The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [1]
“Comm, Twenty-five, what’s going on?”
“Twenty-five, Five and Nine are in pursuit of a burglary suspect, out on the old Grange road.”
I knew what was coming, and was reaching for the phone when it rang.
“They want some assistance, and Lamar said to call you, since it might involve a burglary investigation. They started the chase about five minutes ago down by Hellman’s curve, and they’ve been going up …”
“Okay …” I interrupted, “just let me get dressed … give me directions after I’m in the car …”
“Ten-four …” She was new, and newbies had a tendency to use ten codes over the phone.
“Wear your long Johns, it’s getting really cold.”
“Yeah …” as I hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” mumbled Sue.
“Gotta go … they’re chasing a guy and need help.” I reached into my drawer and pulled out my long underwear. I pulled it on, and put on two pair of socks.
“Dress warm …” came a mumbled caution from Sue, who was going back to sleep.
“Yep …” I pulled on my uniform trousers, which had the utility belt attached, and were hanging next to the bed. On with the laced Gor-Tex boots, stand, slip on the turtlenecked jersey shirt, grab the uniform shirt, pull the pants up, tuck everything in, pull the “woolly-pully” sweater over my head, and I was heading down stairs less than three minutes after the phone had rung. On the way to the back door, I grabbed my handgun out of the drawer, and inserted a magazine. I pulled back the slide to chamber a round, pressed the hammer drop, and shoved it into my holster. I pulled my little walkie-talkie out of its charger, and grabbed my recharging flashlight from the shelf by the door as I left the house. When I opened the door, it was like walking into a wall of cold air.
“Boy,” I breathed to myself. Marsha’s “really cold” hadn’t done it justice.
I used my sweater sleeve to protect my hand as I opened the car door. Even in the garage, it wasn’t smart to touch metal in this weather. I turned the key, and the engine took right off. Back out of the car, unplugging the engine heater, then hit the button to open the door.
In the car, turned on the defroster, set the temperature to high, turned on the headlights, dropped the rechargeable flashlight into its charger on the dash, rear-window defroster to “on.” I turned on my flashing headlights and red dash and rear-window lights as I backed out. Then the police car radio.
“… onto Willims road, but not sure …” came blasting over the speaker. Sounded like Five’s voice.
I waited a beat to make sure the radio traffic was clear, then picked up the mike and told the office that I was back at work. “Three’s ten-eight. Comm,” I said, “where you want me?” Hopefully I would be able to get ahead of the chase from here in Maitland, and not end up following the pack.
“Stand by, Three,” crackled the voice.
She had no choice, but I was already at the main intersection leading out of Maitland, so I had to stop and wait to be told which way to turn. Frustrating, but not a lot could be done about it. I fastened my seat belt and shoulder harness.
“Five,” she asked, “where do you want Three to go?”
As luck would have it, he was close enough for me to hear his transmissions, so Marsha wasn’t going to have to rebroadcast everything we said.
“Tell him to head north, toward the Whiskey 6 Victor intersection, then west toward the County Line road …”
“Three’s direct,” I snapped, saving Marsha and the rest of us a little time.
“Three, Five, Ah’ve been behind this idiot for almost eight miles. New snow, can’t see him anymore, but Ah’m following the tracks and the cloud of snow.” Nine struggled.
“Ten-four.” Been there. With new snow, the first thing you lose in a chase