight out, son. Nothing to major,” the cop said, examining the license. “Just going to issue you a warning. I’ll be right back.”
As the sound of the officer’s boots hitting pavement faded away, Mason turned to Craig.
“Don’t you try nothin’ smart,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. “I swear…”
“Everything checks out,” the officer interrupted, handing his license back through the window. “This ticket is just a warning ticket. Once you get your taillight fixed, come down to the station…”
Craig stopped listening, his brain focused on another thought. If Mason was talking to a cop, there is no way he could stop Craig from leaving. He definitely could not use his firearm in front of law enforcement.
As Mason spoke to the cop, Craig slowly reached down, unbuckling his seatbelt. His hand slid up to the door handle, silently, carefully eluding any object that could potential alert his captor to his current activities.
A glance at the two conversing, then Craig began to count. His breathing sped up; his heart beat so hard that, for just a second, Craig worried that Mason might be able to hear it.
The door swung open hard, rattling the old car as Craig leapt out. His feet hit the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air and a shock up his legs. His legs pumped and churned, propelling him from what had become a strangely volatile situation. A glance back at the car showed a bewildered Mason looking through the rearview and…
The officer giving chase.
Suddenly, Craig realized that he looked like a criminal now. His mind flashed back to the countless episodes of COPS he had endured from his college roommate. If he were to remove his shirt and knock out a tooth or two, he would fit into a lineup of the show’s antagonists. He shifted into the next gear, going into a full sprint.
Glancing back again revealed the gap closing quickly. All of those years of sitting on the couch had left Craig’s legs greatly disadvantaged in a footrace. He turned around just as everything went black.
The room spun as Craig opened his eyes.
His glance around the room revealed a dirty floor and equally dirty walls. Clearly, cleaning this room had not been a priority for a while.
He sat up, his back stiff from the concrete bench he had been laying on.
“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty finally woke up.”
Through metal bars, Craig saw the officer reclining at a desk, his feet resting next to his computer keyboard.
“Great to see you didn’t die from a concussion,” he said, kicking his feet off of the desk and turning to face Craig.
“What…happened?” Craig’s head throbbed, nearly causing nausea as he spoke.
“Well, you took off running from that car, and then ran right into tree.” The officer said, smirking as he took of drink from a steaming coffee mug. “It knocked you out cold. You really ought to watch where you’re running.”
“What happened to the car I was in?”
“Well,” the officer paused, “he couldn’t wait around, so he left and told me to give him a call when you woke up. As soon as I call him, he’ll be on his way to bail you out, I suppose.”
Craig’s eyes widened and his face grew pale. After all of that, not only was he not able to escape Mason, but he was held in captivity until Mason arrived.
The officer’s eyes narrowed, as he looked towards Craig. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t call him?”
Reluctantly, Craig explained his saga. The officer listened intently, his headed occasionally nodding.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked when it was all over with.
Craig bit his lip, his mind working double time.