John Malloy (19) *the Chase*

            John Malloy (19)
                 (The Chase)

     To keep Withers away from my digs I rented another cabin in another motor court on Sunset Boulevard called the Wigwam Inn.

     My brain child was to find a neutral location where I  could show my leading man the fruits of his labor in a starring role in his new porn flicker. The theater would be a cozy cabin where we could have a private showing.

     I finished walking down the stairway into the  parking garage where my trusty Hudson was waiting for me.

     I'd previously called Withers number and left a message with the lovely Clara to have hubby meet me at the motor court and join me in cabin twelve at ten O'clock. She sked me what for and I  told her to tell Bill it was about golden showers on film.

     Before I could hang up she offered me the sme service, which I graciously declined.

     I stared ankling toward my heap, listening to the echos of my footsteps against the concrete walls .

     In the trunk was a 16 millimeter projecter I had borrowed from a pal. The film was tucked in my jacket pocket, with the negative. The wire recording was one item I was keeping to myself as insurance.

     I climbed into my yellow convertible and started the motor; then turned on the lights.

        The windshield suddenly developed a quarter-sized hole in front of me, leaving a starburst of cracks radiating out from it, followed by an amplified gunshot sound that echoed endlessly in the concrete box of the parking garage.

       I ducked down and jammed the shifter into reverse and gunned it. Tires squealed as the car shot backward into the middle of the room. I  jammed on the breaks as another hole appeared in the glass.

     I shoved the colum  shifter into first and gunned it. I heard another car starting behind me. I fishtailed onto the ramp and made a run for it up and out onto the L.A. nighttime streets.

      As I sped toward Broadway, I  looked in the rearview mirror to see a dark sedan hit the street in persuit.

      Being it was Sunday night, the traffic was pretty light, making it possible to reach fifty miles an hour in  a few seconds. I checked the mirror and saw the sedan was keeping up.

     I knew it was Withers on my tail. It makes sense from his point of view to kill me before the meet. He figures I'll have the evidence against him with me.

     As long as I have my back to him,  he's got the advantage. I just need to buy some time in order to get in a position to defend myself before I get slightly shot. Evasion is the point of order for the moment.

    I spied a bucket up ahead doing about twenty. I couldn't afford to slow down and catch a slug in the back of my melon, so I pulled over in the oncoming traffic with a pair of headlights looming straight ahead. I gunned old Besty and hoped for the best. When I thought I was clear, I whipped back over in my lane as the car missed eating my fender by inches. I looked in the mirror and saw Withers do the same, without the head-on collision threat. He kept coming like a bloodhound on bennies.

     When I got to Temple Street I slammed on the breaks and pulled the wheel for a hard right hand turn. I could hear my left tires squealing as I felt the right tires catching  air. The heap was leaning to the point of rolling over all the way through the turn before I had all fours on the pavement again. I gunned it and waited for the next intersection.

     When I looked in the mirror I saw Withers had more sense and slowed for the turn. That put me ahead a few more yards.

     I pulled the same stunt when I got the intersection of Temple and Main Street, only turning left this time.

     Again the tires protested in pain as I was making the turn. I caught some more air but felt I was controlling the maneuver a little better.
 I floored it toward Sunset Boulevard, hitting sixty.

      Luckily Main Street was fairly empty. I checked the mirror and saw Withers getting more reckless in an attempt to catch up. He almost rolled it and had to fight to stay upright.

     I kept the pedal to the metal until just before I got to Sunset Boulevard where my rented cabin was waiting for us.

     I almost plowed ito a truck as it was passing the intersection on Sunset by hitting the brakes and swerving to the left. I just scraped  his rear bumper as I made the turn, going left on the empty street.

      A half a block down I saw Withers in the mirror trying to make the turn a little too fast for his driving skills, apparently. I watched his sedan go up on two wheels and continue to lift on the passenger's side into a violent rollover down the middle of Sunset.

     I hit the brakes as I saw him continue to flip, making a lot of metal to pavement racket as he rolled the car for the fourth time.

     It came to rest on it's  rooftop with the front wheels still slowly spinning.

      I stopped my rig and turned around to pull up beside the ruined vehicle.  I got out and slipped my .32 out of my shoulder holster.

     After a minute, Withers slowly crawled out the shattered driver's window like a beached whale trying to make it back into the ocean. He was moaning in obvious pain.

     I waited until he finally  got to his pins before I pointed my rod at him and got his attention by clearing my throat.

      "Glad you could make it, Bill," I smiled…"Feel like watching a movie with me?"






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