On The City’s streets, The Midas Corp. Limousine led a dozen patrol cars on a merry chase.  No matter how they diverted traffic, finally easing after a morning of unprecedented congestion, the luxury car was one step ahead.
“Who the hell is driving that thing?” Patrolman Kumar cursed.
“I heard that Bob Tolstoy was Sizemore’s driver.  Might be him.” His partner said.
“The king of the racing underground?  When’d he turn Citizen?”
“A few years back.  Everybody’s got to eat.”  The limo made a sudden u-turn, slipping through a gap in three lanes of traffic and disappearing towards the bay.

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