CHAPTER3
712 Words
Jack takes refuge in the silence of the canteen. It's strangely quiet, just like the police station. He stares blankly at the table. The canteen worker approaches and asks, "Do you want anything, Jack?" Jack shakes his head: "No." The canteen worker walks away. At that moment, Tommy arrives with a tray and sits opposite Jack. He pauses, abandoning the expression on his friend's face: "What's with that expression?" Jack doesn't answer. Tommy smiles slightly and tries: "Either you've been fired, or something worse has happened." Jack takes a deep breath. Then, the events unfold in short, clear sentences. As Tommy listens, the playful atmosphere of the canteen gives way to a dark seriousness. Tommy asks in disbelief: "Are you serious? Are you going there?" Jack cuts him off: "I'm not going." But after a brief pause, he lowers his gaze and whispers: "...But I may have to go." Tommy frowns: "What does that mean?" Jack looks Tommy in the eyes: "I have debts." After a sudden silence, he continues: “And if this escalates… Aleksa can’t stay there.” Tommy’s thoughts drift into fragments. The air in the room grows heavier. Tommy leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Jack. “So you’re going to a place where the probability of death is high, right in the middle of that hell…” he begins, but Jack lets him finish. Jack sharply interrupts his friend’s thoughts: “Or do nothing, just wait for it all to fall on us.” A short but heavy silence ensues. The hum in the cafeteria momentarily disappears from Jack’s mind. He averts his gaze from Tommy and fixes it on the faintly lit inhabitants of the cafeteria. The whisper that escapes his lips is a kind of self-confession: “…I don’t know which is worse, Tommy. I swear I don’t know which is worse.” At that moment, it was as if the universe wanted to respond to Jack’s indecision, but it exploded. The crackling, high-pitched voice from the radio cut through the canteen's awkward silence like a knife. "To all units—suspect vehicle escaping! Believed to contain dangerous materials! I repeat, suspect vehicle escaping north!"
Jack and Tommy looked up simultaneously. The single, meaningful glance they exchanged gave way to the coldness of a professional reflex, the existential angst of moments before. Without saying a word, they pushed their chairs back and left at the same time. As they stepped outside, a sharp coldness hit their faces. The police car doors slammed shut with a loud bang. The roar of the engine echoed through the empty streets as Tommy shifted gears sharply. "Hold on tight!" he yelled, flooring the gas pedal. The high-pitched screech from the tires shattered the unusual silence of the street, and the car sped off like a bullet. They turned on the siren; blue and red lights flickered in the windows of the abandoned buildings. The vehicle in front was zigzagging like a wounded animal fleeing from a hunter. Jack reached for the radio inside the shaking vehicle, his voice mingling with the howling wind: “Center, visual contact established! Suspect vehicle heading north, we are continuing the pursuit!” As the speedometer rose, the world outside became a blurry strip. Tommy turned the steering wheel sharply and skillfully, gritting his teeth as he maintained the vehicle's balance: “They can’t escape. Not this time.”
The fleeing vehicle, with a sudden maneuver, veered off the main road and plunged into an abandoned construction site surrounded by rusty iron. The dust cloud rising from under the wheels obscured visibility. Tommy plunged into that dust cloud without hesitation. Immediately afterward, the sirens of other police vehicles and the screeching of tires filled the construction site. By the time the dust settled, the fleeing vehicle was already surrounded like a circle. Doors were opened, guns pointed. “Get out of the vehicle! Hands up! Now!” a policeman’s shout echoed off the concrete walls. There was a brief, breathless silence. Time seemed to stand still. Then the doors of the fleeing vehicle slowly opened. Two men emerged, their hands covering their heads, but the wild glint in their eyes remained. The tension stretched like a thread; one second, two seconds…
- Writer
