Chapter 22: The First High-Speed Chase

Jimmy steadied his nerves, treating the situation as a high-speed driving exercise. As long as he didn't act recklessly and followed the State Trooper’s lead, there shouldn't be any major issues.

The State Trooper ahead continued to accelerate, passing Mason and closing in on the suspect’s vehicle. However, due to heavy traffic on the highway, a PIT maneuver was impossible, so they had to continue the pursuit from behind.

Jimmy followed Mason, their speed gradually increasing. They topped 130 mph (208 km/h), which was nearing the limit for their Crown Victoria—its top speed being 150 mph (240 km/h).

After about ten minutes of high-speed pursuit, the traffic on the highway remained dense, leaving the State Trooper no opening for a PIT maneuver. Finally, a sharp right turn appeared ahead. The suspect’s speed dropped significantly, and the road cleared slightly. The State Trooper accelerated decisively after the turn, slamming directly into the rear right bumper of the suspect's car. The suspect’s rear tires lifted off the ground, the car skidded, spun 180 degrees, and came to a stop on the road. Mason and Jimmy slowed down, boxing the suspect’s vehicle in from the front and side to prevent further escape.

Mason and Jimmy exited their vehicles. Jimmy drew his weapon, aiming it at the driver, while Mason walked back a short distance to direct traffic, allowing other vehicles to pass through the remaining open lane.

The State Trooper turned around and parked behind the suspect’s car. He stepped out, drew his pistol, and trained it on the driver’s seat.

"Arkansas State Troopers! Don’t move! Hands out the window, let me see your hands!"

"Use your left hand to unbuckle your seatbelt, open the door, and get out."

"Turn around, get on the ground, hands on your head."

The State Trooper moved in to cuff the suspect, then pulled him up and pressed him against the hood of the patrol car to search him.

Jimmy walked over to the suspect’s car and inspected the interior. Finding no one else and no obvious weapons, he popped the trunk. After confirming it was empty, he signaled to the State Trooper that the area was clear.

"Thanks, brother."

The State Trooper locked the suspect in the cage in the back seat, offered his thanks, and returned to his cruiser to call for a tow truck to clear the suspect's vehicle from the highway.

"See you later." Jimmy and Mason got back into their respective patrol cars, drove a short distance along the highway, exited at the nearest ramp, and returned to their patrol zones.

Once off the highway, Jimmy drove slowly. It was the first time in his life he had driven over 200 km/h. His adrenaline was surging; now that the pursuit was over, a wave of fatigue washed over him, mixed with a lingering sense of excitement.

He couldn't continue driving in this state. Jimmy pulled into an intersection, parked the car, and stepped out to light a cigarette. It was January, and the cold wind on his face helped calm him down, though his hands were still shaking slightly.

He finally understood why the *Fast and Furious* movies were so popular in his previous life. High-speed chases amidst normal traffic—the danger and the thrill, the constant risk of a crash or death—stimulated the brain and made one gradually addicted to that surreal sensation.

After letting the cold wind blow over him for a few minutes, he felt completely composed. Jimmy returned to his patrol car and headed back to his sector.

Jimmy considered stopping by a Bank of America on the way to open an account and deposit his checks and the cash he had on him.

It was already January, and tax season was approaching. As he drove, Jimmy thought about his errands, when suddenly a critical, fatal problem occurred to him: his identity had been provided to him mid-stream. If he had supposedly been a police officer for two years, did he have a record of normal income? Had he filed taxes?

Cold sweat broke out on Jimmy's forehead. The terrifying reputation of the IRS—both from his past life's movies and what he had learned over the last few months—sent shivers down his spine. If they audited him and found discrepancies, he would be finished.

With that thought, Jimmy drove straight back to the station. Thank goodness, Amy was still in her office. He looked around; most of the station was empty, with only a few people at their desks. Jimmy walked into Amy’s office, closed the door, and said, "Amy, I’ve discovered a major problem. A fatal one."

"The identity you gave me claims I have two years of police experience after graduating from the academy. That means, following standard procedure, I should have two years of reported income and two years of tax returns. But I have nothing. Tax season is almost here. What should I do? Should I just report the income from these past two months?"

"Wait, calm down. Just calm down. Go outside for a minute and let me think."

Jimmy knew this wasn't the time to cause a scene. He went to the breakroom, poured a cup of coffee, and sat down to wait, trying to steady his nerves. If he hadn't thought about opening a bank account, he would have completely overlooked such a grave issue.

Amy sat in her office for a while, then went into the Chief’s office. They talked for a few minutes, and then Amy left the station.

After finishing his coffee, Jimmy noticed Amy wasn't back yet. Since he couldn't just walk in and talk to the Chief about something like this, he decided to head out and continue his patrol.

Jimmy stopped at a food truck outside the station, bought a taco and a hot dog for lunch, and drove off.

While eating lunch didn't strictly require a restaurant, standing on the side of the road wasn't exactly pleasant. Jimmy had already found a good spot: a patch of shade on the grass by the Arkansas River. River, shade, grass—if he had a mat and a lounge chair, it would be just like camping.

This kind of life was something he hadn't dared to imagine before. When he was a firefighter, his time off was always spent visiting family back home; he never even had weekends off, and the fire truck was always ready to roll.

Once lunch was over, he took a short nap in the patrol car. A nap wasn't mandatory, but he wasn't in the mood to patrol. His personal affairs were still unresolved, and the gaps in his identity remained. If the IRS actually came after him, he would be in deep trouble.

In the afternoon, Jimmy continued his patrol. He was primarily responsible for the western suburbs of Little Rock and the outskirts of several surrounding towns. There was no designated location; he just had to drive around and wait for instructions from the dispatch center. As for catching criminals in the act during patrol, that hadn't happened to him yet.

Aimless patrolling was boring. According to the experience shared by Noah and the others, they usually patrolled for an hour or so, then parked on a side road to rest, keeping an eye out for any unlucky speeders to ticket.

Jimmy hadn't been issued a radar gun. Noah and the others usually just followed the target vehicle and checked their own speedometer. If the speeding was minor, they let it slide. If it was significant, they would turn on their lights to signal a pull-over. Usually, when drivers saw a police car following them, they would pull over obediently.

If he encountered someone bold, someone with a warrant, or someone driving under the influence who refused to stop, then it would be time for a high-speed intervention—the famous PIT maneuver everyone loved.