A Heist to Remember

The squealing of tires and wailing sirens broke the silence on the streets of Warrenton when a red and black Camero raced through the streets, weaving in and out of the sparse traffic late Sunday night. The driver showed little regard for the safety of those around him, nearly hitting a man crossing the street. 

“Suspect vehicle turning onto Grove Street headed north toward Broad Street,” Braden Miller said into his radio. He glanced at his speedometer, reading sixty-five miles per hour through downtown. “Mendoza, what’s your twenty?”

“I’m three blocks away on Hickham. Ready to deploy spike strips.”

“Miller, this is McClendon, I’m on Canton Boulevard. Traffic is stopped. PIT maneuvers are authorized.”

“Got it, detective. We’re coming up on the spike strips now.”

The Camero barreled down the street toward Officer Mendoza’s position. Steadying himself, Mendoza waited for his opportunity. The Camero rushed toward his position. Mendoza deployed the spike strips, but the driver swerved at the last moment and missed the spikes.

“The suspect vehicle avoided the spikes. Repeat suspect vehicle avoided the spikes,” Medoza spoke into his radio.

“Detective, the suspect vehicle is headed toward you. He turned right onto North Street.”

“Got it. I see the vehicle now. I am picking up the pursuit. Suspect is headed down Sherum Road. There’s a T intersection about a mile down the road. Do we have anyone there?”

“Negative. Dispatch alerted CHP and the sheriff’s office, but no one is at that location.”

“Alright, people, let’s back off. This pursuit is getting too dangerous.” McClendon began to slow down, but the Camero did not. The car continued toward the T intersection at over eighty miles per hour. “Slow down, dude. You can’t make that turn,” McClendon said aloud. Too late, the driver realized his mistake. The car spun out of control and into the embankment before coming to rest near a group of trees on the side of the road.

McClendon called for an ambulance but feared the worst as he gazed at the wreckage of the Camero. At least no other vehicles were involved, he thought as he pulled his car beside the smoking car. McClendon parked his car and rushed to the driver, who, to his surprise was not seriously injured. “Don’t move, man,” McClendon said. “Are you hurt?”

“No, man, I’m not hurt. Why were you chasing me?”

“What? Did you really ask why you were being chased? Unbelievable.” Looking at the ground near the car, McClendon spotted the man’s wallet. “Your name’s Jarrett Flanagan?”

“Yeah. Ow, my head hurts.”

“I bet it does, just stay still. The ambulance is on the way. Why were you running?”

Miller and Mendoza arrived as McClendon surveyed the wreckage. “Detective, is he alright?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like he got a scratch. He wants to know why we were chasing him.”

“You’re kidding right?” Mendoza asked.

“Ask him yourself. So, what started all this trouble?”

“He ran the red light on Park Street,” Miller said. “I was trying to pull him over and give him a ticket.”

“You’re telling me he ran because of a red light?”

“That’s it, Detective. He’s got no warrants, the car is registered in the driver’s name and everything. All I was going to do was give him a ticket, but when I tried to stop him he took off.”

“Looks like this is going to cost more than a ticket,” McClendon said. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up. Miller, you and Mendoza are on traffic duty. I’ll start writing up the report.” The ambulance arrived moments later, and the paramedics began working on the driver. McClendon walked to the car as the paramedics helped the man onto the gurney. “What’s it looking like as far as injuries?”

“He’s in good shape considering. The airbag broke his nose, but besides some minor cuts and bruises he’s in good shape. He’s lucky.”

“Yes, he is, at least when it comes to injuries. We’ll see what happens when he sees the judge.”