The chase

He stands there in the pouring rain, nonchalantly inhaling on his lavender cigarette.

"The bastard.", a whisper simply flows in the wind from the mouth of the leader. This statement had been used innumerable times before, but those simple words had never had the aura of confidence around them.

He's usually two steps ahead of them. Always. The chase, had brought them here. All the way from the sands of desolation, the snows of solitude, the heat of frustration, and finally the downpour of smugness. They think they've got him.

His silky black jacket moves quietly in the breeze. He runs his hand slowly over the edges of the jacket and brings it back to it's quiet form.

"He's absolutely clueless.", the captain whispers.

Rubbing his palms on his forehead, he looks like a man who's done it all, and is satisfied. He sighs, the smoky textures of his breath stand still in the air, before vanishing spontaneously as if the rain had a personal vengeance against them. He slowly removes his hat and holds it close to his stomach.

The street is only illuminated by the neon light vulgarly displaying itself from the Bar sign. It flickers, as if it's ashamed to be naked in this cold rain.

He stands at the entrance, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Each breath looking like it might be his last, he enjoys the taste of nicotine and the guilt of the vice.

The captain is assured. All the toils of toying with the captain using his veracious lies were in vain. Celebration commencing in their heads.

He finishes his cigarette, throws it in the air. The cigarette falters and shakes as the wind takes it off to a direction it wasn't supposed to go. He had finished. He slowly puts his hat back on his lock of jet black hair, and grips it with his fingers, afraid the wind is going to take away the identity of the object which let him change his at his wish.

He goes back into the bar.

"Alright, I'll go in. You both stay here and keep guard. We've got him. There's nowhere to run. The bar doesn't have a back entrance. He's done for.".The captain orders the two men with confidence and a faint sense of satisfaction, knowing this is his limelight. He had done it, not them. The lemmings didn't need a shadow in his spotlight.

The captain surreptitiously makes his steps towards the entrance of the old bar. A facade of slyness had been one of the captain's many faults, as the facade usually led to a false sense of disguise, which wasn't there in the first place. Still, he wants to be sure of his invisibility, though it won't be needed.

He opens the silent door of the bar, which has seen many a incident go down in the riptides of time. A bartender, and the man. The captain smirks. All his mystery for nothing.

He makes his way to the bartender, where the man is sitting, stirring a glass of martini.

"Grape juice, bartender.", the captain asks. The drinking can be put off for the dark hours of the night, where celebration was going to flirt with the egos of the captain.

"An odd choice for a night of victory, Clyde.", the man mutters, still gazing at the drink as it aimlessly swirled with every stir.

"A drink of satisfaction, a drink of innocence, a universal drink. Not in the mood for anything special."

"Ah. Savoring the moment for later is always a habit that my mother used to teach me. A bigger boost of self-confidence will be had if you keep the celebration big and satisfying, instead of the bits of joy."

"Your mother taught you well."

"Enough small talk, captain. Small talk is for small occasions. This is your night, a grand capture of the man you've been chasing for 3 and a half years."

"I doubt you're going to come that easily. But this time, it's not physically possible to escape."

"I'm done, captain. It's all over for me. The days of crime, the robbery, all finito in my books. I want a place where I can get away from it all now. Something that you already want to arrange for me. I'm done with the chase. This is not the life I wanted to lead. I'm almost 28. Mature enough to understand that cat and mouse is child's play."

"You've used those words many times, but not once have you been tru-"

The man extends both his arms to the captain, fists clenched and backhand upwards, and keeps them in between the captain and the grape juice, into which the captain is busily gazing into. He looks directly in to the brown hollows of the captain's eyes. A signal of defeat.

"Cuff me, maestro. My days are done."

The captain smiles slyly. His moment of glorious grandeur wasn't going to just be such a simple act. This was too easy. A forfeit. Clyde slowly takes a sip of his grape juice, pushing the man's hands away.

"3 years, 7 months, 25 days. You dog. You're not going to do this your way. Your sympathy filled eyes are not going to steal my thunder. You're doing this my way."

The captain stands up briskly and knocks the man in the face. The man falls to the floor, the chairs move, the bartender looks on with eyes that have seen much worse. The captain kneels down, firmly puts his knee on the man's back and cuffs the man.

The two cops are still standing out in the rain. But they hear it. They hear the gentle sounds of the commotion inside, and they smile. Finally, it's been put to rest. The tombstone of the follow, which had had many sequels.

The man's body flies out of the entrance of the bar and lands on the pavement, hands still cuffed. The cops pull their face back from the wall and hide behind the corner and smile at each other. They turn their heads again towards the man.

Gone. A blank road. The entrance of the bar is as empty as the looks on the cops' faces. They run towards the entrance drenched from the downpour and shivering from their feelings of aghast.

They open the door of the bar and find the captain laying there, unconscious.

The bartender speaks with his loud voice booming with the nonchalant of an orator, "I don't know what happened. The man fell down suddenly. And the handcuffed fella' jumped out of the door"

The feeling of escape. The butter fingers through which he had slipped uncountable times, still gave him the same self satisfaction that they give him a few thousand days ago. The rain poured hard, and washed away all his worries, for now. He had wondered if this feeling would persist. This feeling of power, in the know of the fact that he had outsmarted the captain again, but he was cured alright. It all came rushing back to him through his veins. His heart beating furiously, the droplets of rain mixed with the blood gushing from his cheeks. The drug had knocked him out cold, and his plan had gone perfectly. The disguise of forgiveness and defeat, slyly slipping the powder in the grape juice. Pitch perfect. He knew this wasn't going to last, this moment.

But he didn't want it to. He had always been a naughty boy, and loved disobeying his mother. The bursts of joy were going to come in bits.