THE PARADOX EFFECT

I finally reach the main road of traffic. I come to a stop and take a moment, catching my breath. It's three lanes wide in both directions. Six lanes in total. The flow is equally dense in both directions. When my heart has slowed enough that I no longer feel like I'm running a marathon, I try to make eye contact with some of the passing drivers and wave them down. The first car doesn't see me and keeps going. The second, the third and the fourth all see me but don't stop. I keep waving but to no avail. After about fifty cars have passed I start to wonder,  Am I that disheveled? Do I look that manic? I'm really not sure what to do. I keep waving at the passing cars, trucks and vans, but still, no one stops. After maybe another hundred have passed showing no signs of slowing, I change my approach. Instead of waving frantically I take several deep breaths, try to remain as calm as possible and wave in a much more controlled fashion. Despite my subdued approach that I ...

Covek turns a corner quickly and comes onto the same street that he and Susan were parked on less than ten minutes earlier. The same street where they watched the drug dealers plying their trade. He slows as he approaches the two teens Susan spoke with about getting a G-pack of Heroin. He takes his gun from his jacket pocket and slips it out of sight, down beside his seat. He's careful to make sure it's easy to grab and that it doesn't slide under the seat, out of reach. He comes to a stop, winds down his window and looks at the two teens sitting on the crumbling concrete wall. They regard the smashed up state of the car Covek drives then share a look that reads: what the fuck? Susan's car is in a truly terrible state. The front fender has been smashed off completely. All the panels along the driver's side of the car are severely dented not to mention the amount of paintwork that has been scraped off, while the front and rear windscreens have bullet holes in them. C...

I keep running through the frozen night. My pace slowing as fatigue sets in. The stress of everything is catching up with me. My heart feels like it's about to explode. I have stomach cramps and my legs are made of marble.  The rumble of an airplane descending to land comes from somewhere unseen overhead. The good news is it's much louder than it was when I first started toward the airport which means I'm running in the right direction.  Suddenly, a sickness rises from my stomach. I stop and keel over as an immense pain cramps my abdomen. I try to vomit but nothing comes out. I dry wretch for a moment until the pain subsides enough for me to stand upright again. I continue moving, walking at first, then jogging, slowly, picking up speed as my legs allow, which isn't as much as I'd like. I've hit a wall. I simply have no more reserves to draw upon.   As I near the end of the street I hear a sound I haven't heard in awhile. Traffic. Not just the sound of one c...

As Covek drives he realises that the woman might contact police before he can get to her daughter and use her as leverage. He knows from experience not to bet your whole stack on one play. Spread betting is the best strategy. Cover all bases. To this end he needs to know when she speaks with police. That involves having someone he can trust watching out for when she makes contact. He thinks through all the officers he knows who will be in a position to monitor what he needs. About six names spring to mind but the problem is, none of them he could truly trust with something as sensitive as this.  He continues driving, wracking his brain, sure that there must be someone. He knows a lot of officers who are able to keep their mouth shut and look the other way when asked, but none of them have clearance to use the central incident reporting system that he needs access to.  As he drives on, finally, someone does come to mind. Sergeant Jaben Kowalski. Covek finds Kowalski's number in...

I keep running as fast as my legs will carry me. The street is desolate. No other sign of life at this hour of the morning. An arctic wind cuts into my face, causing my eyes to water. I have a general idea where I am, but I don't know the exact streets. I look up and see another blurry plane coming in to land at Newark Liberty International airport in the distance. I keep going, I must get to my daughter. I've got a promise to keep. Despite everything, I refuse to let her down, again.  The hum of a car engine comes from an adjacent street. I duck down behind a parked truck and wait. The car turns onto this street and drives toward me. I press my back to the truck, feet concealed by its tires again and hold my breath as it closes in. It doesn't slow, it continues past my position to the end of the street where it turns and drives on. I don't risk trying to see if that was the man or not. I can't take the chance of revealing my position.  I wait until the car engine h...

The man stops the car and peers down another side street that he passes, searching for any sign of movement of the lady, but the street is void of human activity. That's the tenth street he's checked in as many minutes and still no sign of her. He knows that he can't give up. He can't let her get away. She's seen too much. She could put him in prison for the rest of his life, and he knows only too well what would happen to him in there. Cops don't survive long inside. No criminal is hated more by the general prison population than police, even pedeophiles are treated better than incarcerated officers. The pain coming from the wound in his leg is immense. It makes it hard for him to think, hard for him to formulate a plan. He concentrates on his son Andrew, kidnapped and held against his will. Why did they have to take him? He has nothing to do with any of this. He probably doesn't even know the real reason why he's being held. If he's hurt, if one ha...

I run for my life. Literally. I don't think I've ever literally run to save my life before now. My heart heaves in my chest, my semi-numb legs spin beneath me, propelling me forward at an incredible clip. I move so fast I barely feel my feet touch the ground and it's as though I'm floating. A screech of tires comes from the end of the alley behind me where the man pulls up in my car. He winds the window down, leans out, aims his gun at me and ... Pop! Pop! Pop! Three shots hit the wall a few feet from my head, spitting up chunks of concrete shrapnel that graze my cheeks. I hunch as I keep running, expecting another volley of bullets, but instead a squeal of car tires echoes behind me as the man drives quickly away.  As I run it dawns on me that he's trying to cut me off at the other end of the alley.   With this in mind, I stop, turn on a dime and return the way I came. The rev of my car engine echoes into the still night air as the man drives manically around the b...

I drive slowly following the hopper. I watch him ride to the end of the street where he turns left and out of sight. I accelerate to the cross road and look for him. He rides down the sidewalk, moving at a decent clip. He may be small and young but he can ride fast. As I turn and follow him I try to imagine who this child is, who his parents are, where they are, and why don't they care that he's out at this hour? 'Don't drive too fast.' The man says. 'If he realises he's being followed he won't go to the stash house, he'll take off and lead us on a goose-chase.' I ease up on the accelerator and we drop back a little. 'My eyesight isn't so great,' I say. 'Beyond fifty yards things get blurry pretty fast, that's why I was trying to keep up.'  'I can see him just fine from this distance. Keep going at this pace.' The man says, sight fixed on the hopper riding ahead of us on the sidewalk. It would be easier to see him ...

It feels as though time slows down. My stomach spins with nausea, my legs tingle with anticipation. I recall the track and field meets I attended when I first started high school. I was a naturally good runner back then. I was tall for my age, and often won in my age group over the shorter distances. But at the start of every race I always got a tummy full of butterflies. I have the same feeling now as then. I look up at the car, about twenty five yards away. From this distance I can just see the man inside the cabin, gun aimed in my direction.  I glance left at the alley I'm walking past.  You've got to do this. Go now!  But the moment I'm about to run, the man somehow anticipates my move and says into my ear, 'Don't do it, I will drop you if you try to run.' His threat shatters my resolve. I've seen him shoot twice before, once outside the restaurant, and once at the pharmacy. Both times he was shooting from a similar distance that I am from him now and bo...