I didn’t explicitly tell Beto that we were heading towards the King County Correctional Facility; I just provided directions as we made the short drive. I had him pull into the parking garage at 6th and Jefferson. I had a good view of the sally port into the jail from the parking garage. From what BlueWhisper had told me, that was the only way to get prisoners in or out. Transfers were never done in public view. I had them back the car into a space overlooking the sally port, and I adjusted the mirror so I could watch it.

  Rook spoke up from the back seat, “Okay, homes. Lay it out. Who is the chica, and why do these two vatos want her? Right now I’m feeling pretty exposed parked here watching a fucking prison with like 500 cops close enough to spit on.” I noticed that Beto had put on his hoodie, hiding his more obvious tattoos.

  I sighed and then went into my explanation. “Luanda and I are tight, and she’s in lockup overnight because of me. The two asholes don’t give two shits about her, they just want to find me and they think she can help. I plan to follow them after they pick her up. I know where they will take her. Once they get there, we’ll pull up in back of them and block them in. With four of us, they will give her up. If they don’t, then it goes the other way.” I knew this wasn’t true, but I didn’t see this going well if they believed we were going up against cops. There was so much I just hadn’t thought through.

  I couldn’t see Rook behind me to my left, but the silence didn’t make me think he was on board with my explanation. His tone was colder when he spoke next. “That sounds a lot like some pendejadas. If she doesn’t want to go with these scarry dudes how the fuck are they gonna make her? The building is full of cops. Those chotas may be stupid, but they're not gonna ignore some bitch get dragged away screaming.”

  I heard my phone ping a couple of times but ignored it.

  I tried to calm things down. “They’re pretending to be cops. She won’t have a choice.”

  Rook interrupted, his voice straining. “Pretending. They’re pretending to be cops. Ok, now I see what your loco fucking plan is. That place you are staring at right now is the sally port where they do prisoner exchanges. I have personally been through that port no less than five times. You want us to help you break your fucking girlfriend out of custody.”

  I turned in my seat and saw him, his expression furious. I spoke louder over the top of him, “They are not real cops.”

  He jabbed a finger towards my face, his voice tight with fury. “The fuck they aren’t! You think someone just strolls into county lockup like it's a goddamn deli counter? 'Hi, I'll take one inmate to go?'” His voice dripped with scorn. “They check IDs, they run warrants, they verify everything. Those aren't actors playing cop out there, pendejo. They’re real cops, and you want us rolling up on 'em?” He paused, breathing hard, his gun held rigidly by his side. “Get. The fuck. Out.”

  Mine was already gripped inside my hoodie pocket, finger indexed along the slide. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Not happening.” The small space of the Accord suddenly felt suffocating.

  “The fuck you say?” He was suprised but also pissed.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes locked on him, acutely aware of Filero shifting beside me in the back. “You want out? Fine, but leave the car. I need it to finish this. I’ll square it with Park, tell him you held up your end; you still get the back half. We all walk away clean. The other option is we make a lot of noise and pray 500 cops don’t clean up whoever is left alive. My clock’s ticking, Rook. I need this ride.”

  Rook’s eyes bore through me. I saw Filero’s hand move, a glint of reflected light on polished steel – a long, thin blade appearing almost casually in his grip. I pressed myself back against the passenger door and pulled the Glock free. My hands were unsure, and I fumbled slightly before managing to rack the slide. As I did, I noticed a small child’s sock under the seat in front of Rook looking incongruous next to the angry Norte?o..

  Beto spoke for the first time, his voice like a calm breeze after a hurricane. “Everybody take a breath. Let’s cool the macho prison bullshit. Is this cabrón even worth it? We’re already up 10 grand each, and all we had to do was take a train ride. We do this thing and who knows what shit we land in.”

  Rook’s face was incredulous as he stared at Beto. “You want us to let this go? I watched you beat that college piss to within an inch of his life for eyeballing you, and now you want to let this cum stain live.”

  Beto’s tone was still calm. “Yes, but what did that get me? Three years for nothing. Getting shanked in the shower. Fuck that noise. What do I care if this culero fed us some mamadas. Here’s my bet. We walk away and this crazy motherfucker goes after that girl on his own and gets killed. It's the easiest money I’ll ever make. I bet half of whatever back half we can pry out of Park that he’s dead inside the day, and we don’t have to do anything but walk away.”

  Filero laughed. “No way I’m taking that bet.”

  Rook looked me in the eye, “Here’s how it is. We leave you the car and walk. Before we make it to that elevator over there, you get on your fucking phone and tell Park we completed the job. Your word on that, and we walk.”

  I nodded. “You have my word.”

  Beto put the keys on the dashboard and they all got out. As soon as they were a couple feet away, I took my phone, my hands shaking in the aftermath of the tension. It took me an extra few seconds to type out a Signal message to Park saying, “Rook’s crew and I decided not to go forward with the plan. Too many cops. Thanks for all your help in getting them for me.”

  As I watched Beto and his crew disappear down the elevator, I slid over to the driver's side and put my gun in the door's side pocket. I heard another ping and felt the vibration of my cell phone. I immediately checked the messages from BlueWhisper.

  BlueWhisper [10 minutes ago]: A bloke is at the transfer desk asking to pick up Luanda. They’re verifying warrants and ID and have notified the duty guards to bring her.

  BlueWhisper [8 minutes ago]: Everything cleared, which is bollocks since I checked for warrants on Luanda this morning and didn’t find shite. Also, that ID can’t be proper, but the State people cleared it. Sending the badge image.

  The image was not Nick, but could easily be Jacob since I didn’t really know what he looked like. The name on the badge was Detective Nicholas Welington, WSP.

  Blue Whisper [2 minutes ago]: They just signed the transfer acceptance.

  Blue Whisper [30 seconds ago]: They just cleared her out. I can’t track her from here. Keep sending me your GPS. If I see something happening close to you, I’ll give you a buzz.

  I looked back at the sally port and didn’t see any cars. My already high adrenaline spiked again, and I put the keys in the ignition and took off almost recklessly. The top level of the parking lot had seemed great when I wanted to watch things, but having to drive down it now felt like an eternity. The Accord handled surprisingly well, but I clipped a pillar with the left rear quarter panel, after which I slowed down. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, and I felt sweat on my palms.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  When I stopped at the exit gate, I paid quickly and took a second to connect to BlueWhisper by voice. While the gate was opening, I inserted my wireless earbuds. As I pulled away, the engine revved, and I tucked my phone into a velcro pocket in my vest. I saw Rook’s team watching me drive off from just inside the parking garage. Filero put two fingers to his temple in the shape of a gun and mocked blowing out his brains.

  He was right. What I was doing was suicide, but that didn’t slow me down.

  BlueWhisper came into my headset, his Australian baritone calm. It made me feel less alone, less caught up in my unwillingness to accept the impossibility of the situation. “Hey, Sabot, got you on comms now. You got someone following that car?”

  “It’s just me, Whisper, and I’m way behind them now. Trying to catch up. Turning north on 4th. Any cops, or can I gun it?”

  “All clear, mate.” I hit the gas and felt the Accord lurch forward. It was a one-way, and the left lane was mostly empty, but I couldn’t see the black, unmarked Charger anywhere ahead. I passed several cars and almost blew a red light when BlueWhisper spoke again, “You got a team with you?”

  “All I’ve got is you, Whisper.” I started to accelerate into a yellow, knowing I wouldn’t make it but planning to speed through on red when a powerful panic made me hit the brakes, stopping just in time to see a Ford F-150 go through fast the other way, having timed the light. It felt just like the panic I felt back at Stillpoint, but I didn’t have time to consider it.

  “Look, mate, these guys are serious people. I always considered you more of a keyboard warrior, not the guns-and-fists type. You sure about this?”

  “Just crossing Union. I got this, buddy.” I accelerated hard away from the light and felt the wheel jump in my hands.

  “Slow it down before Olive, I have one unit northeast that may spot you.”

  I finally spotted my target. The Charger was several blocks ahead in the slow lane, just moving out of sight past a building. At least a good two minutes ahead of me, and we were rapidly approaching the tattoo parlor. I slowed down reluctantly as I passed Olive. “Any other cops between here and the tattoo parlor?”

  “Still clear.”

  I got cut off by a white Lexus turning in front of me and slammed my fist into the steering wheel in frustration before I could pull to the right and speed past. The vest and hoodie were hot, and sweat dripped down my chest and back.

  “Crossing Blanchard now.”

  I saw the Charger turn left onto Wall Street, clearly planning to circle the block. I cut left a street earlier, onto Battery. I knew Battery turned one way against me after First Avenue, but the tattoo parlor's entrance was right there off the one-way section. I could cut them off if I risked driving the wrong way for half a block.

  As I approached First Avenue, I could see them turning into the tattoo parlor driveway area. Suddenly, I felt an intense pain behind my eyes, and my vision split. While my real time was approaching the intersection, my weird split perception accelerated, making the two images change in perspective rapidly. I tried to focus on just the future view, and it became more distinct, and the pain grew less.

  I accelerated through the intersection and tried to cut into the parking area, doing over 40. I cut the curb too tightly and hit it hard, jolting and causing me to lose control. The car continued forward and slammed into the wall behind the charger. The airbags exploded, and my head slammed into the one on the steering wheel. Then I reset back in time to just before the intersection.

  This time, I stopped accelerating at 30 and tried to take a wider angle, just managing to enter on a trajectory to ram them. Nick was exiting the front door, but Jacob hadn’t yet stepped out. I hit the Charger in the left rear of the bumper, spinning it slightly and pushing me sideways into the wall. The side and front airbags temporarily blocked my vision as I struggled to get out of my seatbelt and pull my gun from the door pocket. I could see Jacob exiting the car and turning to face me. His dark hair and close-set eyes, bearing down on me as a handgun almost identical to mine bore down on me. I struggled to open the door, but it was pinned closed against the wall. He shot three times in short succession, and then I was back, approaching the light again.

  This time, I waited, wanting time for Jacob to get out of the car so I could strike both of them directly or indirectly. As I crossed the intersection, I started my acceleration, going even wider and continuing to accelerate as I entered the driveway. Jacob was now partially out of the car, and Nick had the rear door open, going to get Luanda from the back seat. I tried to hit Nick directly and managed to strike him partially as I continued past on his left and into the open door. The car slammed forward, throwing Jacob out and away while Nick bounced hard off the Dodge. My airbags went off, and then I was back in my body—no more split.

  My vision throbbed, and I felt a trickle of blood from my nose. What the fuck, why didn’t I get to try again? Did this mean I had the right plan and wasn’t still in danger? No way to know. I just repeated the same thing in real life, hoping I did enough damage to end things.

  My speed, angle coming in, and timing were nearly identical to last time. It felt so much more real with my full vision and senses in the moment. I felt the seatbelt jerk and the airbag strike my face, but I didn’t let it distract me. My left hand went down to the gun while my right unhooked my seatbelt.

  The force of the collision had bent the front passenger-side door backward. The rear passenger-side door had tried to slam shut but had caught on Nick's large frame, thrown him into the Dodge, and opened back up. I could see Luanda inside, hands behind her back. Her seatbelt was off, and she looked like she was trying to slide out of the car.

  I opened the door and climbed out. Nick was down, so I focused on Jacob. I couldn’t see him, but he must have been knocked back when the Accord slammed into the Charger. I moved to my right, trying to edge around the front of the charger to find Jacob. I saw Luanda outside the car and heard metal scraping across the ground from that direction. Maybe she kicked Nick’s gun away.

  Everything smelled like gasoline.

  I saw Jacob; he was on his knees. I pointed my Glok at him and pulled the trigger. I saw an explosion far to the left and high on the wall and was surprised at the kick from the 9mm. The slide locked back – limp wrist, damn it. I remembered that I needed to keep my wrist firm. I stepped forward and racked the gun, clearing it.

  Out of the edge of my vision to my left, I could see Luanda bringing her foot down on Nick’s skull.

  In front of me, Jacob was picking up his gun from the pavement and standing up. I shot again, keeping my grip firm, and missed cleanly. He stood up, facing me, gun coming on line, and then I split again.

  In the split reality, I stopped walking and tried to aim as carefully as possible. Jacob fired first, and I felt the slug hit my vest. I pulled the trigger and missed high, but otherwise on target. His second shot took me back to the beginning.

  I kept trying, and I kept missing. Each repeat was shorter as real time rapidly approached the moment I would pull the trigger. Finally, I hit him, low on the side of his abdomen. Jacob still shot me, and I reset again. I focused on moving the tip slightly up as real time was only fractions of a second from the pull of the trigger. This time, I struck him higher, and the loop ended, my real finger already pulling on the now real gun.

  The bullet tore through him. Unlike the movies where people get thrown back, he just dropped, falling forward. I must have hit something vital, maybe the spine. The gun clattered from his hand, and I heard wet breathing as I approached, gun on him. He struggled to breathe, but the blood pooling under him was incredible—two more breaths and then nothing. My hand was shaking, but I stood there, gun out, just pointing at him as he lay motionless.

  I head Luanda’s voice, “That Jacob asshole has the handcuff keys, get them.”

  That got me moving. I knelt in the growing puddle of blood and pushed Jacob’s limp body over, searching his pockets and finding nothing but a wallet and a magazine. I stuffed them both in my hoodie and looked around. They had fallen a short distance away, probably dropped when the car struck him. I picked them up and saw Luanda approaching. As she got close, she turned around, and I found the handcuff key on the keychain and unhooked her handcuffs.

  In my right ear, I heard BlueWhisper, “That sounded pretty bad, Sabot. You still with us mate?” My left earbud was missing, probably in the crash.

  “Yes, man. I’m here.” Luanda looked at me, confused, and I pointed at my right ear. She got it.

  “Well, you probably need to skidadle right fast because 911 just got flooded, and about 20 cops are headed your way.”

  As he said it, I saw Nick limping towards First. I lifted my Glock and fired a round, but he was too far. Luanda shouted, “Stop shooting,” and I did. “I can’t believe he got up after that. I curb-stomped him a dozen times.” She bent over and retrieved the gun from next to Jacob. It was covered with blood, and she casually wiped it off. “Fucking MR920. If you want a Glock just buy a fucking Glock.” She shook her head.

  I told her, “We gotta go, and neither or these cars is an option.” The broken windows and airbag deployments made them a cop magnet, if not wholly undrivable. She nodded and pointed at the alleyway. We both started a fast walk away from the carnage.