However, something similar happened two days later. Jack was in a taxi, heading for the police station to discuss something with his police friend Inspector Burrow. You see, Jack had been wondering lately about different kinds of mock fingerprints.

The taxi was at a stop and he looked over. There was that same car next to them; it looked like the same men. They were looking straight at him. But then Jack’s driver drove off and it was over.

Was this just coincidence too? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think so. Now he felt watched...


Five minutes later Jack was walking into the station. He nodded to the officer at the desk, who knew him by name, and turned into Burrow’s office.

“Jack! There you are, I was wondering when you were coming.”

“Morning, Burrow,” Jack smiled, raising his travel mug to his mouth but then frowning at it. “Hey, first off, do you happen to have any milk? I made my coffee too strong because I was in a hurry. And I certainly didn’t want it too-” He was interrupted by Burrow’s laugh. “… weak.”
“What do I look like, a barista?” the inspector said in jest.

“Well, no… Oh nevermind.” Jack laughed. “Alright,” sitting down, “down to business.”

“Burrow,” Jack said thoughtfully, once he was satisfied with the information he’d been given on mock fingerprints. “Any advice for being watched?”
Burrow looked at him and laughed.

“Who’s being watched?”

“Uh… me. I think.”

“You think.” The inspector gave him a look. “Well, if I was being watched, I’d go straight up to the blighter and demand to know what’s so fascinating he won’t stop his staring!” He sat back and crossed his arms with a confident, content smile.

“Well yes,” Jack replied, “but you’re a policeman.
“The only reason I can think of to explain why they’d be watching me…” Jack continued, and thought for a moment before going on. “… is my being a detective. I suppose, on the other side of things, people wouldn’t like someone ‘interfering’ with their affairs and helping you guys arrest them…” But he realized how ridiculously obvious that was and laughed. “Just a little.”


Over the next few weeks similar things kept happening. The same guys, the same car. They were watching Jack for some reason. And repeatedly more often, to the point that almost wherever he was, he had two shadows.

This all seemed to climax at a certain coffee shop…

Jack’s POV:

It was my favorite coffee shop, simply called Le Café by frequenters (which includes me, to be sure). It has a low ceiling, with low lights; most of its actual light- save for the brighter lights above the counter- comes from the windows. But it’s certainly well-lit enough inside to read without straining.
I had been sitting there enjoying a new brew of coffee that I had begun taking an increasingly strong liking to. It was some sort of French brew, but I can’t remember the exact name.

Inspector Burrow walked in, which struck me as rather odd, seeing as how the fellow dislikes coffee and rarely can be seen in a coffee shop. But, another man was beside him who he seemed to know. Burrow walked up and we shook hands.

“Mason,” he nodded. “This is Mr. Addison. James, this is Jack Mason. I believe I’ve mentioned him in passing before.”

“Yes, I believe so, Burrow,” said the man in a jubilant voice. “James Addison. Pleased to meet you, sir.” He grasped my hand firmly. He was around my height, and his build was firm. He had a light brown goatee and fiery blue eyes.

“You as well; thank you,” I said.

They went off to the other side of the room, sat down, and begun conversing over a cup of coffee. Burrow barely touched his.

As I watched them sit down, I noticed beyond them two fellows at a dark corner table who looked familiar. Yep, they were the men I thought had been watching me the past few weeks. They looked rather out of place; to me, at least. Neither were talking, neither had coffee or anything. They were just sitting there watching me. That’s how they usually seemed to me- out of place.
This time when we met eyes, they did not turn away. Have they gained confidence? They stared straight at me, at first completely expressionless. Then, one of them seemed to grow the slightest smile, and a fire kindled was in his eyes.

I stood. I was going to go end it right there, like Burrow had suggested. But instead, my hand went to my coffee cup- even though it was still half full- and I went for a refill. Something had told me to wait: I guess it was that smile from the one of them. For some reason they were comfortable with these circumstances, and that could mean it wasn’t the safest time for me to be making the moves: if indeed I was on to something, and these guys were indeed potentially dangerous.

After around three quarters of an hour, Burrow and the Addison fellow were apparently finished with their conversation, as they stood and walked toward the door. Before exiting, though, they stopped at my table and Addison briefly engaged me in some small talk.
“So, you’re from around here, eh, Mason?”
“Yeah. London, originally.”
“Oh, really?” he said. “I’ve had quite a bit of business in London.”
I nodded. “What sort of business?”
“Oh, my own… entrepreneurial things.”
He stood with his hands on the table. After a few moments the conversation died and he and Burrow left. On the table where his right hand had been lay a single unused napkin. I barely noticed it though, and looked back down at my page.
But just then, the two men in the corner stood up, and when I looked over they were again staring at me as they left.

It seemed strange, that they’d leave the same time Burrow and… I looked after the two men, then down at the napkin, a perplexed look crossing my face. A man Burrow’s meeting with leaves a single napkin on my table and leaves, and just then those men who have for so long been watching me also leave… Could there be a connection?

It was later that day, and I was driving down the highway in my car. I had just turned off Great Cambridge Road onto M25. I was still thinking over what had happened in the coffee shop. It might be a little bizarre, but… could there be a connection of some sort?

Suddenly though, my thoughts were cut short by a semi that was pulling into my lane right in front of me.

“Woah!” I jerked to the right, into the other lane, and honked once. I didn’t really get a response; that huge wall of a trailer stayed beside me, to my left.

But then that wall started moving into this lane! And directly to my right was the wall that separated the road!

I floored it to get ahead of him before he crushed me. Just made it. I held my horn a bit longer this time. Alright, this guy’s trying to kill me!

So- a bit ruffled- I kept driving, trying to avoid the semi driver. I tried to catch a glance of him in my rear view mirror, but the light reflected too much on his windshield and I couldn’t see his face. He looked big, though.

A couple minutes later the same exact thing happened: with a different semi. He too pulled into my lane twice, right on top of me.

“Ahhk!” I quickly sped away from him. “What’s going on!”
But then, the traffic slowed a bit, so I couldn’t easily maintain a comfortable distance. (There was an exit, and people were trying to get over, though the highway was well-packed.)

With this advantage, both semis pulled up behind me. I tried, but with the traffic I just couldn’t get away from them. My lane was more backed up than theirs for some reason. So I found myself between two monstrous semis.


Surprisingly, they didn’t do much for a while. Well, I suppose that was due to the traffic. But I was locked in, and the only way out would be backward.

I didn’t have too much time to sit back and think about it. Ohhhhh no… The two semis were moving toward each other: with me in the middle!

REVERSE. I hoped that by some chance the car behind me was far enough back. I received a severe honk, but didn’t hit him. Sliding to the right as I backed up, I changed gears and the RPMs purred as I floored it to the left, around the semis. I cut around off the side of the road on the grass, to an opening in the traffic ahead. But as I sped away, I heard a sound and one of my windows shattered.
I yelled and ducked down, speeding up even more. Then my back window shattered. “Ah! Stop!”

Finally, I had reached the opening up ahead. Looking in my mirror, I saw flashing lights behind the semis. Yes!

The traffic had thinned out- since we’d passed the exit- so I slowed down to help the officer in any way I could. Wait…
“NO!”
The policeman, as he’d been walking up to the parked semis, had fallen over dead. The man that had shot him spotted me, and once more opened fire. I drew a conceal-carry handgun and returned fire. Then the other driver started firing at me. Together they overwhelmed me and I had to get outta there.
“Burrow!” I shouted into the phone as I sped away, bullets whizzing and glass and sparks flying. “I’m heading west on M25, just past Great Cambridge Road, and I’m being chased. I think it’s those same two guys who’ve been following me.” My side-view mirror shattered to pieces next to me. “They just killed a policeman, I think one of your men.” I briefly explained further, and hung up. I would try to fend off and stay ahead until help arrived.

Ten minutes. Occasional gunfire. Weaving through traffic. I figured my car must look pretty beat-up by now, taking all these bullets, and only half the windows still intact. I was sure fortunate I hadn’t taken a bullet myself.

Finally, relief swept over me, as two more police cars became visible behind the semis. My mind went to the fact that this was one of the few times that someone was actually glad to see flashing lights in their rear-view mirror.

How are Burrow’s men going to do this, though? I wondered. Two semis, each with an armed driver. But then I saw it: a blockade! Brilliant! I pulled off to the side when I reached it, careful about any more bullets from the big trucks approaching; but apparently they were too sidetracked.
Three cruisers stood ready to block the road ahead. One was on the left, and two were on the right, leaving the middle lane open for civilians. Finally, when all the cars between the semis and the blockade had been let through, one of the police cars on the right pulled up to completely block off the road. The policemen now emerged from their cars and, standing on the side opposite from the semis, pointed their weapons back over.
As the large trucks slowed, I found myself glancing eagerly from them to the blockade and back. I think the policemen think they were thinking the same thing I was; they seemed just as nervous. Surely those semis were capable of, at any moment, plowing right through such a blockade, even if it was two cars thick.
But the semis did come to a complete stop, and for a long, tense moment no movement could be seen from either cab. The policemen in front of and behind the semis stood with their weapons ready. But the drivers weren’t stirring at all. What are they waiting for? Are they going to come out?
“Umm…” said one of the officers. I saw that he was the sergeant. He seemed unsure whether to wait or to take over the situation now.
Finally, he looked resolved and began giving orders to his men.
But suddenly, out of nowhere, a lethal explosion came from one of the semi cabs.
“Down!” One of the police car windows shattered to pieces. What? They’ve got a shotgun?!
The several policemen returned fire. So, a deadly battle ensued between policeman and criminal.


Occasionally the men in the semis would let off a shot in my direction. They’d take out what of my windows was still existent, or lodge another bullet in the sides of my car. I just tried to stay out of sight behind one of the tires and wait it out.

At one point, Burrow must have shown up, because I heard him shouting orders to his men. (I hadn’t seen him earlier).

About fifteen minutes into the fight, I decided to join him. He might have been devising some sort of plan in which I could be of some assistance. It was risky, but I thought I could make it. If I made it sudden, and ran fast enough.

I crawled up to the front end of the car and brought a knee to my chest with my foot on the ground. I got ready to make a run for it to the barricade. Ok. Three… Two…… ONE!

I launched out and ran as hard and fast as I could. It was only about eight meters, but oh, that was a long and hot eight meters! The street sign sparked, and the dirt bank a short distance away lit up with poofs of dirt.

As I stumbled behind the police cars, I fell to the pavement and scrambled over against one of the cars. I laid my head back and closed my eyes, and rested with my heart hammering in my chest.

“Burrow,” I nodded as I gave him a sidelong grin.

“Well, Jack, what lovely mess have you got yourself in now?” We both laughed.

“So how exactly are we going to end this one?”


About thirty minutes into the fight Burrow made his move. He split his men in half. There were eight of us on this end of the semis- including him and me- so with him leading Team One and me leading Team Two, each team consisted of four men. There were only two officers on the other end of the semis, and they were both going to stay put and cover the rest of us as best they could.

It was the semi on our left (when facing them), closest to the middle of the highway, that had the shotgun. Team One- Burrow’s team- would take that one. Before our teams split up, we crouched behind the barricade, quietly conversing plans; occasionally one of us would let off a shot over the top of the cars. Burrow was trying to get a volunteer for the first person to take a shot at the man with the shotgun, once his team was in position. Nobody quite jumped at the opportunity, though.
One officer laughed.

“I aint gonna be the one to pop up like some duck wanting my head blown off!” He reached up and shot at one of the semis.

Burrow muttered something, then spoke louder.

“Alright, two of my men will do it at the same time,” he said. “Besides, that’ll hopefully give us a better chance anyway.” Another officer reached up and shot.

“Burrow,” I interjected thoughtfully. “Your team’s going against a shotgun, and he’s probably got a pistol too; yeah, I know he does. And as far as we know, we’ve only got one pistol to deal with. So why don’t you take one of my men? That’ll give you a total of five. I think we can manage with just three.” My men nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, we got ‘dis,” James grinned. I had worked with him before, in my previous interactions with Burrow and his men. He was from America, and fairly young, with blond hair; but he was old enough and experienced enough to know his stuff.

Burrow sighed after a moment of consideration; at first he’d been unsure, but eventually accepted gratefully. “Alright, yes, let’s do that.”

We all readied up, checking our weapons; we divided the extra ammo between the eight of us.

“All ready?” Burrow whispered. Everyone gave thumbs-up, and he motioned to the sergeant, who radioed the other team on the other end of the semis.

“Teams One and Two to Team Three, do you copy, over.”

“Team Three, we copy you, over. Go ahead.”

“Teams One and Two are good to proceed, is Team Three?”

After a moment, “Team Three ready to go. Proceed.”

“Very good. Proceeding, over.” The sergeant then spoke both to us and into the radio as he gave a final glance around at us. “In three… two… one.”

Team One ran and jumped over the concrete wall that separated the road, while my team rained bullets into the semi cabs- particularly the one with the shotgun. The men in the semis managed to get a few shots off at first, but soon apparently got too occupied with trying to avoid the ricocheting bullets. Then- Team One safely crouching on the other side of the short wall- my team went back into hiding behind the cars and reloaded.
“Team One to Teams Two and Three, do you copy, over,” we heard over the radio.
“Team Two to Team One, we copy you, over,” said my team’s sergeant.
Crackle. “Team Three to Team One, we copy you, over. Go ahead.”

“Casualties: zero. Safe and sound. Good to proceed, over.”

“Copy that, over.”

Crackle. “Copy that, over.”

“Team One to Team Two. Proceed.”

“Copy that. Proceeding, over.”
Our sergeant glanced at the rest of our team- just James and me- and we both gave another thumbs-up. He spoke into the radio,
“Team Two readying up, over.”

“Copy that, proceed.”

Crackle. “Copy that, proceed.”

“Ok. In three, two, one!”

Team One sprang up and rained bullets while we bolted around the barricade, for the other side of my car. The shotgun wasn’t able to get a shot off, but the pistol in the other semi- the one closest to us- managed quite a few. Just as we reached the car, one of my officers groaned and fell forward behind the car as he ran; it was James.
Once the sergeant and I were behind the car, I looked over. It didn’t look too major, but James’ arm was bleeding bad. Once we were all in safety, I slid down the slope toward him.

“James, you alright?”

“Fine,” he winced. “My arm.” It didn’t look its natural shape.

I motioned to the sergeant and we helped James up to the car.
“Sergeant, I’ve got a jacket in the back seat. Can you reach it? You’re closer.”
He reached up and opened the door. “Yeah.” And he pulled it down.
We cut off some of the lower part of it- the tail- and wrapped it around James’ arm for a bandage. We used the upper portion and arms for a makeshift sling.
We all sat now with our backs to the car, and the sergeant reported back to the other teams.

“Team Two to Teams One and Three, do you copy.”
“Team One to Team Two, we copy you, over.”
“Team Three to Team Two, we copy you, over. Go ahead.”

“Casualties: one, over.”

“Copy that, over.”

“Copy that. Proceed, over.”

“Copy that. Proceeding, over.”


“James, you gonna be able to go on with us?”

“I don’t know. I think I could manage to cover you.”

“Alright. Sergeant, are you ready?”

He nodded. “Team Two proceeding.”

“Copy that, over.”

Crackle. “Copy that, over.”

Since Team One was on the other side of the semis, they wouldn’t be able to offer much cover fire, and wanted to avoid the shotgun anyway. So they stayed down, though Team Three would give any support they could, and so would our wounded officer. The sergeant and I ran around to the nearest semi. We lined up beside the semi, readying to “breech” (it’s a bit different with a semi). He was by the door, me behind him. But then the door flew open in front of us and a man appeared with a pistol. It was one of the men who had been following me.
The sergeant pinned the man’s gun and hands to the side of the cab with his doubled fists. I swung around and brought my gun to the man’s face.

“Step down,” I ordered.
The henchman stared into my barrel, then at me. Finally he relaxed his arms and grudgingly gave up the gun. He stepped to the ground, hands raised. But as soon as his boot hit the ground, his hands doubled and they came down as a single fist at the sergeant.

I shot. I think James did too, but the bullet must have lodged in the cab door. The sergeant still received a blow to the shoulder from our opponent, but not as severe a one. In an instant we were on top of the man, who was now holding his arm because of the bullet in it.

Ah. Good. We’ve got the first man secured. Then, a wave of shock hit me.
We had the man on the ground, handcuffed, and I was turning to step up into the cab. But at the wheel sat that Mr. Addison fellow, the one Burrow had met with earlier at Le Café.

He looked over.

“Hello, Mason.” His sharp blue eyes burned in a slight smile. Only, not the same, jubilant kind he’d had earlier…

He brought a pistol to my face. It was a Glock; my favorite model, too- the 19. A small scratch crossed it from the top of the barrel to the trigger guard. The inside of the muzzle looked shiny and well-cleaned.

“Addison…” my mouth parted. But then I understood. “The napkin.”

He smiled again and nodded. “Impressive. But you see, my dear Mason, that is exactly the kind of… perceptive thinking that gets you into trouble.” Then his face seemed to darken and his fiery blue eyes burn darker and he looked straighter down the sights at me. “And that is exactly why I-”
He was cut off by a bullet- not one of his or mine- ricocheting in the cab; we both ducked down. I recovered sooner, and stepped up into the cab (I had had one foot on the step), but tripped over something on the floor. I slammed his pistol against the seat as I caught myself, when he tried to bring it back to my face. Then he was completely recovered and I had to block a blow from his free hand, which I did with the steel part of my pistol. While he was howling over his hand, I switched my pistol to the other hand and sent my right fist into his jaw. As his head was moving away from my hand, I continued his momentum, grabbing his shoulder and pinning it against the door.

“Here!” I heard behind me. The sergeant tossed me a pair of hand-cuffs.


About half an hour later, after a fierce struggle with the other henchman- the one with the shotgun- it was all over. Addison and the first of his men were in the back seats of separate police cars, on their way to the police station. The other was heading to the hospital with a police escort; he had sustained some serious injuries: one bullet in his right shoulder, and another in the back of his left. Both his arms were immobile, and that was pretty much the only way he would go down.
In addition to the officer on my team who was injured first, two other policemen went away wounded: both from Burrow’s team. I greatly respected them- all three of them that were wounded: even though they were injured and could have let the rest of us handle it, they kept fighting right alongside us. They didn’t back down.

So, the issue of my being watched and followed was resolved. I was very relieved: finally, I could function with relative freedom and focus on the more pleasurable things- like the wonderful weather, the beauty of nature, or coffee- as well as the more pressing things. Things pertaining to my profession as a detective.