Almost as soon as Rourke sprinted out of the parking lot in his F150 Raptor, the FBI and ASP officers arrived, and a road chase ensued.
The "Little" in Little Rock's name truly lived up to its name. Rourke crossed the city in less than 10 minutes, crossed the bridge to the north bank of the Arkansas River, and turned west onto I-40.
The FBI's GMC "Business Star" was clearly unsuitable for a road chase, so Jack commandeered an ASP Dodge Charger and followed Clay.
While drag racing with women is standard, this wasn't a normal road race. Jack was confident in his driving skills, but his opponent was armed, so bringing along the most skilled teammate was the right choice.
However, once Rourke's F150 Raptor hit the highway, Jack realized that carrying a 200-pound burly man was a bit of a burden. The judge's eagerness to slam the accelerator into the gearbox had kept him at speeds of over 180 kilometers per hour.
At those speeds, a gunfight was unlikely. Even the pits were dangerous. The idea that a small pebble could send a car flying might be an exaggeration, but a loose grip on the steering wheel would surely result in a fatal crash.
The ASP Highway Patrol wasn't as reckless as people thought. The premise for suspects in pits was that they couldn't harm nearby vehicles. Therefore, although other patrol cars occasionally joined the chase at first, they all tacitly maintained a close following.
Dodge has two muscle cars with the Hellcat name: the two-door Challenger Hellcat, which is more like a sports car.
The other is the four-door Charger Hellcat, Jack's plainclothes police car in New York.
Someone accustomed to driving a Charger Hellcat only needed a slight warm-up before completely mastering the ASP Charger's capabilities.
After trailing behind several ASP patrol cars for a while, Jack finally couldn't contain his adrenaline rush and slammed the accelerator, leading to the scene that had previously caused sweat to break out on Clay's forehead.
After a Raptor F150, accompanied by a line of ASP-painted police cars, raced along I-40 for over ten minutes, the rarely deployed ASP helicopter even made a rare appearance to observe the action.
Reports from the dispatch center circulated over the police radio. As Highway Patrol officers ahead controlled traffic at multiple intersections, the flow of civilian vehicles gradually disappeared.
As traffic thinned, with no civilian vehicles visible in the same lane for several minutes, Jack's foot on the accelerator was already fully depressed.
The deep roar of the Dodge Charger's engine roared again. Clay no longer paid attention to the road signs and trees whizzing by on either side of the window. His focus shifted between the speedometer and the approaching F150 Raptor.
100 mph (160 kmph). 110 mph (177 kmph). 120 mph (193 kmph). As the Charger's massive, reinforced bumper edged ever closer to the F150 Raptor's left rear wheel, Clay's heart leaped into his throat.
The engine's roar gradually shifted from a deep, powerful rumble to a sharp, piercing roar, almost drowning out the shrill, low-pitched sirens. The four ASP police cars, having lost their center position, reluctantly fell behind, suppressing their rage and striving to maintain a safe distance.
Rourke had evidently detected Jack's intentions in his rearview mirror, but his unmodified F150 Raptor was limited to a top speed of 125 mph (201 kph).
Watching the police car's front end closing in on the rear of his car, the former judge steeled himself and slammed on the brakes. A sharp screeching sound, accompanied by a puff of smoke, accompanied the F150 Raptor's nearly 30-meter-long skid mark before coming to a stop in the middle of the road.
Jack's reaction was breathtaking. Almost as soon as he noticed the other driver braking, he also slammed on the brakes. The momentum of the two men's bodies lurched forward, causing their seatbelts to creak under the weight.
As the Dodge Charger passed the F150 Raptor, Jack abruptly released his foot from the brakes, swerving, pulling the steering wheel while applying the parking brake and lightly pressing the accelerator.
The tires left four strange, charred streaks on the highway. The Dodge Charger lurched sideways and began drifting in place, turning 180 degrees before steadily aiming at the F150 Raptor, less than five meters away.
"Bang!" Jack throttled in a provocative roar.
The next second, "bang!"
An ASP police car, leaving a long skid mark, slammed head-on into the right side of the Raptor pickup at a speed of no less than 60 kilometers per hour.
Even the Raptor F150, renowned for its full-size pickup truck, couldn't withstand the force of the blow. It was knocked sideways. Then a second ASP patrol car arrived, slamming into the middle of the vehicle with another thud.
Before the dazed Rourke could react, a third ASP patrol car barreled in and, without a second thought, rammed the Raptor F150 head-on into the left front tire, completely crippling the pickup truck.
"Let me see your fucking hands!"
"Put your hands up!"
"Get out of this car, you bastard!"
"Open the door, you bastard!"
Jack hurriedly engaged reverse, and the ASP Dodge Charger he'd seized immediately backed over ten meters, out of the crossfire of the enraged ASP officers.
Then someone shouted a warning, "Gun!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Clay, about to unbuckle his seatbelt and draw his gun, froze his right hand against his chest, staring at the scene in amazement. After a moment, he turned to Jack, who was also stunned. "Next time we come to Arkansas, please remind me not to speed here."
After Howard Rourke was swiftly dispatched by the ASP state troopers for attempting to resist, the most wanted criminals didn't return directly to New York. Instead, they stayed at an upscale private spa in Hot Springs, closed to the public.
Hot Springs, a small national park, didn't offer much to see. Compared to national parks known for their natural beauty, like the Grand Canyon, it didn't offer anything particularly special.
But there are hot springs here, like the saying, "A bath in the Huaqing Pool in the cold spring, the hot spring waters wash away the fat." As the two girls beside him donned their beautiful bikinis and basked in the steaming water,
Jack felt a burning sensation in his heart, like the magma hidden beneath the thin crust beneath his feet. Whether it was a cold beer or a glass of ice-cold whiskey, the moment it flowed down his throat, it became fuel for the flames.
(End of this chapter)