R81

Ian Pilsudski dragged passionately the last smoke and tossed the stub out of the car window. His projectile missed the street trashcan. He tapped twice against the car door and whistled. Skinny blonde guy at the wheel nodded sharply, grinned and gunned the throttle. Moment later there was purple and yellow rotation lights and wailing sound of the siren. Literary Police was in pursuit.

"Car 451 to the Central", mumbled Pilsudski at the radio.
"Central to car 451, come in", hissed the Central.
"We report for 261 at corner of Kemish and Augustine', almost screamed Pilsudski to stay louder than siren noise.
"Central to car 451, crime in progress is 594 not 261, please confirm", screeched the Central.

Pilsudski dropped the mic and snorted with laughter. Driver joined in too, hitting the wheel a few times.

"Lazarus, can you believe these bozos?"
"Yea, boss, I'm with you, boss", chuckled the driver, overtaking a few car and running through the junction.
"Some berk is about to finish the novel and they are going soft on me!"

Ian was again on the mic.

"There better be some backup when we fly in, over!" barked the big headed detective and continued to mumble to himself "...mother.... fuck... as if we don't have enough trouble with runaway stories, neglected novelettes and wild essays, now they started writing novels, for fuck sake..."

Detective grasped the handle above the window, as Lazarus turned sharply to left and with meaowing of tires, they entered the Kemish avenue.

"Shit, my shotgun is thirsty", Pilsudski thought to himself as he reached for the weapon tucked in the holster just under his car seat.