Five Days in May:The Brookfield Murders

      Think of some of the greatest car chases in action films: Steve McQueen’s Ford Mustang careening through the hills of downtown San Francisco in “Bullitt” perhaps or Gene Hackman’s Pontiac LeMans obsessively pursuing an elevated subway train through Bensonhurst, Brooklyn in “The French Connection.” Well, they don’t hold a gear shift to Harrison “Hot Shoe” Hunt and Frank “Grand Prix” Gerrardi’s manic motoring through the environs of Brookfield attempting to overtake the helmeted motorcyclist who somehow managed to keep the distance ever constant between us.

      The high speed chase was so chaotic and stressful that I can only now remember a few harrowing details. They are recorded in my brain cells like freeze frames from Hollywood’s scariest shockers.

      For example, when we passed a little old lady driving a gray sedan that had practically been sideswiped by the biker moments before, the motorist’s panic-stricken expression far surpassed  that of Janet Leigh’s in the Bates Motel shower stall or Tippi Hedron’s while being attacked by swooping kamikaze feathered fiends.  Two other heart stopping moments I shall never forget: the way we bounced as if on a trampoline while going over a speed bump at seventy miles an hour and the unforeseen and razor sharp turn we took barely on two wheels onto a narrow dirt road.  My heart raced at Olympic record speeds.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if the shapes of my white-knuckled fingers were permanently impressed into the dashboard I was holding onto for dear life.  For dear life?  Never has a cliché been so apt. 

      Suddenly Frank jammed on the brakes so hard that my seat belt and I became better acquainted than I would like to reveal.  I quickly noticed why Frank had stopped the car. The helmeted thief was driving his bike up a grassy hill much too steep for any car to navigate.

      “I think that little road over there might parallel the hill he’s climbing up,” Frank then said. "Let's see if it does."