The Flint Police Department was like a gang in its own right. When one of their own went down, they held no mercy on the trespasser. Malek and Scratch would be hunted to no end, and when or if they were caught, they might not ever make it to the jailhouse. The Flint police might just deliver them to their graves.
“We weren't supposed to kill nobody. That was a fuckin' Jake!” Scratch yelled as they hopped in the car.
Malek quickly sped off. His mind was so messed up over the shooting that he didn't even stop to look to see if there were any cars coming, almost hitting a passing car as he pulled off.
“Watch it, youngblood,” Scratch warned him as they weaved in and out of traffic.
“My fault,” Malek said, looking through his rearview mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. He hit the steering wheel with his fist.
“He just ran up on me, man. I had to,” Malek yelled as he maneuvered through traffic and made the getaway.
Scratch kept looking back to see if anyone was behind them as they sped onto the city streets, trying to get as far away from the scene of the crime as possible. Malek periodically looked in his rearview and then focused back on the road.
“Fuck!” Malek yelled again as he repeatedly hit the steering wheel in total frustration.
Once again he peeked in his rearview and then looked at Scratch, who looked more nervous than ever. They had just stepped into the big leagues. Not only were they bank robbers, but possible cop murderers. Nothing seemed to be getting better, only worse, and they were headed down a path of destruction.