“All cars stand-by 4-6-8 in pursuit. 4-6-8 is this vehicle wanted?”
Facing a double line of cars stopped for the light at State Route 126, I got a glimpse of the black/tan entering a service station at the corner, watched it drive through the lot and onto Route 126, avoiding the traffic light, a violation of law.
“4-6-8 affirmative. Subject vehicle is now eastbound 126 from Route 4.”
Red lights flashing, siren yelping, I crossed over the double yellow line as oncoming cars slammed on brakes, pulled right, left, any which way, to avoid me. Slowing to maybe 40 or 50 at the intersection, I caught a little gravel causing a fishtail going to full throttle as I straightened out for the eastbound highway. The whooshing of the four-barrel carb sucking air was distinct even over the siren.
I was aware of radio traffic of other cars responding, but my full concentration was on tracking/catching the black/tan. Approaching Wayne Avenue I lost sight of them. Hoping Evendale’s 4-1-7 would be coming west on 126, I turned south onto Wayne, trounced the throttle and went airborne over the slight hump of the Penn-Central’s spur line to the industrial park. About a mile down, as I blew past a residential driveway, I caught sight of the Chevrolet. Slamming on the binders, jamming the scout car in reverse, I searched for a house number and the robbers with the gun! Were they waiting for me?
I fumbled for the mic, “4-6-8 the vehicle is stopped in the 600 block of Wayne. 2-7.”
“Two-seven 4-6-8. 4-1-7?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw one subject running away from the Chevy. I pulled in behind the car that was between two houses and facing a wooded area. Fully aware that at least one desperate man could be hiding behind the buildings, in the vehicle or in the woods, waiting to use the silver handgun or whatever else they might be armed with, to ambush me. I didn’t, couldn’t hesitate. My .357 Smith & Wesson, model 19, service revolver in hand, I approached the black over tan get-away car.
Nothing. Nobody. No sound, save the sirens of my backup still a mile or so away. I ran to the woods, the point where the figure was last seen, but the foliage was too great to see more than ten yards or so. I stopped and held my breath, no sign or sound of anyone on foot. As portable or personal radios were not yet standard equipment, I headed back to the scene to call in on the scout car radio for additional units and a dog, if available, just as the Village of Evandale’s 4-1-7 arrived.
As we tossed the black/tan, finding a nickel plated revolver tucked into the seatback, a patrol car from another neighboring community, Lincoln Heights, approached. Seated behind the cage was a male black who the Lincoln Heights officer said flagged him down claiming his car had been stolen. It was a bingo moment as I recognized the punk in his custody; he was the driver of the car that passed me on Route 4.