Chicago

A man is walking down a debris-filled alley in a derelict section of downtown Chicago. He pauses at the entrance, staring at the sign above a doorway across the street - “PAWN SHOP”. A sign in the cluttered window display advertises “Buy - trade - sell. We take anything. We got everything. Don’t see it? Ask!”

With a cautious look up and down the street, Richard Kimble crosses the street and enters the store. A sour-looking man with a straggly beard looks up at the sound of the bell on the door.

“Buying or selling?”

On hearing his request, the man eyes his customer speculatively, before turning wordlessly and going into a back room. He returns and throws the requested items on the counter. Kimble, his face grim, picks up the Taser gun, testing it. He picks up the handcuffs, locking them, testing the strength of the chain, unlocking them again.

“How much?”

“Five bucks”, the old man replies. “Bottom line.”

Kimble takes a crumpled five-dollar bill from his pocket, throwing it on the counter and scooping up his merchandise before walking out the door.

Behind him, the man mutters “Wouldn’t want to be the poor bastard you’re after.” He settles back onto his stool and is soon absorbed in a crumpled racing form.

One hour later, Precinct 45 headquarters

A bored police sergeant looks at the disheveled man in front of him, sniffing his nose in disgust at the smell of alcohol on the man’s breath.

“Sorry, buddy, your friend ain’t here. He got bailed out. You understand?” he asks in exasperation.

“But..”

“No buts. He’s gone! Now get out of here!” He gets up and starts to walk away.

The old man grabs the policeman’s arm, pleading “You gotta tell me where he is!”

The sargeant looks at him impatiently. “Look, buddy, I got better things to do than help all Walsh’s friends catch up with him.” But something about the man’s desperation touches him. “All right. All right. Here’s his address,” he growls, scribbling it on a notepad and handing it to the man. “You better hurry,” he adds. “If that one-armed friend of his catches up with him, he’ll be skipping town if he’s smart.”

The man looks at him in surprise. He clutches the paper as he walks unsteadily out the door.

He winces in the early morning light before turning and heading for a nearby alley, looking around blindly in the sudden darkness. A hand reaches out and grabs him, almost knocking him off balance.

“What did you find out?” a voice asks intensely.

The man shakes him off. “He ain’t there. He got bail.”

There is a shocked pause. “How long ago?” Kimble shouts in desperation.

“I don’ know. They give me his address,” he adds hopefully, handing him the paper.

Kimble stares at it with renewed hope. The man nudges him to get his attention. “Where’s my money?” Kimble distractedly hands him a $10 bill. The man seizes it with a smile. “Thanks,” Kimble mutters, turning away.

“You better hurry,” the man calls after him helpfully. “They’s a one-armed guy after him, too. He get there first…,” he adds, shaking his head doubtfully.

Kimble turns to stare at him wide-eyed, before running out of the alley.

Outside a seedy hotel

Time: Early June - Monday Morning 7:45 AM

Kimble stares at the outside of the building, before entering the battered door. He looks briefly around, glad to see the front desk is empty before heading up the stairs two at a time. He pauses at the third-floor landing, proceeding cautiously down the hall to room 318. The door knob turns in his hand and he pushes it open softly. The interior of the room is dark and silent.

At the sound of someone in the hall, Kimble steps inside and closes the door. His eyes adjust to the darkness and he looks around carefully, conscious of an odor growing more distinct as he nears the kitchen. Suddenly recognizing the unmistakable smell of blood, he runs toward the kitchen, stumbling over a box on the floor. He grunts as he catches himself on the edge of the counter and stares down at what he already knows is there - a body, sprawled on the floor, in a pool of blood. In despair, he stares at the sightless eyes of the man he knows as smith282.

A vague noise from the fire escape outside galvanizes him and he runs to the window to see a one-armed man two stories below. Charnquist looks up with a self-satisfied smirk and winks at him. Then he rushes down the remaining stairs and lands on the ground with a thud as Kimble rushes down the stairs after him. Leaping over the bottom railing, Kimble regains his balance in time to see Charnquist make a break for a nearby bus and hop aboard, just as the bus pulls away.

Kimble runs desperately after him but doesn't have a chance. Glancing around, he sees another bus approaching. Impatiently he waits for it to stop, then boards it and takes a seat, anxiously watching the progress of the first bus.

When the first bus stops at a suburban shopping center, Kimble sees Charnquist walk calmly off outside a supermarket parking lot. Kimble stands immediately and makes his way to the door. As soon as it opens, he jumps out and tears into the parking lot, dodging cars coming out. He spots Charnquist at a pay phone.

Charnquist looks up in surprise, says a few last words into the phone, and drops it before breaking into a run. Kimble is gaining on him when a large woman carrying two over-stuffed bags of groceries steps out between two cars. One bag breaks and oranges roll all over the place. Kimble reaches out to keep the woman from falling, while trying to keep Charnquist in his sights.

"Thank you," the woman says stiffly, wondering how to stuff her groceries back into a broken bag.

Seeing that Charnquist is getting away, Kimble leaves the woman to deal with her problem and sprints to the edge of the parking lot. He spots Charnquist midway across a highway with heavy oncoming traffic. Kimble dashes onto the highway just as Charnquist causes a near collision between a taxi and another car. Horns honk and commuters shout. Kimble vaults the taxi like a hurdle. He is only yards from Charnquist. His fingers reach into his pocket. Then a semi bears down on them and Charnquist is lost from view. Reaching the shoulder of the highway, Kimble stands in bewilderment, looking in all directions for the One-Armed Man.

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