Jessie Jones

Patty Hench smiles and shakes her head at the same time. She shifts her TV dinner tray to one side and pads into the kitchen. Strips of plastic crisscross through the house and she walks over these to keep the carpet clean. For a moment the anchor’s frantic tirade of street names, model numbers, and tutting pessimism is muffled as Patty fills the kettle. She flicks a switch and waits for the water to boil, vaguely hoping the poor bastard can last another couple of minutes. 1

Back amongst the porcelain statuettes and fading portraits of Eric Hench, Patty settles in for the night. She smiles (without irony) at the Breaking News banner crawling across the top of the screen. She sucks on a chocolate covered almond and turns up the volume. 2

Jessie Jones is crying. Not that he’s realised. He’s too far gone to notice something like that. He swears and turns up the radio (wildly inappropriate 80s soft rock) to drown out the sirens screaming in the rear view mirror. He thinks he can hear a helicopter overhead but can’t be sure. It’s all gone so quickly but there’s no turning back once you’ve crossed that line. 3

Face it, you’re fucked. 4

Jessie slams his face into the steering wheel for the fourth time, blood trickling down his forehead. He angles his yellow sedan around a corner, its ageing pistons roaring in protest. 5

“Out of the way!” 6

He’s managed to keep one step ahead of them so far - probably because they’ve eased off here in the suburbs - but one wrong move now and it’s all over. Everything. Jessie glances down at the dash and swears again. The last thing he needs is an empty tank. God, what he’d do for a drink…7

Despite himself, Jessie smiles through gritted teeth. 8

“And here we see the suspect actually clipping an SUV, Lauren - this really is incredibly dangerous stuff.”9

Patty cradles a warm mug of coffee and settles back in the lounge. Its plastic fabric protector crinkles with every move she makes. 10

“And do we yet know just how the chase began?” asks Lauren from the studio. 11

“Actually, yes,” Stewart crackles over the helicopter intercom. “Apparently some state troopers tried pulling the suspect over when they noticed the back lights weren’t working. They say the sedan actually pulled over but when they approached it sped off.” 12

“Thanks Stewart. If you’re just joining us now, we have a high speed pursuit in progress. The suspect has come all the way from the freeway, through the city centre, and is now - oh, that was a close one - and is now deep into the suburbs. As you can see this really is incredibly dangerous stuff.”13

“Incredibly dangerous, Lauren. You just saw the sedan actually ride up over the curb. There are three cruisers in pursuit, but none of them can get close enough to follow through with a PIT - that’s a Precision Intervention Technique - out here on these narrow roads. We’ve just left Jacobs Street and taken a sharp turn towards the hill. The suspect really seems to know this part of town. He may be a local and if that’s the case he’ll know about the traffic lights up ahead - they’re a real danger in these situations.”14

Patty shivers in anticipation. She’s always thought that was funny about live television, the promise of death. 15

Jessie is sobering up. When the chase began there was that odd detachment, that terrible old suspicion he was somewhere else. Now he knows better. With every passing minute the enormity of the situation grows in his mind. How much had he drunk? Did it really matter? Maybe. How long since the last shot? Minutes? Hours? 16

How many drinks to the hour?17

And here are the lights. They’re red. Jessie bites his bottom lip, taps the brake for an instant. No, it’s too late for that - too late to stop, but still too early to end it. He’s got to keep going, maybe just another ten minutes. Jessie throws his head back, blinks through the tears, and shifts up a gear. 18

“Oh, he’s going to try!”19

Patty Hench’s throat tightens. A left hand pocked and fattened with age claws anxiously at her lounge protector, and Patty Hench wants to turn away. She can’t bring herself to. What if he dies? What if a white pickup T-bones him, or a single mother with twins on the back seat notices him but can’t break in time, or a black dog dashes out and he tries to swerve onto the sidewalk but ploughs through a fence instead? What if - but no, it’s too late for that. She has to watch.20

“The suspect’s actually speeding up now - he must know they won’t change!” Stewart sputters, each syllable more frantic than the last. “He’s just shot through a red light; must be pushing ninety miles an hour Lauren. Absolutely unbelievable.”21

“Incredibly dangerous,” offers Lauren. 22

“Absolutely. The suspect has made it through the intersection, but the police are playing it safe. They’ve slowed for the lights and it looks as if one’s had a near miss involving a cab. Yup, as you can see that front end’s smashed up pretty bad. Wow.”23

Patty Hench swallows, breathes again. 24

Jessie Jones is crying and laughing in equal measure. He gasps in great desperate bouts of ecstasy and sheer terror, pounding on the roof of his car in time to the music. He’s just about to roll himself a cigarette but stops short. 25

But shit, isn’t this living? For the first time, Jessie thinks he might make it. 26

“He’ll never make it.”27

Patty Hench is making herself a second mug of coffee. She stands by the sleek German kettle in her floral printed nightgown, impatiently toying with a teaspoon. She keeps an eye on the little light near the base of the kettle - green for go - and an ear on the Breaking News echoing down the hallway. 28

“Make it where? Mexico’s completely out of the question, and even the state border’s a good three hours away. The suspect seems to be making it up as he goes along.”29

The light flickers green and Patty Hench shuffles back to the lounge room, coffee in hand. When she takes the first sip it’s still too hot and she sets it aside for the moment. It doesn’t matter. 30

“And are the police any closer at this stage, Stewart?” 31

The heli-cam pulls back from the outlaw sedan and angles backwards, its heat sensitive gaze throwing neat rows of houses into incredibly sharp relief. 32

“At the moment I’d have to say no, Lauren. They’re still a few hundred yards behind after that intersection. Actually - can we get a closer look at that? The suspect seems to be tapping on the roof of his car. I’m not sure if you can see this in the studio but wow. He actually seems to be taunting the police, Lauren.”33

Patty Hench smiles. 34

“Is it possible the suspect could be a drug abuser, Stewart?”35

“Absolutely possible, although of course it’s pure conjecture at this stage. Oh, and he’s just taken a very sharp turn - a hairpin, really - up onto Canal Street. If there was any doubt before, this guy doesn’t have a clue. He’s picking these streets at random!”36

Jessie Jones is picking these streets at random. 37

Patty Hench slides back the deadbolt on her front door. She frowns and shrugs her shoulders - it’s a funny old world - before returning to the lounge. She tries to settle back into the TV but the front door keeps drawing her gaze. What if he kills her? What if his filthy yellow sedan punches through the front window and crushes her spine against the brick wall, or he kicks in the door and holds a knife to her throat for the next 19 hours? Patty Hench could die tonight. 38

No, there’s definitely something hollow about Breaking News. The scrolling headlines and vague opinions suddenly seem very silly to Patty Hench. It’s all a big show, isn’t it? But not this time. Canal Street is just down the road - you can see it from the garage - and when Patty Hench switches off the TV she can still hear the sirens. Real sirens, so close she can almost believe it’s her the police are hunting. 39

She watches the front door. 40

Jessie Jones closes his eyes and counts to three. He wrenches the handbrake on and his yellow sedan shudders, grunts, practically sags itself to a halt by a white picket fence. He feels completely sober and for the first time ever knows precisely what to do. He snatches a half empty flask of whiskey from the glove department and slides it into his back pocket. He strides across a well kept lawn to a little yellow patio. The helicopter is close by, a faint chopping whom over the fast approaching siren wails. 41

Jessie Jones knocks on the front door. 42

Patty Hench doesn’t know what to do. She’s too scared to breath and too numb to rush up and lock the front door. Blurred images of slashed stomachs and bullet riddled living rooms dance before her mind’s eye, each quickly superseded by further grotesquery. Patty Hench could die tonight. 43

“Come in,” she calls. 44