Coarseni tumbled side to side in the back seat as the car turned. “Yeah, ok Bob, you’re the king of high speed pursuits. Listen, this is Angela and Peter’s second date, maybe third. I didn’t count the boat ride because the kids were there. Exciting huh? The first date comes after he’s been shot saving your two butts. He must have been horny after that doctor rubbed her boobs all over him. Hey Sal, do you think he’s groping her while he’s driving?”
Buckala yelled, “Ask Mario Andretti. Brake, Roberto, hit the brakes!”
Freed cried out, “First you tell me to hit the gas out of a turn, now you’re telling me to brake. I’m dying here; my bladder’s going to burst!”
“Bob, what do ya think,” Coarseni asked. “Is Angela feisty in bed, or cold fish, what do ya think?”
“Dom, I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. She’s my friend.”
***
The German cars raced down the city streets, their precision built engines churning horsepower. The cars crossed in front of the west side of the stadium. The Porsche meandered through the city streets as if lost. It made a quick left behind the stadium parking ramp. The cars spend on the incline and headed east on the I-190. The fans cheered between innings as they watched the cars race by on the elevated expressway, the German engines and police sirens screaming.
The Porsche merged into traffic adjacent to a Buffalo Police car that was in the left-hand lane. The squad car immediately turned its lights and siren on, turning towards the Porsche and cutting the Mercedes off. The passenger in the Porsche turned in his seat, stuck his machine pistol out his window and fired. A burp of bullets ripped into the front of the police car. Smoke poured from the hood, and oil covered the windshield. The squad car drove into the right concrete barrier, crashing to a fiery halt.
“That’s it Angela. I’m backing off, I don’t want you hurt.” Just then, the Porsche passenger took aim at the coupe. Mitchelli jerked the wheel left just as the machine pistol released a flurry of fire, barely missing the coupe and impacting in the concrete highway. “That’s it. We’re done; you’re going to get hurt.”
The car’s female computer voice spoke, “You have exceeded one hundred twenty miles an hour. Stay alert. Stay alert.”
MacJames dropped her window. “Mitchelli, that’s not your style to quit. Since when did you ever run from a fight! Kick this car in the ass and make that bitch scream!” Mitchelli turned in the left lane as MacJames took aim, placing her gun between the windshield frame and the side mirror. She shot twice and the rounds broke the rear window of the Porsche. She fired two more shots; the second hit the top of the windshield frame, breaking the mechanism that held the convertible top to the car. The top flew off the car and onto the expressway.
***
“Holy shit, did you see that? MacJames shot the roof off that car!” Buckala was stunned.
“Wow that was something!” Freed yelled. “Ok, I’ll play. I choose feisty, definitely feisty.”
“Bullshit, Bob,” said Coarseni. “You wouldn’t dignify the question with an answer. Why is she feisty in the sack now? Huh!”
Freed said, “Any woman who can shoot the roof off a car at a hundred miles an hour is definitely feisty in bed.”
Buckala laughed, “I agree, I pick feisty too.”
“Bullshit, Sal. I didn’t even ask you. You have to wait for me to ask. The hell with both of you, I picked feisty first. The two of you hid from the question like a couple of school girls.” Coarseni kicked the back of Buckala’s seat. “Why do I always have to sit in the back? I can’t see anything back here.”
Buckala turned to Freed. “Who sounds like a little school girl now?”
***
Traffic was light and the German cars were able to speed well over a hundred miles an hour. They merged onto the thruway heading east. The Porsche exited the thruway on to Walden Avenue by the Galleria Mall. Traffic stopped at the intersections and police converged from every direction. The Sheriff’s helicopter hovered above the chase, joined at a distance by a news helicopter. As the German cars crossed over Transit Road, their speed increased. The police cars could not keep up.
“The vehicle speed is approaching one hundred and fifty miles an hour. The engine limiter will engage. Caution, the engine limiter will engage.”
“Can’t you shut that bitch up?” MacJames asked.
Mitchelli smiled. “I kind of like her. She’s helpful! I’m driving too fast to look at the speedometer.”
“She’s a computer.”
The cars slowed and the road narrowed, changing to only two lanes. They were in the town of Lancaster, eighteen miles east of Buffalo and just five miles from Mitchelli’s truck battle the night before.
Mitchelli whispered, “Come on Hustler, we have to push him, faster.” The cars weaved in and out of the two lanes. Their suspensions unloaded as they lifted off the ground, zipping through the country intersections.
“Who are you talking to? Do you see Ann? Who’s a hussy?”
“No, I don’t see Ann. The kid’s nickname for the car is Hustler, not hussy.” The coupe rose over the intersection, the tires almost coming off the ground. “That’s the second time today you’ve asked me if I’ve seen Ann!”
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m worried about you.” MacJames nervously turned to Mitchelli. “Peter, slow down. We’re going to fly off the road.”
“That’s the idea.”
“What!”
Mitchelli knew the long stretch of road well. As the Porsche slowed to recover from its bounce through the intersection, Mitchelli sped by and pushed his accelerator to the floor. The engine roared.
“Peter, was that a good idea? He’s taking aim.”
“He won’t have time! Hang on!” The Mercedes lifted off the ground as it drove over a railroad crossing. MacJames faced rearward and yelled. She clung to her seat. The Mercedes settled rear wheels first to the pavement, as if it had merely performed a choreographed wheelie. MacJames watched as all four tires of the Porsche leapt from the pavement just as the passenger was going to fire. With no weight on the Porsche’s tires, the safety computer took the necessary steps to protect the occupants from a rollover and deployed the airbags. Enveloping the driver and passenger in white smoke, the bags obscured their vision. The roll bars ripped through the leather seats, extending well above the windshield. The aerodynamically inefficient convertible slammed to the pavement. The airbag obscured the driver’s vision, unable to see, he panicked and locked the wheels, the car veered first to the left then right and rolled off the road, erupting into flames in a field. Parts flew off the car in every direction as the car rolled over, and over violently.
Mitchelli slowed and then turned around, heading back towards the crashed Porsche. He parked on the side of the road. The news helicopter hovered above; its remote belly camera zoomed in on the burning car. A New York State Trooper car screeched to a stop. Unaware of the chase, the Trooper got out of his car.
“Peter, there’s a news helicopter,” MacJames warned Mitchelli. “This has got to look like a felony stop. Remember your cover.”
“Jesus Angela, you going to handcuff me again? I’ve had it!” He yelled at her as hit his hands on the steering wheel.
“Focus, team player! We need the State Trooper outside your window to arrest you. We’ve come to far, we can’t jeopardize losing your cover.”
“OK, BOSS!” Mitchelli rolled his window down and yelled to the trooper, “Draw your pistol! They’re filming, draw your pistol!”
MacJames chastised him, “Don’t be so damn obvious!”
The trooper recognized Mitchelli from the previous night and casually approached the car. “Oh God, it’s the Trooper from last night, the kid. Couldn’t they give him the night off?” Mitchelli yelled, “Gun! I have a gun; I have a gun I’m going to blow you away!”
The trooper froze and then drew his pistol pointing it at Mitchelli. “Police, don’t move! Police, don’t move! DEAR GOD, DON’T MOVE!”
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Mitchelli put his hands out the window in plain sight, as did MacJames. The trooper ordered them to get out of the car keeping their hands in the air, while the news helicopter sent their video feed back to its studio via satellite.
***
Beth Mitchelli called her children to the kitchen for dinner. She had been working late on a proposal and had just finished preparing the evening’s meal. The TV was playing a game show that typically aired after the evening news. Her children entered the kitchen and took their places at the table. Beth placed a platter of fried chicken on the table and turned to watch her show.
“Mom, we hate this stupid show. Can we watch channel 36, please?” the child whined.
“Quiet, I just want to see what she’s wearing…wait a minute. Here she comes. Wow, that makes her look fat, don’t you kids think she looks fat?”
Just then, the game show was interrupted by an emergency news broadcaster. The intro with a helicopter flying over the city of Buffalo with the station’s emblem on the side quickly started and finished. The newscaster sat behind his broadcast desk, his shirt and tie were loosened and he was wearing large horn-rimmed glasses.
“Eye on your side news interrupts this broadcast for a news alert. The calm of downtown Buffalo was interrupted earlier this evening with a renegade car chase, which stretched from Grider Street by Erie County Medical Center by Patsy Baseball Stadium, continuing to Galleria Mall in Cheektowaga, and ending tragically in a fiery deadly crash in Lancaster. Residents near the Grider Street exit along the thirty-three expressway reported hearing gunshots and screeching tires. Police Cars rushed to the scene, but the mayhem sped downtown around the baseball diamond just as the National Anthem was being sung. The four cars, one of them a police car, raced around the stadium two or three times before heading east into the town of Cheektowaga. A Buffalo Police car attempted to intercede when it was shot to pieces on the 190 interstate. The mayhem traveled with a cavalcade of police cars in pursuit to Walden Avenue by the Galleria and crossed Transit Road into the rural portion Lancaster. We go now to our exclusive Eye in the Sky helicopter camera footage, taken just moments ago.
Beth walked toward the TV, turning the volume down as the children began eating.
“Mom, that looks like Uncle Peter’s car,” her son said.
“Honey, please eat. I’m tired. I just want to clean up and go to bed.”
Her daughter chimed in, “Mom, does that man looks like Uncle Peter standing outside the car getting handcuffed? It is, oh my God! It is Uncle Peter.”
Beth stopped loading the dishwasher and froze. She cautiously moved to the TV and turned up the volume. To her amazement, her brother’s silver Mercedes coupe was parked in the forefront of a smoking fireball in the field. As the film replayed, she watched her brother exit the car and place his hands on the hood. The trooper spread her brother’s legs, removed his firearm, and placed his hands in restraints behind his back. Another group of troopers pulled MacJames from the passenger side of the car. She placed her hands on the hood while she was frisked. Her gun was taken and then she was handcuffed. Mitchelli and MacJames were yelling at each other; both were furious with the other, their faces beat red.
“Oh... ooo boy this is trouble. This is bad, bad, bad, and bad. Kids, hurry up and eat. Oh, boy this is bad, bad, bad! I have to call Peter and Kaitlin. No, I can’t tell them. What did the news say?” She quickly turned to her kids, “What did he do? Did you hear what he did?” She faced the TV turning up the volume even louder. “Did they say he shot six people?” She yelled at the top of her lungs, “Kids, answer me! Did he kill anyone! Christ, there’s another car burning!” As her children stared at her not saying anything, she turned to remove a crystal tumbler from the cabinet. She poured herself a glass of scotch. Her eyes never turned away from the TV screen. “Get your father, NOW!” She looked at MacJames yelling across the car hood at her brother. MacJames’s face red with anger. Mitchelli’s hands were cuffed behind his back, but he was twisting his body as if to attack MacJames. “He can drive any woman crazy, poor Angela.” Suddenly, a trooper fell to the ground as Mitchelli stood erect rapidly and moved towards MacJames. The young baby-faced troopers looked like adolescents next to Mitchelli. Four of them wrestled with him, struggling to place him in a patrol car. “Oh, don’t hurt him. He’s big but delicate.” She turned to her children and said, “You know he’s never been the same since aunt Ann died.” Beth knew her brother: although hyper, he was not a criminal, or was he? She quickly picked up her cell phone. “I’ll call your Uncle Pat.”
***
Peter Mitchelli’s lookalike sat several feet in front of a large screen TV, playing a video game. He spoke into his headset, giving orders to his gaming friends, his teammates online. The World War II figures moved in frenzy around the bomb riddled factory, guns firing. The phone rang several times; the lookalike did not attempt to answer.
“Pauli, phone. Your brother is on the phone,” a voice yelled out.
“I got to call him back; I’m in the middle of something,” Pauli answered.
“He says it’s important!”
Pauli was agitated. “What the hell! It’s another FYI bullshit call while he’s board driving. I CALL HIM BACK!”
“He says Peter’s on TV, channel eight, and it doesn’t look good.”
Pauli Mitchelli’s face went blank and his mouth opened slightly. “Peace out buds, I’ve got to go,” he said into his microphone. With several clicks of the remote control, he was watching his brother on the news getting arrested. He was bent over the hood of his car yelling at his new girlfriend MacJames. He picked up the phone beside him as his wife walked into the room. She stood by him at the end of the couch fearing his next outburst. “What the hell is this shit, Phil?” he said into the phone. “Someone please tell me there are no dead bodies.”
Phil said, “No, thank God. No dead bodies, but look in the field.”
“Oh Jesus, there’s smoke, shit a fire. Please tell me that’s not a cop car burning in the field please. Ooo, Ooo they’ve got his girlfriend under arrest, I always thought she was a little slutty.” Pauli Mitchelli gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “I’m not representing her for nothing, Goddamn it, I’m not doing it. I don’t care how many bullshit favors he did for me. I’m not doing it.”
Phillip replied, “I’ll tell you that car looks great on TV, very House of Vaughn.” Vaughn was a famous German automotive designer. “Peter should have lost weight years ago.”
“The car does look nice.” Pauli was momentarily distracted by his brother’s comment. “What the hell did he do now?”
“I’m sure it was minor. Shot up a car, killed several people, he just got mad. If you people had listened to me, this would have never happened. He needs to take his medicine. Mental illness is a sickness, like cancer it needs to be treated like a disease.”
“God almighty, don’t start with this bullshit Phillip. Dear God as my witness, my parents in heaven help me, I don’t want to listen to your crap now!”
“You need help too. You should be medicated.”
“Phillip, don’t give that crap, I’m the one that always gets stuck cleaning up the mess. Oh!” Just then, the helicopter camera panned out, revealing eleven police cars with their lights flashing in the dissipating sunlight. “Do you see the cars, honey?” He looked at his wife at the end of the couch. “State Police, Buffalo, Cheektowaga, Sheriffs, at least there’s no FBI. Oh jeez, there are unmarked cars, men in suits.” The younger Mitchelli rubbed his forehead. “Ok, Phillip. I have to go get changed and find out what’s happening and try to get him out of jail. All I wanted to do tonight was relax!”
“I’m going with you. Let me know where we can meet.”
“Oh, are you his attorney? NO YOU’RE NOT! I’M HIS DAMN ATTOURNEY! I’ll go alone; stay home and count your money.” Pauli Mitchelli hung up his phone. “Honey, why do I have to do everything?” he asked his wife, with his gaming headset sitting cockeyed on his head.
***
“Grandma can we have more popcorn?”
“Kaitlin and Peter, I can read your minds.” Lillian entered the great room with a large bowl of popcorn; then she looked up at the TV. “What are you children watching?”
“Grandma, we’re watching this guy get arrested with his girlfriend. Look at how he’s yelling at the woman.” Mitchelli’s children laughed. “Kaitlin, he looks like Dad when he yells like when we leave our clothes on the floor in our rooms.”
“Yeah Grandma, or when we leave our lights on. He roars like a lion and his muscles bulge.” Kaitlin got up and started flexing her muscles, roaring like her father. The grandmother laughed with the children.
Peter pointed to the TV screen. “I think that’s Dad’s car. Hey, that is Dad. That’s my Dad, Grandma! They’re arresting Dad!”
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 48