On the main highway again, near the hospital, forever leaving the dismal riverbottom, Mac eyes the pessimistic message of the gas gauge, but in moments finds that no longer a concern; behind him a cherry top erupts, howling insistently, and as if not enough, another cruiser coming the opposite way careens across the median, blocking the Fury. Stopped, by lights.

Mac is soon checking the rear view mirror for his appearance.

As the bullhorn instructs him to remain seated, hands up, he plays a little game, predicting which officer will approach him, pistol lifted.