as he spoke, Kersey was backing away, his face turning from white to green.
‘Everybody stand clear,’ Sam announced. ‘You all ready? On the count of three.’
‘It’s not Apollo 12, Tyler,’ grumbled Gene. ‘Just get on with it, you big fanny.’
Sam turned the starter key. The crusher’s mighty pistons rattled and roared into life. Black smoke belched from the motors. He glanced around, just to ensure no one was getting too close – and at that moment a sudden flash of reflected light caught his eye. Matilda’s sister truck was pulling up, just beyond the parked Cortina and the patrol cars; like its counterpart, it too had a custom-made licence plate propped up against the windscreen, which bore the name Gertrude.
But it wasn’t the sun reflecting on the lorry that caught Sam’s attention: it was the sudden flash of light on the crowbar wielded by a masked man who was rushing out from behind a heap of smashed cars. The man jumped onto the lorry’s running board, threw open the door and began battering at the driver inside the cab.
‘Guv!’ Sam shouted. His voice was drowned out by the bellowing of the crusher. ‘Guv! Look!’
But nobody could hear him.
Gertrude swerved left and right, then the driver’s door flew open and the driver himself tumbled out, battered and bleeding.
Leaving the crusher running, Sam bolted towards the hijacked lorry. Gene and the coppers gawped at him in incomprehension as he ran off.
‘Tyler – what the f—’
‘Felony in progress!’ Sam shouted as he ran. ‘Felony in bleedin’ progress!’
The lorry turned clumsily, crashing through a mountain of metal junk. This, at last, got everyone’s attention. The uniformed coppers stood and gawped. Gene reached instinctively under his coat for the Magnum.
Gertrude executed its blundering U-turn and went thundering out of the yard, smashing through a couple of parked cars in the street beyond before roaring recklessly away.
Sam reached the driver where he lay. He was splattered with blood, terrified and confused, but conscious enough to growl at Sam, ‘That bastard nicked Gerty!’
‘What the hell’s on your truck that’s so valuable?’
‘Old fridges! Just a load of old pipes and fridges! And for that he bashed my bonce and nicked my bloody Gerty!’
‘We’ll have him!’ Sam vowed. ‘We will have him!’ He turned to the uniformed officer. ‘Don’t just stand there, get after that truck! Get on your radios, organize a road block!’ As the coppers scrambled into their little Austins and set their lights flashing, Sam called to Gene, ‘I think we should stay here, Guv. We can monitor the pursuit over the radio, and make sure nobody tinkers with that crusher.’
‘“Monitor the pursuit”?’ sneered Gene, jangling his car keys as he strode swiftly towards the Cortina. ‘I am the pursuit, Tyler. I was born the bloody pursuit!’
He disappeared into the car and gunned the engine. Sam dived in beside him.
‘Guv, wait, I really think we should—’
But Gene wasn’t having any of it. They were off, rocketing past the marked patrol cars and ripping helter-skelter into the street. Sam flinched as the Cortina’s bonnet skimmed an oncoming car with barely an inch to spare.
‘Want to cast yet more aspersions on my driving, Tyler?’ Gene grunted at him.
‘I just want to get home alive, Guv.’
They were hurtling along, diesel smoke from Gertrude snorting into the air fifty yards ahead of them. Just behind the Cortina, the two patrol cars were rattling along, their lights flashing, burning out their feeble engines to keep up with the chase. The radio under the dashboard was alive with wild chatter as the word went round: truck on the rampage – heading for the heart of the city – block it, stop it, do what the hell you have to do but damn well get it off the road!
‘I’ll flamin’ get him off the road,’ Gene growled, the Magnum now in his hand, cocked and deadly.
‘Guv, for God’s sake, put that thing away!’
‘It’s my toy, and I wanna play with it!’
‘You can’t start blazing away in the streets, Gene!’ Sam bellowed at him. ‘You will kill people!’
‘Only bad ’uns.’
Gertrude was only a few yards ahead of them now, crashing madly forward in a black cloud like some sort of runaway demon.
‘It’s a sitting bleedin’ duck for a pot shot!’ Gene declared. ‘I can’t resist it, I’m having a crack.’
He leant out of the window, driving one-handed, and lined up the mighty barrel of the Magnum with Gertrude’s rear tyres – but before he could squeeze off a shot, the truck swung suddenly to the left, smashing through a pelican crossing and sending people running in all directions. Oncoming cars blared their horns and swerved madly out of the way.
‘He’s gonna splat more civvies than me!’ Gene spat. ‘Shoot him, Tyler!’
The Cortina’s engine howled as Gene floored the gas. Gertude roared right across in front of them. Gene flung the wheel as they mounted the pavement, missed a phone box by a gnat’s gonad, then roared back onto the road.
‘I said shoot him, Tyler!’
‘Shut it! I can’t hear the radio.’
‘This is no time for Diddy David Hamilton!’
‘The police radio, you cretin!’ Sam leant closer to the crackling speaker. ‘Sounds like somebody’s got a plan.’
‘Plan? What sort of plan?’
‘I’m trying to hear!’
Between Gene’s shouting and the screaming of tyres on tarmac, Sam could just make out one of the patrol cars announcing that it had cut down a back street to head off the truck. Sam glanced up and saw the little Austin pulling up bravely on the road ahead, blocking the way. The two coppers jumped out and indicated firmly for Gertrude to stop – stop – stop!
But Gertrude didn’t. The two coppers flung themselves clear as the thundering lorry ploughed straight into their titchy patrol car and just kept going. The Austin shattered, its body crumpling beneath the mighty truck. A single wheel rolled sadly away from the mangled remains, slowed, and fell over.
‘That was the plan?’ muttered Gene, stamping on the gas and swerving around the wreckage of the Austin. He powered the Cortina alongside the truck. ‘It’s time for a Genie plan.’
‘Not so close!’ Sam yelled. ‘He’ll veer across and roll right over us!’
‘Roll over the Cortina? He wouldn’t ruddy dare!’
