What else could we do?

The headlights danced on the oil stained concrete like silver dollars. The welts in the road shook the old ambulance as we bounced down the street, shaking the large, rectangular silver mirrors. The fisheye mirror, sitting squarely atop the larger, side view mirror, distorted the peripheral world as we passed it by.

The moon was full and round, like a baby's belly, and was floating effortlessly in the starry, blue sky. Thick, hand-drawn clouds lounged in the sky, floating from the mountains and drifting towards the towering, glass buildings of downtown. And harmonizing music, a relaxing backdrop to all the radio chatter of our dispatch coming from the small, plastic speakers bolted to the ceiling above our heads, soothed my ears of the nonstop madness being dispatched in the city.

My arm rested on the well-worn armrest. My head fell back into the top of the seat and the restlessness of my legs calmed. My mind began to relax from the previous call and I looked forward to the post we were headed to, a post where an evening could be spent with your feet propped on the open door, dangling in the warm breeze of the night air. A post where one could enjoy a book, or a movie, or even a quiet little nap. Things were looking up.

Then, like a snow leopard chasing it's prey on the rocky preface of a mountain, a large, red, pickup truck pulled along side of us. It's old, stained, yellow headlights ominously bled into our lane. It's engine growled as they accelerated and barked as they slowed. It smelled of gasoline and tequila and it's black, tinted windows masked the souls within.

I subconsciously took note. The milky white beams of the moon breaking through the thick clouds above intoxicated me and lulled me into the peaceful state I sorely hoped to maintain throughout the rest of my shift. The music in the background calmed me and the anticipation of removing myself from this world with my new, used paperback book in my backpack eased my sharp nature.

Lurching forward, then falling back again, the red pickup begged for our attention. I glanced to my right and the black, opaque window was rolled down. Inside, a man with a cowboy hat, black mustache and large, cauliflower nose cursed into the moving air. His angry red eyes squinted as his lips spewed defamatory phrases in multiple languages. The shadow to his right remained that, always a shadow.

My partner increased our speed. Sixty in a forty-five. The truck mimicked and sped up. My partner braked, slowing the awkward emergency box to an uneasy fifteen in a forty-five. The evil, blood red truck reciprocated. It remained by our side, to our right, always within arms reach.

The calmness of the music had disappeared and the restlessness in my legs reappeared. The chatter on the radio seemed even more overwhelming and the clouds cooled the warmth of the moon hovering above head.

A side view mirror, small and black pushed itself into my frame of reference. It almost hit my window as the swerving truck tried to force us off the road. Inside, still, an angry, sunburnt face of a man I had never met before. His left hand at twelve o'clock on the worn steering wheel. His right hand, hiding something in his lap.

We continued down the road, playing cat and mouse with the seemingly fictional characters to my right. Each block I thought, I hoped, they would break off and speed away into the stifling darkness. They didn't.

I reached for the black microphone wedged into the silver clip on the dash. I pulled it out, it's tangled cord stretching into my lap. I lifted it close to my mouth, and without pushing the button, talked to my partner about the situation under the pretense of me reporting them to the police, a trick that normally frightens angry citizens into believing we are calling the police.

And like a seasoned Texas Hold-em champ, my bluff was called. The red truck continued to attempt to hit us and run us off the road. It's engine intimidating us with every revolution.

The slurs got louder and more intense. The mustached character driving this angry beast was clearly getting angrier and angrier. The shadowy figure next to him became more animated and seemed to feed fuel to the fire.

This time, I actually clicked the button. This time, I gave a description as clearly and calmly as I could and tried to remember where I was. I tried articulating the series of events and nothing but stutters broke my lips. My partner grabbed another radio and switched it to the police district we were in. He, holding the portable radio in his lap, hiding it from the character next to us just as he was hiding something from us, talked clearly into the stale air now filling the ambulance.

Units from every part of the city began responding. The mention of a possible weapon sounded through the airwaves like an air raid siren of World War II. Engines screamed and sirens wailed as police officers told dispatch they were enroute.

The whites of my eyes thinned as my pupils got larger. I began breathing faster and rehearsed in my mind what I was to do, and say, if a weapon was brandished and pointed in my direction. And as I finally came up with a logical answer to this hypothetical question, the red, dented truck sharply turned right and sped off into the darkness, it's engine howling into the night.

We got back on our radios and cancelled all the cover. We cancelled the four district cops, the sergeant, and the other ambulance speeding our way from their far away post. We slowed down, took a breath, and looked at one another and laughed. We laughed not because it was funny, but because we didn't know what else to do.

As we pulled into post, the one I had previously been dreaming about, the phone in the ambulance rang.

My partner nodded, yes'd, and uh-hum'd the person on the other line. I sat next to him like child on Christmas morning waiting to open his presents, waiting for him to hang up the phone.

He clicked the red "end" button and tossed the phone onto the floor.

The police were looking for those two people fitting the very description we aired. The police were looking for a red, dented truck driving up and down that street all night.

The ones that had been shooting innocent people as the rumbled past them.

We parked the ambulance quietly in a dark, hidden parking lot and look at one another. My partner laughed, uncomfortably, and so did I.

What else could we do?