The Heist

By Ben Rumsey

I blazed down the sidewalk on 5th Street, noticing the slight traffic, and the mixture of donuts and seafood in the air. I continued, still seeming to keep the red, rusty, pickup truck in view. The truck went on like a tank through battle; it pressed on through the beeping cars and angry citizens of the narrow streets in New York City. I observed the road ahead, as the cars seemed to be yielding to something. Despite the speed the truck driver obtained, they too seemed to be coming to a halt. I looked harder, a red light hung over the now standstill truck. Relief overwhelmed me as though a stormy night was taken into clear skies.

I hailed a cab, leaped in the door, showed the driver my badge, and yelled, “Follow that truck!”The driver didn’t think of asking me any follow-up questions. The car jolted forward, and the engine revved, which sent my entire body into the back of the passenger seat.  Sweat flushed from my palms, adrenaline high, I relaxed, calmed my breath, and buckled my seatbelt. Great first day, my mind contrasted to my otherwise positive outlook I had earlier that morning. I underestimated the physical and emotional impact that police officers face every day. I regained focus, took in my surroundings, and focused on what's at stake. Someone had just stolen the Mona Lisa.
 

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