Make the Last Desperate Dash
I’m fixing to make the last desperate dash.
The person who could render my salvation, standing at the top of the escalator at the Atlanta Airport, was a Georgia State Trooper. But he wasn’t just any trooper, I knew him. It was my Cousin Elroy’s cousin, Leroy. Even though he was my cousin’s cousin, he wasn’t my cousin because he came from the other side of Elroy’s family.
But I knew Leroy and he knew me, and now I realized that when Elroy had said he was going to see what he could do on his end, enlisting Leroy’s aid was evidently what he had had in mind.
When I got to the top I opened my mouth to speak but Leroy motioned for me to be silent. “Don’t talk, just stay with me,” he said as we dashed off through the baggage claim area and out onto the street, where to my amazement there sat a state trooper cruiser, with the blue lights flashing and the engine humming.
“What time is it?” Leroy asked when we entered the vehicle.
“It’s 17 minutes till five,” I told him.
“Fasten your seat belt and get that lotto ticket in your hand,” Leroy ordered as we roared away from the terminal.
We got up to 70 mph between the South and North Terminals, and was up to 90 going down the ramp leading to the interstate.
Just before Turner Field would be looming up on the right, Leroy inquired again concerning the time, “It’s 4:50, we got 10 minutes,” I said.
That’s when Leroy locked his brakes and yelled out, “Hold on, there’s a wreck up ahead!”
When I looked up I saw a sea of flashing lights and vehicles in front of us.
After we had stopped Leroy exited the cruiser and dashed off on foot into the turmoil in front of us. That’s about the time I finally gave up all hope.
There was only five minutes left before my 40 million-dollar winning lotto ticket would be a worthless scrap of paper. It was almost a relief to not have to be concerned about it anymore.
But then Leroy leapt back into the driver’s seat, and as if by magic, a path cleared in front of us. We took the Capitol Avenue exit and the next four and one-half minutes were a series of skidding around corners, jumping curbs and sidewalk driving until finally, with 20 seconds left before five o’clock, we skidded to a halt in front of the Inforum Building at 250 Williams Street, where Leroy pushed me out of the vehicle and yelled, “Run! boy, run!”
About a half hour later I walked out of that building with a cashier’s check in my hand for 17 million dollars and change. It didn’t seem right that the feds and the state had taken the bigger part of my winnings, but hey, 17 million was 17 million.
And I knew exactly what I was going to do with some of it. When the word got around there would be some nervous folks who would be wanting to disappear, because they would know I was fixing to get me some rich revenge.