Cement, Substitution, Cocaine: The Chase Page #3

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This just in from the Newport Beach Police.

The owner of the BMW|has been identified...

as Miss Natalie Voss, daughter of|millionaire industrialist Dalton Voss.

Police speculate the gunman|followed Miss Voss...

with the intent|of kidnapping her for ransom.

Well, it certainly is obvious, Wendy,|that this kidnapping was no happenstance.

As you can see, police are taking|a more aggressive position...

tailing very close behind the BMW.

Sh*t.

Mr. Voss. Mrs. Voss.

I want you to know, as far as we can|ascertain your daughter is perfectly safe.

"Perfectly safe"?

She's being held hostage in the middle|of a goddamn high-speed chase!

How can you say|she's perfectly safe?

If she were perfectly safe, she'd be at home,|locked up, where she belongs!

Unharmed, sir, is what I meant.|Uh, perfectly unharmed.

Our officers are in diligent pursuit.

Oh, poor little Nattie|in her brand-new car.

You look here, Boyle.|Stop trying to give me this bullshit!

It was your incompetent officers that|allowed all this to happen in the first place!

I want my daughter|out of this jeopardy now!

I can assure you, Mr. Voss, my main concern|is your daughter's safety.

C.H.P. has been notified and will be|providing assistance from...

Just do your goddamn job|the right way for a change. All right?

Okay, okay, be cool, Jack. Don't panic.|Don't panic. Think, think, think, think.

Breathe. Things are|way out of control!

You did not actually kidnap anyone.

Oh, well, in case you've forgotten,|you kidnapped me!

I mean, I didn't intend|to kidnap anyone.

Pardon me,|but is there a difference?

Well, of course|there's a difference, you moron!

Intent means you planned something.|I didn't plan anything!

Oh, so somebody held a gun to your head|and made you hold a gun to my head!

In a way, yes.

God, it's filthy in here.

What's that stink?

Step right over here, please.

Give it to me quick, Patterson.

We got a beautiful shot, full on.

Right... now.

Let's see if I can get closer.

Look at his eyes.

- Chilling.|- Yeah.

So, who in the hell is he?

Uh, name:
|Hammond, Jackson Davis. Age: 28.

"Escaped guards while being transferred from|San Francisco CountyJail to San Quentin...

after being sentenced|for a 1991 armed bank robbery. "

Hammond? Let me see that.

We were notified yesterday|he might be headed for Mexico.

You were notified yesterday and you did|nothing? What kind of place is this?

Mr. Voss, I stress, we were alerted he...|he might be headed this way.

He could have been headed|for Vegas or Utah just as easily.

- We're cops, not mind readers.|- Maybe you're not, but I am.

And I can see quite clearly you're gonna be|looking for a new goddamn job...

if one hair on my daughter's head|is harmed!

Do you hear me?|One hair.!

- Get this out in the field.|- Take his picture off that monitor! I don't wanna see it!

Attention, all units|in pursuit of red BMW.

Kidnapper identified as|Jackson Davis Hammond, age 28.

Escaped prisoner|convicted of armed bank robbery.

Sh*t! Goddamn bastard!

He's desperate.|This is really bad.

Things could get really messy now.

An escaped con.!|This is great.!

Real-life human drama|at its nitty-gritty best.

We've been keeping a lookout, but you never know|where a creep like this is gonna pop up next.

We're going in close|on the driver's side!

This guy's a lunatic!

We'll flank him on the passenger side,|squeeze him in.

Sh*t.!

- What? What?|- This has just gotten way too hairy.

- What do you mean, "hairy"?|- I mean hairy.!

This is too good.

Whoa!

- Holy Christ!|- Get that.! Get that.!

Oh, my God!|Did you see that?

Those vehicles tumbled across|the freeway like Matchbox cars.!

This is truly dramatic footage.!

Byron, was that a gunshot we saw|come out of the driver's side window?

Yes!|Yes, that's affirmative, Wendy!

It appears the assailant shot out the tires|on the cop car, causing the catastrophe.

This guy must be a sharpshooter to have|such impeccable aim at such high speeds.

Possibly an ex-marine.

Holy sh*t.

Did you see him flip over?|I didn't mean to do that.

Well, what do you think is gonna happen when|you shoot a tire out at 80 miles an hour?

I- I don't know. It just went off.|I didn't mean to shoot him.

What were you gonna do,|squirt water at him?

Shut up for a minute|and let me think!

Your voice is cutting|through my brain like nails.

What's that supposed to mean?

What, I have a shrilly voice?

Excuse me for not being|the perfect hostage.

I said shut up!

This whole thing|has gotten way too violent.

I... I h... I hate violence.

You hate violence?

You are the epitome of violence!

You're a gun-wielding, cop-shooting,|maniac kidnapper. Now, that's violent.

No, I am not!

Don't tell me what I am when you|don't know a damn thing about me!

There is a difference in being violent|and being driven to violence!

I am not a violent man.

God!

- Well, then what are you?|- I'll make it simple for you. All right?

I was convicted of a crime|I did not commit.

The system does not believe me.|Why should I expect you to?

That's who I am.

- You're right. I don't believe you.|- Well, there you go.

What kind of a crime?

What is that? What's that noise?

The phone.

Not a word out of you.

- What the hell?|- Press the "send" button.

Hello.

Jackson Hammond?|Chief Boyle, Newport Beach.

Son, why don't you pull over|to the side and let the girl go.

What do you say|we end this fiasco right now?

I promise to help you any way I can.

Nothing doing, Chief.

I don't give a damn|about your hollow promises.

- I've listened to empty hype for two years.|- For God's sake, Hammond.!

Aren't you in enough trouble?|What's this gonna prove?

There's no escape.|Just let the girl go before she gets hurt.

The girl is not gonna get hurt...

if you tell your officers|to get off my back.

- I can't do that.|- Get out of my way! Let me talk!

- Jackson Hammond, this is Dalton Voss.|- Daddy, help me! Do something!

If you harm my daughter, I'll kill you myself,|you stinking son of a b*tch!

- You hear me?|- Tell him you're fine. Do it.

Natalie?

I'm fine.

There. You hear that? She's fine.

Well, Dalton Voss.|This is truly an honor.

Okay, Hammond, cut the crap.

- How much do you want?|- How much what do I want?

Money, you a**hole.

I don't want to pander to you.|Just tell me how much you want, and it's yours.

That's very kind, Mr. Voss, but I'm really|not interested in your goddamn money.

Of course he's interested in your money.|What else could he want?

Don't make me lose|my patience, Hammond.

Fifty thousand dollars.

Fifty thousand dollars?|That's all your daughter's worth to you?

You're a billionaire.!|That's pathetic.!

All right, fine.|A hundred thousand dollars, then?

What the hell do you want?

An airplane? What?

I don't want your money.|I don't want your planes.

- Come on.! I didn'tjust fall off a turnip truck.|- Must've been a yam wagon.

Your pop's got a good sense of humor.

Let me talk to my daughter.

- Nattie, honey?|- I'm here.

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