Читать книгу I Hate Walt - Vicki Andree - Страница 7

Bobby Porter shouted to the dispatcher, “For crying out loud, Christmas is over!”

She replied, “You’re too old to believe in Santa. It’s not the real Santa who hijacked the car with a kid in it. There’s an Amber Alert. The Red SUV is headed toward I-76, and you need to save that kid. Be aware that the Channel 9 News helicopter is already in the air.”

“I see the copter.” Bobby scanned the road below the copter to see the red SUV swerving through morning rush hour traffic. “I see the perp.” He whispered a quick prayer: “Lord, help us save that kid.”

The red SUV with Santa at the wheel roared past Bobby. Bobby took up the chase, hitting the sirens and lights as he accelerated to a speed in excess of ninety miles per hour. The SUV kept going.

Bobby reported, “He’s weaving through traffic. Santa is not stopping for anyone. I’m at just over a hundred miles per hour, trying to keep up with him. Permission to pursue?”

“Back off and see if he slows down.”

Disappointed, Bobby lifted his foot from the accelerator. He shook his head as he watched the SUV disappear into the traffic.

The dispatcher reported, “It’s working. The copter reports that the perp is slowing down. We have pictures from the copter. He’s out of the car. He’s flagging down another car. Whoa—he just pulled the driver out and threw her on the ground. He’s now in a—a 2008 silver BMW with Wyoming plates. Permission granted for full pursuit.”

Bobby grinned and tromped on the accelerator. Thank You, Lord. I pray that kid is okay. Help us stop this guy.

He watched the BMW roar onto Interstate Highway 76. “I’m closing in on him.”

“Back off a little. We’ve set up a roadblock at the next exit. Slow down to make the capture.”

Bobby took his foot off the accelerator. “What’s the word on the kid?”

“Just got a report that the four-year-old boy is fine. The father is here, and the mother is on her way. Officer Bailey is bringing him in.”

Bobby saw flashing lights ahead of the BMW. “It’s working. He’s slowing—wait. Oh, no. He just crossed the median and is heading into oncoming traffic. Santa must be high.”

The dispatch officer announced, “Here’s Sergeant Wood.”

Sergeant Wood’s voice came over the speaker. “Will follow protocol and clear lanes. Continue pursuit.”

Bobby Porter crossed the median, sirens and lights still blazing.

State Patrol cars had blocked entrances to the highway, and soon there was no other traffic, so Bobby floored the accelerator and caught up to the BMW. The BMW swerved through the ramp, hitting two patrol cars. Bobby followed him through the roadblock to a strip mall. The BMW hit the curb and crashed into McDonald’s. Bobby pulled up behind him and jumped out of his car.

Patrons screamed and jumped and out of their seats, crowding toward the kitchen. Bobby pulled Santa out of the vehicle, pushed the man to the floor, straddled him, and pulled his arms back to cuff him.

A little girl pointed at the scene. “Mommy!” she screamed. “The policeman is hurting Santi Claus!”

Bobby pulled the perp to his feet and turned toward the little girl. “This isn’t the real Santa.” He shoved the man toward the patrol car.

The little girl’s mother picked her up. “That’s not the real Santa. He’s a bad man pretending to be Santa. The real Santa is back at home at the North Pole.”

The little girl’s eyes widened as three more patrol cars approached the restaurant, sirens and lights blazing.

Bobby motioned to the officers. “I got this.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Those people need to be interviewed.” He shoved the perp into the backseat.