Absolutely. More fun than you’ve ever had in your entire life. Close. Very close. The guy in the BMW isn’t taking you seriously. Flash him. Dave hit his high beams. The BMW’s driver had his ear glued to a cellular telephone. He refused to move, straddling two lanes, and blocking Dave’s passage. Dave snatched the microphone off the dashboard, flicked a toggle switch, and angrily growled. “You in the Beemer, this is a police emergency. Either you get out of the road or you go to jail.” The amplified sound of his voice echoed through the crowded streets. The BMW’s driver glanced over his shoulder, gave a disgusted look, and pulled to the side. Dave stepped on the accelerator. Accompanied solely by his sardonic guardian angel, he roared through the Manhattan night in a stolen police car. Yeah! The keys had been in the policeman’s pocket. They were conveniently tagged with the number and license plate of the vehicle to which they belonged. Dave had glanced at them warily, and was prepared to drop them on the tiled men’s room floor when his inner voice whispered, Hey, pal, you’ve just flattened a uniformed law officer during the performance of his duties—or at least whilst taking a bladder break—and duct-taped him to the handicapped toilet.
