Chapter 2
Zack Mazursky stayed slouched in the second-row seat of the Suburban as the Highway Patrol cop made this slow, sauntering walk forward.
It made Zack giggle after a second. Elvis had gotten really mad for a second there and told everybody to shut up, but Zack suddenly felt sure a good joke would ease the tension.
"Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do," Zack sang quietly.
"Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?" Frankie answered in kind, managing a smile of his own.
"Lookit 'im," Zack laughed, feeling better about things already. "He's walking lik-"
"I told you to shut up!" Elvis interrupted, turning in his seat. "What par-"
"Am I interrupting?"
The cop's voice matched his face- young, hardly any older than Frankie, but definitely in charge. Whatever else Elvis was going to say was forgotten instantly.
The guy was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes. His eyes were everywhere at once, taking in Elvis, turning back to face him, Frankie, doing his best to be cool in the shotgun seat.
It seemed like he looked at Keith for a second, and Keith seemed close to losing his shit over something. Maybe he really needed to crap.
"Nah- no, nah- I mean, no. Everything's cool," Elvis answered the sandy-blond-haired cop, who didn't seem all that convinced.
"It didn't sound like everything was cool."
"It's just- it's late. I'm a little tense." Elvis shrugged. "It's nothing."
"It is pretty late out," the cop agreed. "Where you guys headed to?"
Frankie spoke up then. "We're just passing through."
"Passing through." The cop nodded agreeably, like nothing sounded better. "That's nice." He paused, looking up at the stars. Then his gaze fell back on Elvis and Frankie up front. "It's a nice night for passing through, don't you think?"
"Sure is." Elvis sounded… tense, still. But he was trying to be cool about it or something. It was weird.
"Thing is, man, passing through's kinda 'goin' someplace else.' So… where's that?"
"We're driving home."
"Where's home?"
Elvis hesitated. Frankie didn't seem sure of what to say either.
Figuring he could help straighten everything out, Zack abruptly sat up and rolled down his window. "Hey," he called to the cop. "I'm from West Hills."
The cop's eyes widened just slightly, but relaxed again a moment later. It might have been Zack's imagination, but his hands tightened on the black equipment belt around his waist.
"I-they're driving me back to my house," Zack added, figuring it'd help explain things.
"Okay." Officer Ward nodded once. "That makes this part easier."
Before Zack could even ask what that meant, he found out.
Drawing a massive, shiny revolver, Ward took a quick step back. "None of you make any sudden moves. Everyone except Zack Mazursky, hands on your heads."
"Woah!" Zack exclaimed. "Hey, like- how'd you know-"
"Kid, these dudes kidnapped you. Get out of the vehicle right now."
"But- but- w-what's wrong? I don't-"
"Get out," Ward said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Zack opened the door, got out, and turned back. Ward motioned with his chin back toward his patrol car.
"Go back and call it in. I'm staying here with these idiots."
Gesturing toward Frankie, who was looking less and less happy about the situation every second, Zack tried to say something in his defense.
"Frankie, and, uh, Keith, th-they've been really cool. They didn't do anything."
"You don't know that, man," Keith spoke up suddenly. "You got no fucking idea-"
"Shut up and wait for your goddamn lawyer!" Ward half-shouted. "Zack- dude- patrol car. Radio. Now."
Zack half-started back toward the black-and-white Caprice, but halted and turned back, realizing he had no idea how a police radio worked.
"Uh… I-what do I say?"
"Tell Dispatch that Unit 78 just found you. Tell 'em your name, say 78 needs anybody available out here right now."
"Oh-kay. Okay." Zack trotted back toward the Caprice, pulled open the driver's door. He fumbled around inside, gaping momentarily at the enormous pump-action shotgun mounted under the dashboard. Then he grabbed for the radio handset and pressed the button on the side.
"Uh… hello? Unit 78?" he asked uncertainly.
"Kid, this is a police radio," a bored voice answered after a moment. "Get off this channel."
"W-well, no, uh- I'm Zack Mazursky."
"Where are you? How'd you get to a radio?" the voice was hard and suspicious now, all trace of boredom gone.
"Well- Officer Ward- he told me-"
"You're using the radio in his car? Kid, where's Cam?"
"He's up th-there-" Zack began, but he looked up as shouts came from up ahead. A burst of automatic fire. Flashes from the open driver's window. Zack stared in dawning horror. "Oh, shit."
ΩΩΩΩΩ
"Dude!" Frankie shouted, staring at Elvis. "Dude! What- what the FUCK?!"
"You guys're fucking fucked, man!" Keith screamed, completely panicked now. He flung open his door and jumped out as Elvis floored it, the Suburban squatting briefly on its back tires as it began to flee the scene.
"If we run for it now we can get outta town before the cops find us," Elvis babbled, talking fast, sounding like he was desperate to convince himself. "We can make this work, dude."
"You fucking shot a cop! We are so fucked, man! Zack's gone, too!"
"Well, I guess he's Johnny's fucking problem now," Elvis said, trying to sound casual about it. "Listen, man, it was the only way. He knew it was Zack, man."
"We are so fucking dead!"
"I don't hear your dumb ass coming up with anything better, bro."
"Stop the car, man!" Frankie shouted.
"I'm not stopping," Elvis said, shaking his head.
"I said stop the fucking car!"
When Elvis shook his head again, Frankie lost all capacity for rational thought. Out of options and knowing he had nowhere to run anyway, he lashed out and punched Elvis in the face.
The part of Frankie that liked Zack, knew it had been a betrayal at best to let things even get this far, also felt at least a little proud of turning on the dude who'd been planning to shoot the kid out in the hills.
It felt a lot less fun, though, as the two fought over control of the steering wheel, and one of them yanked it hard to the left.
By then speeding along at just over ninety-three miles an hour, the brick-shaped SUV slewed for a second or two, then rolled, pressing the roof inward as the front two pillars buckled under the weight.
For once, Frankie Ballenbacher had actually remembered to wear his seatbelt, and it ended up saving his life. As the Suburban came to rest upside down, Frankie was bruised from getting tossed around and had cuts from all the flying glass, but he was alive.
It finally dawned on Frankie, as the first of many police cars came flying down the road toward him through the dark, that Elvis was no longer in the car.
Fuck it, Frankie thought as he started to pass out, still held in place by his seatbelt. I hope the fucker's dead. I never liked that asshole anyway.
ΩΩΩΩΩ
Zack made it up to where the Highway Patrol cop, Cameron Ward, had fallen not long after yelling at the Dispatcher guy that they needed some help out here. He didn't know where "here" was, but he did know, as he got close, that this wasn't gonna end well.
"Keith!" Zack yelled frantically. "Can't you- we gotta help him!"
"Like how?" Keith shouted back. "Isn't this what- what's your idea, man?"
"I dunno! I dunno!"
"Girls, girls," Ward interjected with a cough. "You're both pretty."
"Dude, just-just breathe, I-you're gonna be okay!" Zack wished that had sounded convincing to anyone. It sure didn't sound convincing to him.
Another cough. "Dude. My name's Cameron. I'm Cameron."
"Uh… okay, okay, I'm, uh- I'm Zack."
Officer Ward- Cameron- coughed and laughed. "I know. Dude. Don't get kidnapped again, 'kay?"
"Keith- dude-" Zack broke off, trying to think straight. "He's- this isn't good, man."
"I'm trying to- fuck, he got shot s-so many times-" Keith said distractedly, pulling off his shirt and tearing it up, trying to apply direct pressure everywhere he needed to all at once.
The two teenagers looked up as tires screeched down the road. Zack squinted at the dark. The Suburban's working side and center tail-lights went out of view as the back of the SUV moved what looked like sideways.
Then the sound of metal and glass breaking said enough. Whatever had happened, the Suburban would not be going any farther. Zack hoped Frankie had stopped things from getting even more messed up. Frankie had said they were boys, after all, and Zack knew Frankie meant to keep him safe. He knew that.
"Zack, you call it in like I said?" Cameron asked, looking calmly, steadily at Zack. It helped. Zack managed to at least think clearly enough to answer.
"Y-yeah. I said m-my name, then I yelled at the guy and- ran over here."
"Nice." Cameron managed a small laugh. "Nice going, dude."
"Hold this down, like, right there," Keith said, thrusting a rag from his shirt into Zack's hands, pointing at another spot where a lot of blood looked to be coming from. Way too much for there to be any good news here.
Zack did as Keith said, having no better ideas. He clamped both hands down on top of the rag, hoping this was gonna help somehow.
"Dude, y-you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay," Zack managed, trying to not completely lose his shit.
"Zack. When you get home. Hug your mom. Okay? Hug your mom." Cameron was looking him right in the eyes. "Can you do that?"
"Y-yeah. Yeah, okay."
Mom wasn't so bad. Zack hadn't wanted to cause more problems for Jake, but he also didn't feel that great about leaving the house like that. Mom had probably come up sometime after their last argument, maybe wanting to talk things out, only to find he'd basically run away on her.
Hopefully she wouldn't be too mad when he got home.
Grasping Zack's hands in his, Cameron Ward kept that little smile on his face. Five or six years older than Zack, that was all. It was crazy. This whole thing was crazy.
"That's good." Cameron laughed again. "Zack, dude. You're so lucky, man. You're so lucky."
"Dude, it's not- you're gonna be fine," Zack answered with a confidence he didn't feel. He looked up as the police lights and sirens started getting closer, coming from both directions on this lonely road.
"They were gonna kill you up there," Keith said with a frightening intensity, pointing at one of the mountains ahead. "I dug the grave. I'm telling them everything. Fuck Johnny. Fuck 'im. Fuck 'im. He can't do shit to us now."
Still holding down the rag he'd been given, unsure of what else to do, Zack shouted at the cops as the Highway Patrol and local county cops started swarming the area.
"Hey! Hey! We need some help over here!" Keith added, joining Zack in attempting to make more noise than all these cops and police cars showing up.
"I got 'im, I got 'im! He's over here! He's right over here!" Three cops shouted at once, moving toward Zack.
"We need some help!" Zack yelled at them. "I think he's dying!"
"Kid," one of the cops told him, kneeling beside Zack. "It's okay. He-"
"W-whaddya mean it's okay?" Zack demanded, starting to lose it. "How can-"
"Kid," the cop said again. "I mean it. You can't help him."
"What?" Zack asked, still not understanding.
"He's gone, man," Keith said in a voice full of defeat. He stood up and looked around at the cops. "I'm Keith. I dug his grave." He pointed at Zack. "Elvis and Frankie were gonna take him up there and shoot 'im."
Two of the Highway Patrol cops looked at each other. One of them took a step toward Keith.
"What's your name, son?"
"Keith Stratten."
"You have the right to remain silent, and make no further statement at all. Any statement you do make can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney…"
What happened next was all a blur. The cops handcuffing Keith. More of them pulling Zack away from him, despite Zack insisting they were cool. He shouted that he and Frankie were boys, like that explained everything, but underneath that, he knew things weren't okay. That he'd been fooling himself.
He had almost walked into his grave tonight. And if they'd come all this way out toward those mountains in the dark… the end had not been far off.
No. Not far off at all.
Medics showed up, brought Zack over by the ambulance, looked him over.
They also came for Officer Cameron Ward. He went straight into a black body bag. Zack stared blankly, not getting it. People didn't die that fast. Twenty-one years. Only twenty-one years.
They put him in the back of one of the police cars. They told him he was going home.
Zack managed to keep it together until he was getting out of the CHP patrol car, until he was at the door. Right until Olivia Mazurszky answered. Running out on her days ago because of a fight. He'd nearly died. Their last conversation was almost some pointless fight.
"Ma'am," one of the CHP officers said as Zack was heading up to the front door. "We found your son. It's good news."
Olivia Mazursky stared, wide-eyed, as Zack stood there with his hands jammed in his pockets. Neither one of them seemed to know just how to proceed.
"Mom," was all Zack managed to say. He got closer, managed to reach out and meet her in a hug. Then it all came tumbling out.
A/N: 12-24-2023.
Finally completed a second chapter after several pauses, and after going back and rewriting some sections. This was a tough one to write. The beginning of this story was tricky to get right, too, and I even had to go back and address the fact that I just straight-up forgot that Keith Stratten's character was in the Suburban.
My original, decade-old idea for this involved the CHP officer protecting Zack after he gets ordered into the car at gunpoint. This largely meant the officer getting in the way when Elvis goes to shoot Zack, but when I came back and started to write the story after ten years, the idea struck me as implausible.
Main issue I had with it was twofold: it hinged on the CHP officer making the fatal mistake of hesitating and complying with the 'hitman', and it centered too much on an OC and not enough on Zack.
In this version of events, Zack saves his own life, rolling his window down in an attempt to chime in and claim he really is being driven home, still oblivious to the danger he's in. It took a long time to get the details worked out, but I like this alternative version of events.
Zack Mazursky could easily have lived, and in this instance, a simple traffic stop changes everything.
Reviews are always appreciated.