Free Public Enemy Zero by Andrew Mayne

churned at the thought of the guy getting away with it. “So, what’s our next step? Get him fast and get a confession?”
    Simmons nodded. “Give him a call. See if he’s willing to walk in. The computer pulled up no priors, so it’s doubtful he lawyered up just yet. If we can get an incriminating statement, we can make the case sail through a lot easier.” A voice called out on her radio. She pulled it from her waist and answered.
    Rios could overhear the dispatcher say something about the mall nearby.
    Simmons put the radio back down. “We need to get over to the mall right now.” She looked around for the officer in charge of the crime scene.
    “ What’s going on?”
    “ I don’t know. Some kind of riot, or a fire. It sounds big.”
     

 
    13
    Stolen car. That’s what he was in. A car he just jacked from the woman back at the mall. Mitchell’s life had just turned into one of those downward spirals he’d seen on the news. Next was the chase, then the helicopters and then it ended with him making a pathetic attempt to run away as people watched from a news helicopter. He’d make it 10 feet and then he’d be tackled to the ground.
    Worse for him was the possibility of what would happen next. He wouldn’t just be tased and kicked; he’d be torn apart.
    He wanted to turn himself in, but he was afraid of what would happen next.
    He cautiously turned on to the main road by the mall and kept driving. He tried to keep pace with traffic and not stand out. Subconsciously he sank down in the seat. As if people seeing a car with an invisible driver wouldn’t notice.
    At the moment, he just had to keep his focus on not getting stopped. Doing that meant avoiding anything that looked suspicious.
    “ Fuck,” he said as he drove through a red light.
    He needed to pay attention to what he was doing, he scolded himself. Sirens were coming at him from the opposite direction. Already? Prior experience told him to pull over to the side of the road. Fear told him not to.
    He kept driving and the squad cars blew past him. They were heading to the mall. Of course they were. People were dropping off the roof back there in one horrific trail of carnage from the food court to where he’d stolen the car. Stolen car.
    He had no idea where he was going. He had no idea what to do. This wasn’t the kind of thing he thought about. He was just a third-rate radio host on a second-rate radio station.
    The radio station. The fax machine. All those police reports he’d read when they came in when he was working. He had to have learned something! Mitchell searched his mind. How do people get caught?
    They get caught when they do something stupid like drive through a red light. OK, don’t do that again. They get caught when they run. OK, don’t attract attention. They get caught because they look like criminals. What did all of the men in the bulletins look like? They were either black, Hispanic or white guys who had neck tattoos and didn’t look like they finished high school. They almost always dressed like thugs or homeless people.
    Mitchell looked down at his ripped shirt. The collar had been pulled loose and there were tears in it. Specks of blood dotted his chest. It had criminal written all over it. He had to resist the impulse to take it off right there in the car. He looked over at the passenger side seat and saw his backpack. He still had it. There was another shirt in there. He could put that on when he had a chance.
    Where was he going? A fire engine raced past Mitchell, snapping his attention back to the road. He realized that his best chance of getting far away was right now. But to where? He only had thirty bucks on him. Hell, how would he even spend money if every cashier wanted to kill him?
    He saw an ATM in the middle of an empty parking lot. Should he go empty out his account? It had to be then or never. If he used it farther away from the crime scene, they’d know what direction he was going.
    Direction. Mitchell