John shoved his way past the mob of scooters and motorbikes, vaulting over the last one and landing on running feet. The assassin was escaping.
The crowd ahead was blustery, jeering at the violent wake left by the fleeing man. John had to catch him, had to bring back the ambassador’s killer to face justice.
The flock of manic people ahead parted for a brief moment, giving John a clear shot. He raised his pistol, but decided against it, determining the risk of stopping to shoot was too great. He was barely gaining any ground on his quarry at his current pace.
Then without notice, a truck screeched into an intersection ahead, striking the killer with enough force to send him spinning into a nearby wall. Mere seconds from its start, the chase was over. Movie heroes were never so lucky. John trodded over to confirm the man was dead.
*Written as a response to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers photo prompt.