Chapter Thirty Seven

"We're on our way now, sir," one of the ten cops with five automobiles ranging from patrol dodge chargers to an SUV Ford Police Interceptor said to a walkie talkie that hung from his shoulder.

He had me and Amaya locked up in the secondary trunk of his dodge charger. Mrs. Spikes and Maisie in another then Sheryl and Sal in the third vehicle. We were all handcuffed because as one of the cops said - a man with saggy beards that rested comfortably on his huge lips, "you are threats to the safety of the community and we have to  do our jobs well and keep our citizens safe," with that he'd claspsed ugly looking cold handcuffs round our wrists.

We were all hungry and tired. Sal had the worst blow of it all. As the car juggled on the road avoiding a few potholes through trees and houses, inquisitive folks and office buildings, it had caused searing pains that ruptured through his fairly athletic frame.

The second person that suffered th