MY HEAD WAS turned back to the pet shop as Chelsea pulled out of the strip mall and onto the highway, alarmingly close to the front of a big rig with Tim Hortons and a giant brown doughnut painted on its side. The blast of the truck’s horn seemed to pour straight out of the mouth of Metalhead, who by now had burst from the shop. I couldn’t see a g*n in his hand, but he was waving one arm. The other, still stuck to the side of his head, probably held the cellphone. Probably he had already called the police. Probably the sirens would start up any second and the ghost of Keaton would have exactly the kind of chase scene he loved. I cringed to think of the ending. Because, in Cops, a short that Keaton made in 1922, famous for the monumental chase scene in which Buster is pursued on foot throug
