A New Episode For Walter Mitty

The traffic ground to a halt, a long queue of overheating motors stretching from 27th to 34th street. Over the pocketa-pocketa of the car engine the predictable shrill nag of Mrs. Mitty was heard "Why d' you come this way you know the traffic is a nightmare on weekends and with these fumes it can't be good for me with my lungs and all." Mrs. Mitty could normally find an excuse to refer to her lung condition. Walter drifted away as if he was in fact viewing himself from afar occasionally catching snippets of his wife's stream of consciousness style of conversation.

Over the sounds of life on a busy Saturday afternoon in Waterbury, the wail of a police siren could be heard, growing louder and louder until the offending car was seen wafting past the column of Packards and Buicks that were steadily suffocating their irate drivers.

The car's engine wailed and roared. "Suspect was last seen turning left towards the West Virginia Interstate." Said the police radio. Sheriff W. Mitty spun the wheel and gunned the throttle. "Sir" said Sergeant Goodman, "the interstate is the other way we'll miss him." "Son, I know this city like the back of my hand, and I know that the way he's going, we'll cut him off before he even reaches the interstate." The sergeant smiled and thought to himself 'the sheriff's never failed to catch a felon yet'. True enough after less than a minute they pulled out to see the suspect's car racing down the road pursued by several police cars leaving havoc in its wake.

Mitty roared, "Stop felon, in the name of the law!" before drawing his trusty Colt six shot. The car's driver ignoring his command spun the wheel so that the Mustang was aimed strait at the Sherriff before flooring the accelerator. Time stood still.

The Colt's barrel erupted; one, smashed off the door mirror, two, pinged off the bonnet, three, shattered the windscreen. Mitty dived into the open door of his car, "Floor it, Sergeant!" Tyres wailed. Engines howled. "Give me the goddam wheel sergeant!"

Hot pursuit, the Sherriff loved it; it had been his favourite class at the academy. The two cars swerved in and out of the motionless apparently traffic. Mitty leaned out the window holding his gun in his left aimed and squeezed the trigger. His fourth buried itself in the door, Five, broke open the boot lock spilling green notes all over the Freeway; six blew the tyre. The Mustang swerved out of control and hit the crash barrier. The driver's head jerked forward with a sickening crack. Bringing his car to a standstill, he strode over and declared: "No-one escapes Sherriff W. Mitty, not in my town."

He managed to reach his colleagues before he was surrounded. "Clean this mess up, Sergeant Goodman. Get all this money in the bank and the felons in jail." "Yessir" replied the slightly dazed Sergeant. Then the mob tightened; the adoring and grateful public, congratulating their Hero. "Thank you, Sherriff Mitty" "Well done, Sir"

Suddenly amid the commotion a beautiful woman with lustrous chestnut curls threw herself into the Sherriff's arms. Mitty embraced her and smelt her hair, it was an interesting enigmatic smell but also very familiar. What was it? Peaches? No. Paraffin? That was more like it. Then he gagged and realized, Petrol fumes…

…Mitty choked and spluttered and heard his wife screeching, " The lights are green you dozy idiot."