Free A Deadly Development by James Green Page A

for. “How about we go talk
to this Douglas character that got busted boosting laptops and
purses.”
    “You really think that clown graduated from
petty crimes to capital murder? Now who’s reaching?” Tom smirked as
he said it. He enjoyed busting Jack’s chops as much as Jack did
his.
    “If nothing else, it gets us out of here for
a bit and out from Michaels’ stink eye until he goes home,” Thurber
offered. “Beautiful out there too, got to be at least 60.”
    Burke sighed and then shrugged.
    “What the hell, let’s get out of here.”
     
    It was only a five minute drive to Douglas’
apartment near downtown. It took fifteen because Jack needed smokes
and insisted they stop at a convenience store on the way. Once
there, they ran into a couple uniforms that were on break, and Jack
decided it was a good time to start bull shitting. Burke was too
tired for the social scene, so he retired back to the car to drink
his Gatorade.
    “What the fuck is wrong with you,” Thurber
asked as he threw in a carton of cigarettes in the back of the car.
“Too good for the men in blue?”
    “Just tired. Long day.”
    “And to think, some people think Tom Burke is
a prima donna!” Thurber responded, his voice full of sarcasm.
    It was apparent from the moment they drove up
to the property that Mr. Douglas had failed in his career of petty
theft, because he lived in a dump. The type of dump you would go to
shoot up some dope or hide a prostitute. Burke had visited more of
these places than he cared to remember. They all were pretty much
alike. The entry smelled of dried urine and stale cigarettes.
    The brick apartment had to be almost 100
years old. At some point, it might have been a nice place to live.
It was three stories, with screened front porches and even some
Greek columns. But time and neglect had set in. Even more damning,
Interstate 70 had been plopped down less than fifty yards from the
front door. The constant roar of traffic was almost deafening.
    Thurber had lucked out. The apartment was on
the first floor, so his impending coronary was less likely to
strike this day. Burke could tell he was relieved. Still, Jack was
sweating, in only sixty degree weather. The man could sweat in a
snowstorm , Burke thought.
    A couple pounds on the door and an
authoritative “Open up. KCPD!” had led to nothing. They were about
to give up when Thomas Douglas came walking around the corner with
two plastic bags from Kwik Trip in his hands. However, the second
he saw Burke and Thurber, he dropped the bags and ran.
    “Shit!” Burke said as he took off after him.
He knew Thurber would be worthless in a foot chase.
     
    For a scrawny white guy with crappy leather
shoes, the boy could move. Burke was gaining on him, but it was
taking more time than he would have liked. Running in a suit and
jacket were not ideal and the kid started with a 20 yard lead.
Burke inched closer, until he saw the Interstate. “ Would Douglas
be that crazy?” Burke thought, but before he could answer his
own question Douglas used one hand to jump over the guard rail and
into the fray.
    A cacophony of screeching tires and horns
erupted. Douglas made it two lanes until his luck ran out. The
semi-truck driver didn’t even hit his brakes. He hit him going at
least sixty miles an hour. Burke watched as Douglas was launched a
good 15 feet in the air, before hitting the top of the semi,
tumbling backwards like a ragdoll, hitting the pavement and then
being promptly run over by a SUV behind the truck. It was
gruesome.
    “Fuck!” Tom screamed, to no one in
particular. He was thinking of the paperwork nightmare, and how the
rest of his day, and most likely his evening, were ruined.
    “Stupid fuck!”
    “Did he just do what I think he did?”
Thurber yelled, still thirty yards behind Burke. Thurber was
gassed, his hands on his hips.
    “Yep,” Burke responded. “Call it in.”
     
    The rest of Monday had been ruined. Over an
hour and a half at the scene. Then