Troopers Malvern and King, in the second car pulled up alongside and stopped. All of them stared at the slow-moving vehicle, clashing and crashing along, throwing up sparks. “That truck doesn’t have a tire on it!” King finally blurted. “That thing is ridiculous!” Sergeant Davidson said, dropping his unit in gear and moving out. He pulled up behind the rusted old pickup. “It’s got plates on it,” Walton said, staring hard. “But I can’t make them out.” Davidson clicked on his bar-lights. The truck made no attempt to slow down or pull over. Davidson hit the siren. Nothing. The truck kept on trucking and throwing up sparks. Davidson turned off the siren and clicked on his outside speakers. “You in the truck. This is the state police. Pull that vehicle over.” A leathery-looking arm flopped out the driver’s side window and waved at the cops, then made a motion indicating the cops should follow him. “Black fellow, maybe?” Davidson asked. “Or Indian,” Walton suggested.
