Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  “Dialing Handly Container,” The computer answered. The phone began to ring on the line.

  “Hang up, Peter!”

  “Angela, you want me to trust you, Freed, anyone with a government paycheck but you won’t trust me. You think I’m crazy. Ok, I don’t blame you, but how can you love a man you don’t trust? Tell me!”

  “I trust you, I don’t agree with your rationale. Hang up the phone.” The ring tone continued with the usual pauses between rings. “Hang up, Peter! There are other lives involved, including the two agents behind us.”

  The answering system responded, “You have reached Handly Container, If you would like sales press one, payables…”

  “Hang up the Goddamn phone!”

  Mitchelli pushed a button on his steering wheel and the phone call ended. The music returned. He pulled onto the shoulder of the road, as did the yellow sedan, and eventually Freed’s car. The cars on the expressway zoomed by, some beeping their horns.

  “If you think I’m crazy and dysfunctional, send me packing.”

  “They’ll kill you and you know it. You’re stuck with me, I mean the team.” MacJames stuttered. “Why can’t you work with the team?”

  “Why don’t I listen to you? Isn’t that what you mean?”

  Frustrated MacJames shot back, “That’s not what I said.”

  “But that’s what you met, regardless I’m a team player.”

  “Yeah! Bodies fly, people get hurt, things explode.” She grabbed his hand, pulling it off the center console gearshift. “It hurts me to say that, but I have to do my job. That includes keeping you and the rest of my team alive.”

  Mitchelli merged the coupe back into traffic and headed downtown. He grinned. “Ok MacJames. You win, let’s go to dinner. You know, I am a team player.”

  ***

  The cars continued downtown on the expressway. As they neared the city the expressway went below grade. Shear limestone cliffs bordered the east- and west-bound lanes. Mitchelli noticed two large bobtailed trucks pulling behind him. The trucks were old cab-overs, meaning the engine was under the driver’s cab. Because of New York state’s weight requirements, cab-over trucks were scarce; their wheelbase was too short to meet the Department of Motor Vehicles Bridge requirements, thus reducing their legal limit of gross weight. Fascinated by older trucks, Mitchelli had assembled a model of one when he was a boy. He looked for the Peterbilt emblem just above the radiator. One of the trucks shot past the coupe. It sped past quickly because it was not pulling a trailer and black smoke poured from its single exhaust stack. Mitchelli studied the rear of the truck, admiring the vintage design.

  “Peter!” MacJames shouted. “Peter, look out your window.” MacJames discretely pulled her phone and pistol from her purse. A black Porsche 911 cabriolet had pulled next to Mitchelli’s coupe. The canvas top was up. The passenger held a black automatic pistol against his window tapping the tip of the barrel against the glass, making sure it was visible to Mitchelli. When the passenger was confident Mitchelli had seen him and his pistol he held up a thick stack of money. He motioned for Mitchelli to pull off the expressway.

  “Peter, do you see…”

  “Yes, he wants us to pull off the expressway, I guess he wants to talk,” Mitchelli said sarcastically. “He’s carrying a lot of money with him.”

  “I’m calling for back-up.”

  The Porsche pulled ahead and the second cab-over pulled up alongside the Mercedes coupe while third truck came up from behind, boxing him in.

  “Angela, I think that’s a good idea. Make sure you describe the trucks that have surrounded us.”

  “Surrounded!”

  “Were boxed in, they’re going to force us off the expressway. This coupe is not pushing those Peterbilts around.” The truck increased its speed and drew closer to Mitchelli. The coupe was within two feet on three sides by the heavy tractors. The coupe’s fourth side was against a guardrail and behind that, the jagged face of the limestone walls.

  MacJames was on her phone quickly relaying the details of their predicament to Freed who had Coarseni inform the agents in the yellow rental car. “Peter, they’re moving up to assist.”

  The trucks forced Mitchelli to merge into the exit lane. He was familiar with the exit ramp; it was an incline parallel to the expressway that led to ground level at Grider Street. There were two intersections then another on ramp, which descended onto the expressway. Mitchelli could not see the Porsche anymore; his view blocked by the large trucks. He pushed a button on the dashboard labeled “S” for sport mode. It altered the shift points in the coupe’s transmission. He then shut off the car’s traction control computer.

  A few cars back, Buckala yelled, “Roberto, kick this thing in the ass!”

  Buckala opened his passenger window and drew his large frame Glock nine-millimeter. The black government car swerved through traffic quickly, accelerating and passing the agents in the yellow sedan. Coarseni contacted Buffalo Police notifying them of their situation. The car pulled behind the last truck just as they entered the off ramp. Buckala pushed his shoulders and head out his window.

  “Roberto damn it, stay left!” he yelled as he aimed at the tires of the truck and unleashed a flurry of rapid gunfire at the tires. Sparks flew from the back of the truck as the bullets struck the frame and undercarriage. The tires blew out and a large cloud of white smoke appeared suddenly as the left dual rear tires locked up. The truck slowed rapidly as air leaked out of the braking system. Then all the rear tires locked, black smoke appeared, and the truck came to a screeching stop.

  “Sal, why did you shoot, did you see a gun? ” Freed screamed.

  “I saw a gun, two of them,” Coarseni said, pulling the phone away from his face. “Bob, get around this prick.”

  Freed yelled, “Dom, stop defending him!”

  As Freed passed the disabled truck, Buckala shot out the front driver’s side tire with one shot. “I’m not waiting for a gun.” Buckala reloaded another nineteen round magazine and racked the slide.

  Mitchelli was quick to notice that the truck behind him had slowed to a stop, leaving a gap for him to escape. As they went through the first intersection his Mercedes skidded to a near stop. He cut the steering wheel hard left and punched the accelerator. The engine came to life, surprising MacJames, and the rear tires spun as the car zipped down the side street.

  “Angela, we want the Porsche, tell Freed!”

  “I got it, done.” MacJames grabbed the handle above her head as the Mercedes made a hard right, controllably skidding through the intersection. The car’s deep throaty exhaust drowned out her voice over the phone. Mitchelli switched into the oncoming lane to make the next hard right. Skidding through another intersection he slowed, scanning for the Porsche convertible. The car was on the viaduct overlooking the expressway. It was escaping down the on-ramp back onto the expressway. The Porsche accelerated rapidly then slowed and blended in with traffic. Mitchelli gunned the coupe into another hard left turn heading down the expressway on-ramp.

  “Did you see the Porsche, Angela? Did you see it?” Mitchelli yelled over the exhaust.

  “Yes, I’m relaying it to Bob. Buffalo PD’s taking down the trucks. Bob’s behind us…Let him catch up.”

  “Ok!” Tires spinning, Mitchelli decided he would wait for no one.

  He calmly weaved the Mercedes through traffic. The cars were almost downtown; the expressway would split soon: left would take you downtown, the Elm Oak corridor; right would take you uptown. The Porsche headed downtown towards Chippewa and Leo’s Lair. MacJames relayed the information to Freed. When the black convertible drove past Chippewa, she said, “They’re headed to the waterfront.”

  “They could circle back on a side street.” MacJames’s voice was calm. “Nice driving, I don’t think they’ve seen us.”

  “I’m trying to keep my distance.”

  The two older men in the Porsche had silver streaks in the hair, and were dressed in white button down shirts, blac
k windbreakers to conceal their guns, black slacks, and dark horn-rimmed sunglasses. Their heads panned from side to side as they drove, looking for any sign of the police. A black machine pistol laid in the lap of the passenger. Then the driver pointed at two Buffalo Police cars in the opposite lane headed directly towards them, their sirens blaring, lights flashing. When the squad cars continued pass them, the driver checked his rear view mirror. The driver gave his partner the ok signal.

  Mitchelli watched the squad cars speed past him. “Angela, what’s with that?”

  “They’re after the trucks, stay on the Porsche, play the role, isn’t that what you wanted? You took their shipment and they want it back.”

  “Freed never told Buffalo PD about the Porsche, he doesn’t want my cover blown. That’s just great.” Mitchelli glanced at MacJames, “You didn’t give me a choice.” More sirens sounded as additional police cars rushed down the side street headed towards the Peterbilts. “So much for trust.”

  “Damn it, don’t do that to me! Pull over and we’ll play it safe and let Freed pursue the Porsche.”

  “You know I won’t do that, so don’t pretend.”

  Paranoid by all the sirens, the Porsche driver casually checked his rearview mirror. A minivan turned right and Mitchelli’s coupe entered his view, the LED daytime running lights announcing his presence. The driver motioned to his partner who turned quickly looking between the seats at Mitchelli’s car. He motioned to the driver to turn right at the next signal. The driver pushed his sunglasses firmly back on his nose tugged at his seat belt as it tightened across his chest. He put his driving gloves on and positioned his hands firmly on the steering wheel.

  From a distance, the Mercedes coupe followed the Porsche through the turn. “Shit, do you see where the hell they went?” Mitchelli asked. The couple’s heads turned rapidly from side to side, searching for the Porsche.

  MacJames’s head snapped right. “He pulled to the right,” she exclaimed. “They’ve stopped at the curb, SHIT! They’ve spotted us!” The coupe overshot the gunmen. “He’s behind us. He’s making a U-turn!” The Mercedes slowed and then with a violent jolt, the rear tires spinning and the car headed backwards, Mitchelli hit the parking brake as he cut the wheel. The car pivoted on its axis, reversing the coupe’s direction. The coupe frantically followed the Porsche through the intersection. The Porsche’s rear-end dropped from the torque of the engine, the tires spinning the exhaust barking. Commuters walking on the sidewalks quickly turned towards the sound of the exotic exhaust.

  Freed slammed on his brakes as the Porsche crossed his path when his government car entered the intersection.

  As he started to turn to follow the Porsche, Buckala yelled, “Stop!” Mitchelli’s coupe quickly zigzagged right, just barely missing the government car. “Jesus Christ he’s on a roll!” They waited a split second as Mitchelli’s coupe ripped through the intersection. Then Buckala yelled, “Punch it, Roberto!” The government car followed in quick pursuit.

  “Dom, are you sending our location?” The Porsche and Mercedes turned right, careening through another intersection and heading towards the baseball stadium. “I don’t like this Dom, this isn’t going to end well.”

  Buckala gripped his gun. “Give him a break, Roberto. They went after him and these guys aren’t average Joes, they’re pros.” Their car narrowly missed a truck as it finished its turn at the intersection, “Roberto, hit the gas sooner when exiting the turn; it helps straighten the car out. Christ, haven’t you ever driven in a city chase?”

  Coarseni giggled excitedly. “Bob, tell him all the city chases you have been involved in. Tell him Bob, come on tell him, go ahead tell him.”

  “Shut up, Dom. Just focus on forwarding our coordinates, damn it.” Freed clenched his teeth.

  Buckala glanced sideways at Freed. “Roberto, what the hell is wrong with you? Shit, you’re getting worse. You did better on the last turn!”

  “I drank too much coffee; I have to hit the john.”

  The cars made a rapid left turn on to Ellicott Street and headed towards the center of the stadium. A Buffalo police car was following them with its siren blaring. The baseball stadium filled the view from the windshield. The Porsche turned left, sliding into the oncoming lane. Popcorn flew, fans jumped catching their legs in the turnstiles, others spilled their drinks, and children pointed. The cars continued to screech through the hard left turn. The Porsche veered into the oncoming lane to make a hard right, and the cars chasing it followed. As the stunned fans stood for the National Anthem just over the left outfield wall, they turned to watch the two German cars. The exhaust roaring from them, they drove along the outside of the outfield wall and up the westbound on-ramp, entering the I-190 expressway. The government car, the yellow rental car, and the Buffalo patrol car raced behind losing distance. The chase captured the attention of the fans sitting in the upper bleachers. They watched as the cars headed west on the elevated expressway.

  Just then, the sound of a phone ringing blared from the stereo system of the Mercedes. The display panel indicated Home. “Crap,” Mitchelli said. “Did you call my sister?”

  “I forget… Can we talk about it later? Keep your eyes on the road.” MacJames looked at the display as the phone rang again. “Did you call Kaitlin? Oh my God, Peter. Don’t answer the phone, please.”

  “You said you were going to call, I’m supposed to trust you. My family’s getting hysterical, and you forgot to call.”

  “We left right way I had to change, give me a break. Ok! Ok, I’m sorry! I should have called. Don’t answer the phone, please!”

  “If I saw you call my sister, I would’ve remembered to call Kaitlin.”

  “Give me a break!”

  “I mean it.”

  “Peter, don’t answer the phone. Stay focused.”

  “Daddy, is that you? Can you hear me? It’s Kaitlin?”

  “Oh my God, Peter!” MacJames rolled her eyes.

  “I hit the damn button by accident,” he said.

  “Dad, are you in an accident?” Kaitlin sounded concerned.

  “No, honey. We’re ok.”

  “Where are you Daddy? Why didn’t you call? I have to tell you what happened today.”

  “Angela forgot to remind me, she’s sorry baby.” MacJames clenched her fists. “Kaitlin, I’m a little busy, I have to go. I haven’t been in an accident.”

  “Brakes, Jesus! Hit the brakes!” MacJames screamed as Mitchelli just missed the back of small truck. Veering quickly, he passed it.

  “Ms. MacJames, are you there? Are you praying? If you’re not, should you be saying God’s name when you’re mad, that’s a sin?”

  MacJames’s face turned red. “No honey, I’m sorry for yelling.”

  “What are the two of you doing; are you necking?” The engine roared as the car sped past cars on either side.

  “Kaitlin, were not necking; we’re driving in heavy traffic. Kaitlin I have to call you back, I swear I call you later.”,

  “Ms. MacJamerson is dad a good kisser?”

  “Kaitlin I’m going to hang up.”

  “No dad just let her answer my question and then I’ll go I promise. Please dad!”

  “Answer her damn question.”

  MacJames hit him in the arm, “Well um… he’s ok Kaitlin.”

  Mitchelli looked at MacJames shaking his head.

  “Just ok, why don’t you think he’s a great kisser because he sticks his tongue in your mouth? That’s gross!”

  The car swerved just missing a tractor-trailer, “Kaitlin I’m hanging up now I love you, we’ll have a talk when I call you back.”

  “Okay, Dad. I love you more than you love me.” She hung up the phone.

  “Angela ok, granted I don’t have your experience, but didn’t you think ok would prompt a follow up question?”

  “Focus on the road please. I didn’t want her to think we kissed a lot, we really don’t. She probably thinks I’m a hard to please bitch. Besides I didn’t wa
nt her to think her father’s girlfriend his tramp.” MacJames placed her hand on the dashboard as Mitchelli braked hard and followed the Porsche down an off-ramp.

  ***

  “Jesus, Roberto, your driving sucks. Where the hell did you learn to drive?” Buckala placed both hands on the dashboard.

  “Hey give him a frickin’ break, Sal,” Coarseni said. “This is his first chase!”

  “Shit, Roberto! You’re a car chase virgin! That explains it.”

  “Hey, hey! This is their second date. Did you guys hear me? This is the Marauder and the Baltimore Whore’s second date.”

  “Dom, what the hell are you talking about?” Freed shook his head. “This isn’t my first chase.”