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Oh shit.
Up on the half-slope across from the impound lot, Frank let out a sharp yell while peering through Carl's homemade binoculars.
He and Karen had beaten Shane's crew there by a solid margin. Frank knew every back-ass road in this industrial wasteland, so he'd taken a shortcut and parked the stolen old Toyota on the perfect overlook that gave them eyes on damn near the whole yard.
The second Shane's team started cutting the fence and slipping inside, Frank had them locked in his blurry view.
His gut tightened when the floodlights snapped on and started sweeping everywhere. Both their hearts were in their throats, but they watched the three dark shadows duck into a white box van, wait out the chaos, then slip back out and ghost away clean.
Frank actually let out a relieved breath—damn, the kid had moves. Used the distraction like a pro. Real Gallagher shit.
But when he saw Shane's beat-up Ford pull out and get spotted by a patrol cruiser just blocks later, Frank knew the party was over.
"Fuck! It's the cops!" He dropped the binoculars.
"They're fucked. That stretch ahead is straight and flat. No way that stolen piece-of-shit can outrun a cruiser!"
He scanned the slope frantically and spotted it—down below, not far off, a transformer box sitting on a concrete pad.
The power cables running up the pole beside it caught his eye.
"I got an idea!" Frank pointed at the box for Karen.
"See that metal box? It's the heartbeat of this whole dump. We wreck it, the whole area goes dark. In this blackout, Shane and the others might actually slip away."
Karen followed his finger.
"How? Throw rocks? Ram it with the car?"
"Hah? This Toyota hits that thing and we're the ones who fall apart first," Frank snorted.
"We need something heavy—an iron bar, a big rock, anything."
He started hunting around.
But Karen's eyes stayed glued to the road below. The cruiser was closing fast on Shane's Ford.
Too slow. Finding shit was taking too long. Her jaw tightened.
"Move!" she snapped at Frank.
"What?" He blinked.
"What the hell are you— that box is solid steel, you can't just—"
"Do it!" Karen shoved him aside, yanked open the driver's door, and slid behind the wheel.
Frank stood there stunned but stepped back anyway.
"Fine, fine, show me your genius plan. This junker sure as hell isn't as tough as your little boyfriend's—"
Karen gripped the wheel with both hands, no hesitation.
She lined the hood up with the transformer box down the slope, slammed the gas pedal to the floor.
The Toyota shot down the dirt incline.
"What the— wait, you're not seriously gonna—"
Frank's voice got swallowed by distance.
BOOM—CRACK!
The Toyota smashed straight into the box. The front end crumpled like tin foil.
The transformer split open, cables ripped loose, and a massive burst of blue sparks exploded with a deafening pop.
The entire impound lot and half the surrounding area went pitch black.
On Shane's side, the sudden blackout made the chasing cruiser slam on the brakes, slowing just enough.
Shane didn't know where the hell the blackout came from, but he didn't waste a second.
"Heads down, windows open!" he barked.
He snatched two cloth bags from the floorboard and tossed one to Fiona, one to Lip.
"These are caltrops. Grab a handful and scatter them out the windows—don't dump the whole bag!"
Fiona and Lip fumbled the bags open, shoved their arms out the windows, and started flinging the spikes.
Pssshhh—pssshhh—
Seconds later came the hiss of flattening tires and the screech of the cruiser losing traction. The patrol car fishtailed hard.
But more sirens were closing in from every direction.
Up ahead at the intersection, Shane could already see another set of flashing lights cutting in to block them.
He wasn't waiting around. He killed the headlights, used the darkness, and opened the shopping app in his head.
One second later, steel road spikes—full-size police barricade jacks—materialized across the intersection.
BANG! SCREECH—CRASH!
The second cruiser never saw them coming. It hit the spikes at full speed. Tires exploded, undercarriage screamed, and the car spun sideways, completely blocking the road behind them.
Even without the blackout, Shane had planned to drop obstacles at the next turn. The darkness just made it perfect.
"Hang on tight!" he growled.
He floored it again, whipping into a pitch-black side street with no streetlights, leaving the sirens far behind in the chaos.
Back on the slope, Karen's side.
Frank sprinted down, skidding to the wrecked Toyota.
He yanked the door open and saw Karen slumped against the wheel, face covered in blood, eyes glassy.
He nearly shit himself.
"Jesus Christ, Mother Mary!"
Frank's voice cracked. If this girl died, Shane would skin him alive.
"You're a goddamn lunatic! Crazier than Monica on her best day! No wonder Shane's pussy-whipped!"
He dragged her half-conscious body into the passenger seat.
"Stay with me! For my sake, stay awake! Pray this junker still runs or we're both taking the fall for those three!"
Frank jumped behind the wheel, twisted the key.
Cough-cough—
The engine sputtered, coughed, then roared back to life. White smoke poured from the crumpled hood and half the dash lights were flashing like a disco.
"Haha! Still runs! God bless Japanese cars! Go, go, go!"
Frank threw it in reverse, tires spinning in the dirt until he wrenched the mangled Toyota free of the smashed transformer.
He cranked the wheel hard and floored it down a dark back road in the exact opposite direction Shane had gone, vanishing into the thick night.