I followed them two cars behind in my old Mazda RX8. It was my pride and joy. I picked it up at the scrapheap three years ago. It was rusted and broken then, but it was something I wanted since I was a kid. I used all my spare change repairing and souping it up, adding a new hydro-drive, installing a net link and a little something everyone shouldn't be without. A plasma charger. I admit it's a little illegal but when you chase someone important, you just need that little oomph to catch up with him or her.

We were about five blocks away from the police station. The squad car stopped at a traffic light, it seemed the goons were arguing about something in the back. After the light turned green they were about halfway across when a Mobil oil truck rammed into it. The truck driver flew out of the window gracefully and landed on the sidewalk, on his face, ungracefully.

I climbed out and it looked like Jason was hurt bad. One of the goons sitting behind him didn't move. The other one sitting behind Jason's partner was yelling his head off. The partner was trying to open his door but it looked stuck. I would have rushed to their aid, if it weren't for the other car that ran into the truck's tank.

I ducked back into my car. The debris of the explosion struck every car in the vicinity.

After half of my hearing came back I looked up to see what was left of everyone. Everything near the truck was burning, that included the remains of the squad car occupants. Some people were crying and screaming in the background. I got out and saw an old couple in the car in front of mine. They were decapitated by a single large piece of metal. I doubt that they included this in their marriage vows. On my left there was a woman holding her child and crying. The child was still alive; the mom was probably in shock. On my right a twenty something mail courier was bleeding at the leg. That would probably hinder his ability to deliver the mail in the future. Nor rain, nor sleet, nor snow, but I draw the line at big explosions. Then I saw something that really shocked me.

The truck driver that did a cement swan dive was standing and watching the squad car burning, talking, probably on his mobile. I had a small hope it would be 911 on the other side of the line, but he just smiled and walked away. I had a hinkering feeling that whoever he was speaking to was also smiling. He walked off down a side street. I tried following him, but the wreckage was in my way.

I turned around and went back into my car. That's when I realized something was wrong, the seat was wet with blood. It started as a dull throbbing pain, and then it became more vivid. My right shoulder hurt like hell. The piece of pipe sticking through me probably didn't help either.

It felt like an hour before any ambulance came stopping by for tea. I probably would have lost less blood just walking to the hospital. The ambulance ride was fun though. I wanted to mention to my doctor how long it took the ambulance to get to me, but I thought twice before mentioning something like that to the guy who was now playing with my shoulder like a joystick.

After I got stitched up I was sent to another room to rest for at least a day there. I laid there for over an hour, going over everything in my head. I turned on the TV and channel surfed until I got something about the wreck. Apparently the truck driver lost control and caused the accident. There were eight casualties. The truck driver, two police officers, two suspects in custody, an elderly couple and a pedestrian who was crossing the street. I was probably just seeing a ghost, but then they mentioned the truck driver burned and died in the truck. I knew this wasn't an accident, I saw him try out for the dive team through the windshield. I didn't have a day to fully heal. I had to find out what happened, who caused this and I had to make them pay.

Besides, the only other thing worth watching on TV was Shark Week or Barbara Streisand's biography. That was enough to push anyone to vengeance.

I slipped out when no-one was looking, which was surprisingly easy. Apparently you become invisible if you don't have medical insurance which suited me just fine, I never liked hospitals, people tend to die in them.

I got to my office. My home away from home. I kept a mini bar there with some water and an old sandwich. In case my heart grew three times big and I wanted to feed a hungry waif. I once tried searching for a hungry waif. I only found a hungry pickpocket and a bunch of hungry little thieves who kicked me in the nuts and robbed me, but no waif. I swore that day that if I ever found a hungry waif, I would beat the shit out of him for not showing up that day and costing me ten dollars and my favourite jacket. The sandwich looked like I was farming penicillin. I threw it in the trash. I don't care that much for food anyway. Besides, it wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted the syringes and bottles of painkillers that I kept in the back. I always keep a batch of painkillers here or at home. Sometimes it gets a bit much when the twins burrow out or in.

I grabbed them, loaded up the syringe and injected my shoulder. At the start of this story I said pain was an old friend of mine, well, even good friends can get irritating at some point. And at this point, my shoulder was painfully irritating.

I went back into my chair and just sat back for a minute. I got out my handheld and went through my contact list. I had to get in touch with Mrs. Marino. Her husband had something to do with what happened today and I was going to get to the bottom of this, even if it is takes me all night to interrogate her. I do love our little meetings.