Martin screamed for help again.
But the cop ignored him again.
How could an officer of the law ignore a naked man running down the middle of the street toward him when stopped in his patrol car with the window rolled down? Especially at this hour, with nobody else around. Bloody fool. Too damn busy with… Oh, the cruelty of it all; Martin would have recognized that smell a lightyear away! The cop was too busy stirring his vanilla latte.
Martin’s bare feet, slapping the rough, uneven pavement, were killing him. Every sharp intake of air sounded like a hurricane. Knackered, he was totally, completely knackered. How was he to know that his friend-with-benefits Karen’s husband Frank was the same Frank as Martin’s murderous loan shark?
He could hear Frank thundering after him like an overweight T-rex, gaining on him. Could he make it to the police car in time? He screamed for help yet again.
The cop ignored him yet again, taking a long, leisurely guzzle of his vanilla latte while rolling up the patrol car window. Then Martin heard the one sound on earth even more terrifying than Frank’s approach: the cop starting the engine. Just as Martin reached it, the patrol car pulled out from the curb and sped away.
Martin ducked down a familiar street. He had to disappear. Somehow he had to disappear before Frank got to the corner and could see where he had gone. Familiar… What did he know this street from? Oh yeah, Jennifer’s storage unit. He could see the door to its building just ahead. Ajar? Wishful thinking? He barreled into it with his shoulder, and through it. Had he been in time? Had Frank seen?
Unfortunately he was halfway up the stairs before he realized he shouldn’t have left the front door ajar. He started back down but froze when he heard a sound even more sickening than the sound of that cop car taking off: The front door slamming open sounded like his apartment door when Frank kicked it in. Martin headed back up the stairs again but quietly now, thankful at last for his bare feet.
