My fingers failed to coordinate. I heard a shot and nervously dropped the key. I bent over frantically to scoop it up.
There was another shot. Pieces of glass trickled down my neck. I straightened up and saw a hole in the windshield, level with my eyes.
"Hands up!" The cop had slowed down to take careful aim. He was so close now he could hardly miss.
"Don't shoot!" I shouted. "I surrender!"
I inserted the key in the ignition with desperate precision, gunning the engines so hard that the ship spun halfway around. The policeman leaped out of the way as my Cad Super roared past him and lurched into the air.
I heard a tattoo of shots from the ground and then we were out of range.
I swore as the acceleration crushed me deep into the seat. My forehead was pounding.
"Bart Sponsor, fugitive," I thought bitterly. "And only a half-hour ago I was a pillar of society. Worst thing I had to worry about was a speeding ticket...."
... I had been griping to my wife as usual about the rush-hour morning traffic above Chicago.