Do not.
Do so...
Shut up ass-wipe!You do SOO like Darren...
"SHUT UP!!! I can't hear the fucking television!"
At this age kids, she mused in one of those parentally evil moments of reflection, really should be placed in a barrel and fed through the bung hole for the next 8 years.
The news anchor's slightly too anxious (and contrived) drone broke through the sudden silence brought upon by the use of the F-word, just as she was ready to receive the mental whipping that her good-mommy sense was poised to inflict.
What was going on here? This is all over the news, even the cable news channels have interrupted their mutual ignore-the-other-guy-and-yell-louder political profferings, but how can this actually be happening?
And why the hell am I so sucked into this?
"Pursuit"?!
Alas - If for only one single moment, she had justified her time in front of the television, but no longer - that term just resonated a bit too loudly in her mind's BS meter. Sorry damn life, that's what it is ... I'm sitting here watching a damn green pickup drive off from Nashville with a friggin' chrome-domed Gorilla in the rear, made entirely of (duh) chrome truck bumpers you might add, all at about the speed of a slow hummingbird on downers. LIVE on TV no less, as experienced by all the tax-paid police officers in "red-hot" pursuit? Give me a friggin break - I need a life.
Janice picked up the phone and dialled. "Hello?" came the smarmy sweetness that you'd only receive from a born-n-raised southern belle. "Whatcha doing gal?!" Janice never had learned to return a hello properly in the rural, petroleum armpit that was southeastern Texas where she grew up, and she was damn well too old to change now.
"Janice! Have you seen the news darling?" came Ruby's acknowledgment. Ok, so I'm not the only sad sack trolling in Nowhereland, thought Janice as Ruby barged on past her rhetorical remark. "Well I ... just can't believe it. This is the kind of thing that just doesn't happen around here! It made sense years ago when it was that orange juice fella in that white Ford - damned F-word that is; Jake'd have my hide for uttering it you know - but these kind of things don't happen here!"
Poor Ruby - she never would make it out of her southern heritage. But she does provide a different persective upon things, but Janice wasn't always sure it was refreshing.
"Hon, there's all kinds of folks, all kinds. I'm just sitting here, though, thinking that there's gotta be something more to this situation than we're being told, don't you? We've got some fool in a green truck - REAL man Chevy truck too, dontcha know - who found his way into that filthy rich Cal Turner's back yard and picked up that who'd-a-thunk-it artsy-fartsy gift from the South African ambassador to the US. Now he's making tracks, at the speed of lite - beer that is - for gawd-knows-where trailing a passle of cops too worried about upsetting some political balance to force the car off the road and risk wrecking the bent-bumper-bauble? No, no, that don't make no damn sense, I don't care how critical South Africa's trade relationship with this state, or our country's political relationship, is, ain't no piece of art gonna get in the way of a Glock 9mm."
Ruby let out a short gasp at the brusque description. "Well, Janice, now that you put it that way, I guess there does got to be something more..."
The Sargeant had seen a lot in his days, but this was getting him pretty well steamed.
"Come on Lieutenant" he barked over the radio, "he's hardly moving. I can EASE him to the side without so much as a scratch. "
The response was cold. "You've got my orders, Bulldog. Maintain for now."
Shit. We look like keystone cops.
There's got to be more to this...
"Joe" had already lost 15 pounds in sweat alone, he was certain. His hands were so wet he had to consciously make sure they were solidly on the steering wheel.
His primary objective was sunk. This was an OJ deal and he was NOT going to get away. In fact, he wasn't sure why the tack-strips hadn't been used yet, he'd accelerate into them and run out of control, and that would be the end of it - that's at least what should have happened by now according to plan, but instead he'd slowed down to make sure they could "accost him", yet they'd entered into this slow pursuit chase. It was as if they knew, but that couldn't be. Could it?
If he'd taken just 30 seconds more, that tarp would've held. Damn Wal-Mart special. But the fall back in case of something crappy like this was simple - police force his hand, crash him off, and the impact is felt nonetheless, albeit weakened. But they weren't moving on him?
There's just got to be something more that he didn't know.
All of the arrangements had been made, they only needed delivery now. A space had been cleared, and in a day (or two at most) the latest in a series of African art gifted to the Israeli embassy in Washington would arrive. They'd been promised a real treat this time it was supposed to have been delivered months ago, but they'd been told of some kind of shipping mix up that was being corrected. It did seem a bit odd that there'd be a mix up like that for such an important destination.
There just ought to have been something more to this ... oh well, it'll be worth the wait they all thought.
The Lietenant was adamant. "This ain't no bungled CIA intelligence job, Senator, my people are the best and they KNOW their intel to be correct."
"It's just such a preposterous, and frankly unthinkable, scenario. Right under everyone's noses?!" The Senator sighed a deep, damning breath.
"I agree, but there's no way I'm risking any kind of upset to that gorilla with what we know to be true. We've got to buy time to figure out a safe exit to this scenario."
From within the belly of the chrome beast, the coundown timer ticked over to T-25 hours, impervious to radiation.
The news anchor's slightly too anxious (and contrived) drone broke through the sudden silence brought upon by the use of the F-word, just as she was ready to receive the mental whipping that her good-mommy sense was poised to inflict.
...rything seems to be under control temporarily, though authorities can't quite figure out how to bring this eerily-reminiscent situation to a successful conclusion. Different vehicle, different city, different "person" in question, but..."...it has June 1994 written all over it? No shit, sherlock."
What was going on here? This is all over the news, even the cable news channels have interrupted their mutual ignore-the-other-guy-and-yell-louder political profferings, but how can this actually be happening?
And why the hell am I so sucked into this?
Jamie, can you tell us what the police are saying about the situation?That's pretty cool, seeing the video just as the cop sees it. Those cameras are pretty shitty, but when you're only travelling about 35 miles and hour down I-65, I guess you can get a pretty good view of the "pursuit".
Not a lot, as you can imagine, John, but unlike the scene that the nation watched back in 1994, the authorities are not wanting to limit the public to seeing this play out from overhead. The video feed you're getting right now is from the in-car camera of Sargeant James "Bulldog" Molineux, a lead car in this ... pursuit. If we can really even call it that.
"Pursuit"?!
Alas - If for only one single moment, she had justified her time in front of the television, but no longer - that term just resonated a bit too loudly in her mind's BS meter. Sorry damn life, that's what it is ... I'm sitting here watching a damn green pickup drive off from Nashville with a friggin' chrome-domed Gorilla in the rear, made entirely of (duh) chrome truck bumpers you might add, all at about the speed of a slow hummingbird on downers. LIVE on TV no less, as experienced by all the tax-paid police officers in "red-hot" pursuit? Give me a friggin break - I need a life.Janice picked up the phone and dialled. "Hello?" came the smarmy sweetness that you'd only receive from a born-n-raised southern belle. "Whatcha doing gal?!" Janice never had learned to return a hello properly in the rural, petroleum armpit that was southeastern Texas where she grew up, and she was damn well too old to change now.
"Janice! Have you seen the news darling?" came Ruby's acknowledgment. Ok, so I'm not the only sad sack trolling in Nowhereland, thought Janice as Ruby barged on past her rhetorical remark. "Well I ... just can't believe it. This is the kind of thing that just doesn't happen around here! It made sense years ago when it was that orange juice fella in that white Ford - damned F-word that is; Jake'd have my hide for uttering it you know - but these kind of things don't happen here!"
Poor Ruby - she never would make it out of her southern heritage. But she does provide a different persective upon things, but Janice wasn't always sure it was refreshing.
"Hon, there's all kinds of folks, all kinds. I'm just sitting here, though, thinking that there's gotta be something more to this situation than we're being told, don't you? We've got some fool in a green truck - REAL man Chevy truck too, dontcha know - who found his way into that filthy rich Cal Turner's back yard and picked up that who'd-a-thunk-it artsy-fartsy gift from the South African ambassador to the US. Now he's making tracks, at the speed of lite - beer that is - for gawd-knows-where trailing a passle of cops too worried about upsetting some political balance to force the car off the road and risk wrecking the bent-bumper-bauble? No, no, that don't make no damn sense, I don't care how critical South Africa's trade relationship with this state, or our country's political relationship, is, ain't no piece of art gonna get in the way of a Glock 9mm."
Ruby let out a short gasp at the brusque description. "Well, Janice, now that you put it that way, I guess there does got to be something more..."
The Sargeant had seen a lot in his days, but this was getting him pretty well steamed.
"Come on Lieutenant" he barked over the radio, "he's hardly moving. I can EASE him to the side without so much as a scratch. "
The response was cold. "You've got my orders, Bulldog. Maintain for now."
Shit. We look like keystone cops.
There's got to be more to this...
"Joe" had already lost 15 pounds in sweat alone, he was certain. His hands were so wet he had to consciously make sure they were solidly on the steering wheel.
His primary objective was sunk. This was an OJ deal and he was NOT going to get away. In fact, he wasn't sure why the tack-strips hadn't been used yet, he'd accelerate into them and run out of control, and that would be the end of it - that's at least what should have happened by now according to plan, but instead he'd slowed down to make sure they could "accost him", yet they'd entered into this slow pursuit chase. It was as if they knew, but that couldn't be. Could it?
If he'd taken just 30 seconds more, that tarp would've held. Damn Wal-Mart special. But the fall back in case of something crappy like this was simple - police force his hand, crash him off, and the impact is felt nonetheless, albeit weakened. But they weren't moving on him?
There's just got to be something more that he didn't know.
All of the arrangements had been made, they only needed delivery now. A space had been cleared, and in a day (or two at most) the latest in a series of African art gifted to the Israeli embassy in Washington would arrive. They'd been promised a real treat this time it was supposed to have been delivered months ago, but they'd been told of some kind of shipping mix up that was being corrected. It did seem a bit odd that there'd be a mix up like that for such an important destination.
There just ought to have been something more to this ... oh well, it'll be worth the wait they all thought.
The Lietenant was adamant. "This ain't no bungled CIA intelligence job, Senator, my people are the best and they KNOW their intel to be correct."
"It's just such a preposterous, and frankly unthinkable, scenario. Right under everyone's noses?!" The Senator sighed a deep, damning breath.
"I agree, but there's no way I'm risking any kind of upset to that gorilla with what we know to be true. We've got to buy time to figure out a safe exit to this scenario."
From within the belly of the chrome beast, the coundown timer ticked over to T-25 hours, impervious to radiation.
I'm telling MOM!!
You most certainly will NOT, bitch...
