Motor City Shakedown by D. E. Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

Detroit policeman stood on the edge staring directly at me. I froze, my heart hammering in my ears. He seemed to hold my gaze for a few seconds before his eyes swept away, down the train of cars. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was hidden by the darkness. He hadn’t seen me, but he had me hemmed in. I slipped under the car and hid behind a wheel.
    The first light stopped two tracks over, almost directly behind my position. The metal bottom of the lantern clanked against wood, and I heard a grunt of exertion followed a few seconds later by the striking of a match. Inwardly I cursed the Detroit Police. Leave it to one of those lazy bastards to take a break in a boxcar at the worst possible time and place.
    The other light moved away from me down the tracks but soon turned again and headed toward me, up the last set of cars. The light got brighter. I gauged my position by the light, staying in the shadow of the wheel. The sounds got louder, the intermittent ringing, the boots like teeth chomping on gravel.
    A voice bawled out, “Mueller!”
    â€œYes, Sergeant?” the man near me replied in a clipped German accent.
    â€œSeen him?”
    Mueller let out a quiet sigh and, under his breath, said, “Dummkopf.” He raised his voice and said, “No. I have not seen anyone.”
    I didn’t have to wonder any longer if this was a routine patrol.
    â€œCarry on,” the sergeant called.
    â€œJawoll,” Mueller muttered. I almost felt sorry for him. He stopped just in front of the wheel behind which I was hiding, thrust a thin metal rod under the car, and whipped it back and forth. The rod whistled past my face, just missing me, and clanged off the metal pieces on the underside of the car like he was ringing a gong.
    He walked past me and repeated the action, then moved to the next car. Once he finished with that, I began crawling under the train in the other direction, moving slowly in the darkness. When I’d gotten a few cars between us, I pushed myself to my feet, peering behind me at Mueller slowly moving away. Near as I could tell, the sergeant was still sitting two rows back, smoking. I took a cautious step, heel to toe, trying to muffle the sound of the rocks, and another, and another.
    Three cars ahead of me a bright light flared. “Here!” a voice shouted. “Here he is!” It was the policeman from the platform. He blew his whistle and began running toward me, gun in hand. “Freeze, Anderson!”
    I ducked under the train and rolled to the platform side of the last set of cars, visible in the station lights, and ran for the edge of the platform amid shrieking whistles. Another policeman ran from inside the station onto the platform. I veered off and ran west along the tracks with at least two of them on my tail. As soon as I was in the darkness again, I turned south, heading for the river. In the dark, I tripped but scrambled to my feet and ran with all I had, vaulting a track and another before the ground gave way under me and I flew, arms flailing, into the water.
    I shrugged off my coat and swam with the current, putting distance between them and me as quickly as I could. Shouts and whistles rang out behind me. When I’d gotten a few hundred yards downstream, I changed direction, pulling across the current for the other side of the river and Canada, almost a half mile away.
    After five minutes or so, my left calf began cramping. I stopped and treaded water as best I could while massaging the muscle, and looked across the river again. I was downstream now from Windsor, but the shoreline looked as far away as it had before.
    The sound of a large motor rumbled over the water behind me. I looked back. A searchlight cut across the river, methodically working back and forth. It was upstream but not far. I dug into the water again, pulling hard for the shore, but the knot in my calf made that leg nearly useless, and I was exhausted.
    The light passed over me, then