Dawson's City (2 page)

A detective badge.

The woman was a cop!

T
ony felt sick. Of all the people in New York City, he had to steal the purse of a plainclothes cop! No wonder she had taken off after him. No wonder she had been in such good shape that she almost caught him.

Why me?
he thought.

Well, at least he had lost her.

And, cop or not, he did have her purse. He looked for the money and found a nice surprise. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so sick. He counted the twenties, the tens, the ones.

A hundred and fifty-two bucks!

Suddenly, he felt very good.

Who would ever guess that a cop would be loaded?

Loaded.

The word triggered an idea. A cop must have a gun! His heart started racing with excitement. He picked up the purse and started looking. If she had a nice .38 in here, he might get a hundred bucks for it. Better yet, he might keep it for himself.

He searched the purse twice, but he found no gun.

Well,
he thought,
you can't win them all.
She probably was carrying her gun in a holster. He hadn't seen it on her. It must have been hidden under her jacket.

Good thing she hadn't pulled the gun out and started blasting. Tony knew he could outrun people---but nobody could outrun a bullet.

He had been lucky. Very lucky.

With the cash in his pocket, he tossed the purse and wallet onto the pile of garbage. Carefully, he turned around. He straightened his legs and peeked over the edge of the bin.

"Freeze, creep!" the woman yelled.

S
he was standing 30 feet away, her back to the brick wall across the alley, both hands clutching a revolver. The barrel was aimed at Tony. He didn't feel so lucky anymore.

"Climb out slowly," she ordered, "and bring my purse with you."

"Yes, ma'am,'' Tony muttered.

Turning around, he searched through the junk. He picked up the purse, brushed some spaghetti off it, and put the wallet inside.

"Out of there," the woman shouted at him. "Now!"

Holding the purse by its strap, he grabbed the metal edge of the garbage bin and swung a leg over. It was then that he remembered the switchblade knife in his pocket. He stopped moving.

"Keep coming."

"Yes, ma'am." He swung himself down to the alley. He was shaking badly. That knife---she would find it when she searched him. A hidden, deadly weapon. There would be a stretch in prison for that on top of what he got for stealing the purse.

"OK, buddy," she said. "Lie down flat on the sidewalk and put your hands behind your back."

He nodded, but he didn't move.

Still aiming the revolver at him, the woman reached behind her back with her left hand. She took out a pair of handcuffs. "I said to---"

Tony hurled the purse at her, spun around, and ran.

"Stop!"

He kept running. The street was bright with sunlight at the end of the alley. If only . . . if only . . .

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

He ducked low. He raced from one side of the alley to the other, hoping to throw off her aim. But he didn't have a chance. He knew that. If this cop could shoot half as well as she could run . . .

The roar of a gunshot rang through the alley.

T
ony waited for a slug to knock him to the ground.

But he stayed on his feet. The woman had missed! Or was it just a warning shot?

It didn't matter because now he was in the sunlight, out of the alley. Now he was out of her line of fire and racing wildly down the sidewalk.

With a quick look back, Tony saw that the woman must have taken a few seconds to pick up her purse and put her gun away before starting after him.

Now he had a little head start. But somehow it didn't seem like enough.

He had tried to outrun her. He had tried to outsmart her. But she was just too fast and too smart.

Still she raced after him, the handcuffs glinting in her fist.

Tony wanted to scream.

How could she do this to him?

Just ahead of him, a car was pulling to the curb. As he came closer, Tony saw a man with a business suit climb out. Tony leaped off the curb. The man looked at him with surprise and opened his mouth. Tony shut it with his fist. The man fell back to the sidewalk. Crouching, Tony yanked the keys from his hand.

Tony threw himself into the car. He stabbed a key into the ignition. The engine turned over. He shoved the stick shift into first gear, let out the emergency brake, and stepped on the gas. The car shot away from the curb.

Behind him, a door slammed shut.

No!

In the rearview mirror, he saw a face that might have been beautiful except for the angry look in the eyes. He felt goosebumps on the skin of his neck as the cold steel barrel of the gun pressed against his ear.

"OK, buddy," the woman said. "Enough is enough. How about giving me a lift to the police station?"

"P
lease," Tony muttered. "I . . . I'll give you back your money. How about it? Give me a break."

"Fat chance," the woman said.

"I'm sorry!

"Sorry doesn't cut it, creep."

"You can't take me in!" he cried.

"Just watch me."

"No!"

He jammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car picked up speed.

"Ease off that!"

"No!"

Up ahead the road was blocked by two lanes of cars waiting at a stoplight. But Tony kept his foot on the gas.

"Don't!" the woman shouted.

The car slammed into the rear of a taxi. Tony's forehead smashed against the steering wheel. But he wasn't knocked out, and he saw that the crash had thrown the woman forward.

Her body was trapped in the space between the two front seats. The revolver lay on the floor near Tony's feet. He reached down for it.

Then he felt something strike his wrist. And he heard the clicking sound.

"Got you!" the woman said with a smile.

Tony stared in shock at the handcuffs. One handcuff was locked around his right wrist. The other was locked around the left wrist of the woman.

"You only
think
you've got me!" Tony shouted back at her.

He grabbed the gun from the floor with his left hand. He pressed its barrel to the chain that connected the handcuffs and fired.

The blast of the gun pounded in his ears and left them ringing.

Through the ringing, he heard a distant siren.

He looked down at the handcuffs. The chain was not broken at all.

How could that be?

He fired again, and again the noise of the explosion rang in his ears.

The chain still connected his handcuff to the woman's. It looked as if the chain hadn't been touched by either bullet.

And now the siren was growing louder. People were gathering around the car.

Tony shoved the barrel hard against the chain and pulled the trigger one more time. The blast of the gun made his ears ache. But still the handcuffs stayed together.

"What's going on?" he cried.

"Blanks," said the woman.

A
cop in uniform opened the driver's door. Tony let the revolver fall from his shaking hand. A second cop came into the car on the passenger side. This second cop found a key that unlocked the handcuffs.

"You OK?" the second cop asked the woman.

"Sure," she said. "All in a day's work." She pushed herself out of the space between the seats. She climbed out the back door while the first cop shoved Tony against the car and then started to search him.

As the first cop found the switchblade, a kid on the street suddenly shouted,

"Hey, it's
her
!"

"I'll be . . . ," came another voice.

The cop frisking Tony looked at the woman and shook his head. "It
is
you!" he said.

"It's me, all right," the woman said.

"Hank, look who we got here."

"Dawson?" The second cop sounded amazed.

"Dawson?" Tony asked.

"Sure. Best cop on the force."

"Just my luck," Tony muttered.

The second cop laughed. "This jerk doesn't know about
Dawson's City.
What's the matter with you? Don't you ever watch TV?"

"Television?"

"Yeah," the second cop said.
"
Dawson's City
---that's the one television show I never miss."

While Tony talked to the second cop, the first cop was busy asking Dawson for her autograph.

"What happened here?" he asked, as the woman started to write her name.

"Well," she said, "we were shooting the show with a hidden camera over on 42nd Street. Then this creep came along . . . ."