Shootout in Dade County

Shootout In Dade County

The air hung so thick and still over Florida’s Interstate 75, you could slice it with a butter knife. But with the top down on her new BMW convertible, Edith Silver created her own breeze. It whipped through her short blonde hair, making her feel young and carefree. She could almost forget the birthday coming up: 60 years old. Could she really be turning 60?

She had a few chores to complete on this first day of her vacation. She had stopped at the television station where she directed the consumer help-line. Now, she was on her way to the real estate office to see if her new business cards had arrived. She drove past, but barely noticed, a Highway Patrolman who had pulled over a sport utility vehicle.

Even with the temperature in the high 90s, Fort Myers Highway Patrol Trooper Tom Roderick wore his bulletproof vest. You never knew what might happen out here, just miles from the sprawling Everglades.

The brown and beige 1984 Chevy Blazer that Roderick had pulled over for a cracked windshield was now parked about 25 feet in front of his patrol car on the road’s shoulder. It held two very jumpy young men. He could see them stealing glances at him over their shoulders and shuffling items around in their car. Roderick waited as the radio operator at headquarters checked the registration.

“You’re sure there’s no signal VIN?” he asked the radio operator in his slow Florida drawl for a second time, his question police shorthand for stolen vehicle report. “No,” she repeated. The car had not been reported stolen.

The vehicle sported a Florida license plate but the driver, David George, 26, of Greenville, South Carolina, had handed Roderick a South Carolina registration card. The two men said that they had borrowed the car from a friend; that’s why they couldn’t put their fingers on the correct registration. What’s the friend’s name? Roderick asked. They couldn’t remember.

Report or not report, something was wrong here. As cars whizzed past, the trooper sauntered across the baking black asphalt toward the Blazer.

“I need you to turn your vehicle off,” he said. Instead, David George mashed the accelerator to the floor and took off.

Startled, Roderick yelled, “Stop your car! D’ya hear me?” then loped to his patrol car. The Blazer sped off down the right lane. The trooper pulled into the left alongside them.

The SUV’s brake lights shone red as it slowed. Roderick lowered the passenger window to shout a command. Before he got out a word, the Blazer’s driver turned his head, stuck his arm out his window and aimed a semi-automatic.

Ping! Ping! Ka-ping! Bullets ricocheted off the patrol car’s right front bumper. His tire hit, he swerved to the right. He struggled to control the car.

The Blazer’s passenger, bearded, and dark-haired, climbed into the passenger-side window, braced himself, and took aim across the roof. While the first shooter had aimed at Roderick’s tires, this one aimed to kill. Ka-ping! The bullets caromed off the front of the patrol car. Plumes of smoke billowed from its right front side; it shook violently. Unable to stay on their tail, Roderick pulled onto the shoulder and called the incident in to headquarters.

Professional diver Will Kilmer, 30, had covered about half the distance from his home in Clearwater to his job in Key Largo, when he saw an old Chevy Blazer tearing down the shoulder on his right. It looked like the same SUV he had seen a trooper stop a couple miles back.

That was nervy. Why would these guys risk another ticket so soon after being pulled over?

Edith signaled at the sign for the Bonita Springs Boulevard exit and slowed for the off-ramp. A dusty old two-toned Blazer hurtled across the grassy shoulder beside her, whipped past, then snapped around, blocking the exit.

Worrying that the people inside might need help, Edith pulled over. Before she could get out of her car, two young men in shorts and t-shirts jumped from theirs, yelling something unintelligible. The dark-haired one ran to her convertible, and leaped over the door into her passenger seat. “Do what we tell you,” he said, aiming a semi-automatic at her heart. The other man jumped over the door into the backseat. “If you don’t, you’re dead. It’s as simple as that."

“Please,” Edith cried. “You can have the car.”

“No, lady. You’re driving. Now move!”

Next Page: "You've got until the next green light or you're dead."

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