Free Invincible: A Novel by Styles P

rear window.
    Kim screamed and was visibly shaken but didn’t lose control of the car. About two car lengths back was a hooded up figure hanging out the passenger side of an old Acura letting a big-ass handgun go—it sounded like at least a .40 cal. Four more shots were sent flying through the air.
    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
    Luckily, none of them found their target. Kim cried out, “God, please!” And prayers were indeed answered, but they weren’t Kim’s … they were Jake’s.
    Somehow this life-threatening situation jarred Jake’s memory. Maybe it was because his life was flashing before his eyes, but he could see everything real clear now. As clear as if it was playing on a high-def television screen in slow motion. He remembered the robbery in the store. He remembered going to jail, getting the letter, having a fight, and getting stabbed. He even remembered every face. Then he snapped out of the past and back to the situation at hand. He asked Kim, “Are you hit?” “No,” she said in a low whimpering voice. He looked out the rearview mirror. The gunfire had stopped for now but the car was still behind them. Then Jake saw something he thought he would never be happy to see: two squad cars with blaring sirens.
    Mr. Hoody in the trailing car was unfazed. He came up with another burner—this one long and silver—and let it off at both of the cop cars. It sounded like New Year’s Eve in China. Something about the situation made Kim flip. She knew she wanted her man and herself to live. She yelled for Jake to put his seat belt on.
    Jake was spent; it took a lot out of him just to get out of the hospital, but he wanted to live. He clicked his seat belt just in the nick of time. Kim punched the gas pedal; the car sped up swerving side to side. The one behind them let off a set of shots that sounded like a young drumroll. The shots tore up a parked car. That’s when Kim made the smartest maneuver she could have made by slamming down on the brakes. The trailing car rammed into her rear. It didn’t flip like Kim had seen happenon TV, but it was enough to do the trick. The impact caused the shooter to drop his gun out of the window, then Jake heard more sirens. Just when he thought everything was going to be all right he heard: “Freeze. Get your hands up, NOW!” He looked out his passenger-door window and saw that the cops had the trailing car surrounded. He smiled, knowing that he had cheated death once more.
    Jake took his eyes off the police, giving his attention to Kim. “Good driving, babe, you saved our lives.” Then he knew what needed to be done. He had to find out who was trying to kill him. He had to get in contact with his uncle Mitch and Mary-beth. He knew he needed to heal fast and he needed guns, too. He also remembered his nigga Nine-One.
    “Put your hands up.” This time the police were talking to them.
    “We the victims mu’fuckaz; they were shooting at us,” Kim shouted. “Get them guns out of our faces. And before you start with that bullshit about us coming to the station for a statement, I know my rights. We don’t have to go anywhere.”
    The cops actually listened. Less paperwork for them anyway. “Sorry, ma’am, but we can’t be too careful.”
    “Did y’all get them fools that were shooting at us?” Kim asked.
    “Yes, ma’am, they’re cuffed and in the car.” When Jake heard that, he was relieved. Not that they were arrested—he wouldn’t wish jail on his worst enemy—but that he would finally get some answers. This was the break he needed. Bits of his memory started to come back to him—near-death situations have a way of doing that—and he was going to get to the bottom of all this. He just hoped he would be able to heal upquick enough. The doctor said his hand would be fucked up permanently, but for some reason Jake felt a funny tingle in it.
Maybe
I’m
about to get some paper
, he thought. The thought made him chuckle a little bit.
    “What’s funny?” Kim