The Pursuit by Robert Yalden

From a distance, I saw the shooter run into the subway. He wore an overcoat that puddled around him and a fedora. As commuters streamed down the stairwells, the fugitive pushed through the crowd and kiosks of vendors shouting in their different dialects. A gypsy with bags under her eyes brushed past me. Checking my wallet, I felt it still there along with the .357 revolver in my shoulder holster.

Chasing him, the escalator dumped us onto a dimly lit train platform. A fluorescent bulb dropped a cone of light onto the messy concrete floor. Cold drafts hunted gaps in my suit, I thrust my hands deeper in my pockets trying to be more invisible. The suspect turned and gave me a curious look before pushing onto the train.

A crowd flowed into the parting doors, I pushed into the gaggle and onto the train. We both sat on worn plastic seats half a car-length apart. Looking away, I gazed at a scantily

clad underwear model with concentration camp collar bones pasted on a billboard. Glancing back, I saw he matched the description