I chased him down the back alley on a Tuesday night, wind whipping my coat, the city lights a blur, and the only thing louder than the ticking of my watch was his frantic pedal strokes. The suspect was on a battered cruiser, lights flickering, the bike’s chain rattling like a bad witness, and I had to sprint to keep up, all while the paperwork about the case seemed to haunt me like a ghost in the back of my mind. What’s your fastest escape story?