The Radar

Staying off the radar was his number one goal. Renting the common-looking tinted-out blue Honda Accord was part of that plan. It wouldn’t stick out like his red Charger would.

Good job, so far. Things seem to be going well. 

CRASH! A brown, beat-up, early-70’s Camaro shot out of a nearby alleyway and slammed into Morgan’s Honda. The impact sent the man careening into oncoming traffic. 

Morgan swerved hard right, then hard left, avoiding head-on collisions amidst a barrage of honking angry and frightened drivers. Once he maneuvered back into his own lane, he could see the Camaro in his rearview mirror. It came up fast and slammed into the rear bumper of the Honda. 

Morgan could see big Hugo driving the car, with a tatted out scraggly white guy riding passenger. In the back seat was Paco Sanchez, holding his bandaged hands in the air, trying to keep from bumping them. 

What the hell? They must have been watching Kelly’s place. I bet they followed her from her old apartment. Morgan slammed down the accelerator and tore through the light traffic.  

At the next signal, he ran through a yellow light with the gang members right on his bumper, catching the red. The next light was also red. Morgan feathered the break, avoiding one car passing through the intersection then accelerated before another came. 

Hugo clipped the second car on the tail end with his left fender, sending it spinning. Surprisingly, the Camaro was still rolling and came on quick. It slammed into Morgan’s rear bumper again. I can't shake them. That Camaro is too fast!  

The jolt caused the detective to nearly lose control of the Honda.  Morgan made a hard right off the main strip, his rear end power-sliding into several trash cans which went flying.   

Another block, and Hugo had the Camaro on his rear bumper again. This time shots rang out!

“Crack! Crack! Crack! The tattooed white man was leaning out the passenger’s side window, firing a long-barreled revolver at the Honda Accord.  

Morgan tried to push the gas pedal through the floorboards, but it was already as far down as it would go. A quick glance at his odometer revealed that he was racing down the street at just over eighty miles per hour.  

“Shoot that motherfucker, Stu!” Paco screamed. 

Crack! Crack! Crack! Morgan’s back window exploded as a bullet ricocheted around the passenger compartment of the car.  

Morgan punched the brake and cut the steering wheel hard right careening around a corner as the back end of the car slid. Head for the wharf. Fewer people and less traffic.  

The Camaro navigated the turn and was back on him in seconds. That car may look like junk, but they must have souped up the engine on that thing. 

The detective crammed the accelerator to the floor again as the Camaro tapped his bumper a couple more times. He swerved slightly right to avoid hitting an old white man standing in the middle of the street.

Hugo swerved the opposite way, barely missing the elderly pedestrian just to the left. The old man stood there holding a fishing pole, his mouth hanging open, while his fishing hat chased the fleeing cars’ draft.  

The Honda surged forward, racing through another red light, with the Camaro matching his speed through the signal. Luckily, there was no cross traffic.  

Hugo pulled up beside Morgan’s car with Paco screaming. “Payback for my hands, Bitch!”

The detective could see Paco sliding around the back seat like a rag doll unable to grab anything to hold onto. If it wasn’t for his seatbelt, the pimp would already be laying in the street.

It would have been comical if the tattooed white guy wasn’t leaning out the passenger window aiming in on him with a rusty black revolver. The Honda's gas pedal was floored. 

Morgan could see another traffic signal coming up where the street ended at the boardwalk. They would have to make a right or left at the water front.  

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! The man unloaded the pistol, bullets striking everywhere but their intended target. ‘Spray and pray’ shooting rarely hits anything. 

The Camaro fell back in on Morgan’s bumper as they reached the traffic light which turned red. Morgan saw a fancy silver Mercedes Benz start into the intersection. 

He could see a blonde woman who was about his age driving. She was wearing sunglasses and pointing at a barge up ahead. The woman had not seen the approaching danger.  

Morgan stomped his foot down on the brake while he yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, sending the Honda careening around the accelerating Mercedes. He went into a power spin, his tires belching black smoke into the air. The passenger's side of the rental car slammed into several two-foot high concrete posts that protected the wharf, leaving him facing the intersection. 

Hugo had not seen the silver Mercedes, being focused on shoving Morgan into the East Waterway. The Camaro slammed dead center into the fancy sedan with a sickening crunching metal sound. The Camaro’s engine sputtered, then died.  

Morgan observed several things happening at the same time. The white tattooed man named Stu, who must have reloaded the gun, had climbed halfway back out the passenger side window, making the last mistake he ever would.  

Stu’s body went spinning through the air where he slammed into the metal crossing signal pole. He came to rest on the ground in a bloody, mangled mess. 

The Mercedes was pushed by the Camaro through the intersection, where it hit the barriers, flipping over them. The car rolled across the boardwalk and teetered against the railing on its side. For a second, it could have fallen either way, but it plunged into the East Waterway five feet below with a tremendous splash. 

The last thing Morgan saw was a young blonde girl, maybe six or seven, staring out the back window with a terrified look on her face. Her booster seat had kept her in place.   

A limping Hugo, with a bloody gash across his forehead, climbed out of the Camaro dragging a dazed Paco over the back seat. Their car’s engine compartment was crushed against a concrete barrier pole with smoke pouring out of the scrunched up hood. The two battered scumbags headed up the street.  

Shit. What a clusterfuck! It was a word he had learned from his father who had picked it up in the Marines. 

Morgan climbed out of the broken window of the Honda Accord. He was a bit bruised up but was amazingly none the worse for wear. 
 

Character/Suspect List: 

Homicide Detective Morgan Harper - The heavily faulted main character who never recovered from the suicide of his wife.  

Kelly Pierson - a young, new to the game, prostitute who is frequented by Detective Morgan. 

Tamra Burns- a crime scene technician who is Debra's identical twin.

Internal Affairs Officer Brian Anderson - Investigating Morgan Harper.

Homicide Detective Hutch Kelly - Morgan’s partner. 

Captain Howitz - Morgan’s boss who runs the Homicide Unit. 

Ronny Tate - Street cop who can't stand Morgan.

Darrin Belzar - Religious by-the-book street cop. 

Paco Sanchez - A local pimp and street thug.

Hugo Chavez - Paco's thug/bodyguard.

Doctor Millison Parker - Morgan’s psychiatrist.

Mac Yung- Aggressive reporter. 

Ted 'Teddy' Norton - Morgan's old academy training officer. 

Steve Vance - Vicki's husband.

Vicki Vance - An old friend of Morgan and Debra’s. Murdered in her bar by the killer. 

Beth Mackie - A murdered prostitute. 

Jennifer Collins - The first victim prostitute. 

Amy Henderson - The second victim prostitute.

Debra Harper - Morgan’s deceased wife who committed suicide.