Dead Fast

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This material is not for the faint-hearted. You have been warned.

Dead Fast

A dead fast car

Tom's fingers drummed a casual counter-rhythm on the steering wheel, half a beat behind the wiper blades, as he waited for the lights to change. Dave sat hunched low in the passenger seat, collar up and cap pulled down, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Will you stop your bloody tapping mate? Doing me head in!"

Tom ignored the older man, added a low hum to his repertoire just to wind Dave up a bit more, as the red sports car pulled level. Loud exhaust growling.

"Nice motor Tom, dead fast too!"

Dave tipped his cap back slightly and glanced over at the driver. Ugly bugger he was, too.

The driver held his stare, grey eyes boring into him, the vivid scar running from forehead to chin glowing eerily in the traffic light glow. The window lowered as the driver continued his stare.

Dave took the implied challenge and lowered his window, rain immediately soaking his left side. "Can I help you mate? You lost or something?"

The driver offered a single finger and ghastly grin, exposing missing sets of upper and lower teeth in perfect line with that horrendous scar, "I ain't your mate, pig!"

As Dave struggled to pull himself upright in the seat, the sports car screeched into motion, ignoring the red light and causing the two cars crossing the junction to slam on their brakes, skidding on wet Tarmac but thankfully missing each other.

"Did you see that nutter?" Dave asked rhetorically, already leaning forwards to switch on the klaxons and blue lights, as Tom accelerated after Scarface.

"Delta Tango 1-4, Delta Tango 1-4. Scramble, Leeds Street!"

"All patrols, all patrols Delta Tango 1-4 scrambling Leeds Street. Go ahead, Delta Tango 1-4, you have talk through, over."

"Delta Tango 1-4 in pursuit red Honda sports, vrm Alpha 267 Foxtrot Whiskey Romeo, red lighter southbound, fail to stop, now 80mph, eight zero, approaching red lights Vauxhall Road, no brake lights, straight through on red, repeat straight through on red, now 105 mph. One zero five over!"

"Roger that Delta Tango 1-4, red Honda CR-X Sports, reported stolen 1905 hours from Woolton, Tango 1-2 at next junction. CH, all patrols, Delta Tango 1-4 in pursuit, confirmed outstanding stolen, red Honda CR-X, Alpha 2, 6, 7, Foxtrot, Whiskey, Romeo. Leeds Street towards dock road, speed in excess of one hundred miles per hour, over."

"Yeah, thanks, we know!" Tom cursed under his breath as he hit the Rev limiter, changing up, the car lost vital seconds as the bandit hit the bend onto the dock road.

"Braking, braking. Right, right, right!" Dave informed the operator, "wrong side of carriageway.sixty, six zero. Over the pavement, front tyres burst, forty miles an hour in pedestrian area, brake lights, brake lights!"

The Honda slid to a sparking crawl as the front tyres shredded, the driver's door opening.

"Bailing, bail, bail, bail, on foot. Driver sole occupant. White male, 6ft, mid forties, black jacket, jeans, dark hair, scar on face, no front teeth, left into the Gardens," Dave puffed into his radio.

The officers scrambled over the low wall, gaining on Scarface as he took the steps three at a time, heading across the rubbish strewn common area towards the flats across the way. Other sirens closing in on them.

"Second floor, Tango 1-2, can you enter estate from rear?"

"Delta Tango 12, will do Dave, 30 seconds, over!"

Their target slowed, entering the only flat with the lights still on in the run-down tenement.

"Delta Tango One Four, driver entering 12 Bravo, repeat driver entering 12 Bravo. No rear exits, all patrols, still make but slow down, over!"

"Delta Tango One Four, confirmed. Cancelling Scramble call, patrols to make the Gardens, suspect entered 12 Bravo, repeat Scramble cancelled, over."

The peeling blue door was ajar. Tom kicked it wider, not losing momentum, "Police!"

A short hallway, the one living room at the rear dimly lit. Dave pushed open the bedroom door, left from the hall, empty. Bathroom, right, nothing either.

"Police!" As the living room door was pushed wide, revealing two middle aged women sitting on the sofa, one comforting the other as she trembled, hand against the coffin on trestles in the centre of the small room.

"Erm, sorry, ladies, we, erm, sorry to interrupt at this erm...time for you. We're looking for......" He began to explain.

The trembles increased as she looked up in anger and grief, "You lot just can't leave him alone can you?" She spat, "Even in his bloody coffin you're hounding him! Better off dead, at least he's out of the reach of you bleedin' bizzies! Get the hell out! Get! Out!" She screeched.

Puzzled looks on the Officers' faces as Dave edged forward, still keen to explain and apologise.

His eyes flickered unbidden to the coffin.

"Delta Tango One Four, cancel. Repeat cancel, suspect driver made good his escape, no trace here. He's gone. One Four, over and out."

"Dave? What you doin', mate, he must still be in here somewhere?"

Dave remained in the centre of the room. His eyes now riveted to the open casket.

The obviously very deceased occupant grinned back at him through a badly scarred face and four missing teeth.


'Scramble':was used to clear the air on radio, usually when there was an urgent job or pursuit so everyone listened and made to back up, also nobody else would talk over you.

'Talk through': meant everyone in your area could hear what you were transmitting, not just the radio operators, saved time relaying messages in a hurry; normally you could only hear the control room not what other patrols were transmitting.

'CH': used when area radio room transmitted across boundaries to alert neighbouring areas of urgent jobs.

'Bailing': when a car thief left the vehicle while it was still moving.

'Bizzy': Liverpool slang for police.

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