dieseltrooper
Inactive
This is a page from a work in progress. It's directly tied to "Amanda" Nothing like cold revenge to warm the heart this winter...
Officer Joe Marsh had just come from briefing before going on duty. His was the 3-11 shift, the most interesting time to work, he thought. Joe liked how the shift passed quickly, with one call for service after another keeping it lively. Except for the damn paperwork that went along with it. That part he would just as soon skip. Fat chance.
It was still quite warm, and although he had the Crown Vic's air conditioning running at a brisk pace, he kept the front windows down in order to hear any sounds that might tip him to trouble nearby. He liked to think of his assigned sector as "His" neighborhood. He wouldn't want to live here, or have his kids enrolled in the nearby high school, that's for sure. It was a low-income area, no doubt about it, but certainly no shortage of pawnshops, bars, and payday loan establishments. Yep, you could say there was a thriving economy here, both legal and otherwise.
Joe saw evidence of the illegal economy every night, familiar faces seen at familiar places, engaging in their own special kind of capitalism. Joe kept a running log of notes,which he turned into reports, good intel for the drug boys downtown. You had to wonder why little seemed to change here at the street level. Sure, busts were made, but the song remained the same and Meth was the piper calling the tune these days.
She used to have dreams,she thought somewhat absently, as she chopped the crystalline powder into neat ordered lines. Lines that were likely the only ordered thing in her life now. All else had spiraled into chaos since her introduction to "ice" two years ago. Oh well.... Once she snorted the neat ordered lines, she wouldn't care about those dreams anymore. The ice was here,the ice was now, and it was all she dreamed of anymore...
It was dusk now, the heat of the afternoon sun replaced by a lazy, humid warmth that would last well into the evening. Joe Marsh turned left onto 23rd, hoping to grab a burrito at the Taco Bell before the next call. The radio was quiet for now, but soon it would have plenty to say. Domestic this, drunken that, and don't forget the "shots fired" calls. At least those were good for an adrenaline rush.
Before he made it to the Taco Bell, Joe observed an individual he knew, a known street dealer named Kyle Johnston, street name "Iceman". He was stepping away from a pay phone, no doubt having concluded a "business meeting" of some kind. Joe pulled to the curb, approaching with caution, since "Iceman" was probably "tweaking", hopped up and edgy as hell. "Hey Ice!", he called. "Whatcha doin,man?"
"I ain't doin shit,man!" was the immediate, and expected response. "What the **** you want?" Ok, he was being chatty tonight, very social, and therfore not in possession of anything worth Officer Marsh's time before lunch.
"Nothin from you, dirtbag!", Joe said, ready to pull away and go to lunch. "Iceman's" mouth started to form yet another pleasant response, which Joe would never hear, since there was a shot and Kyle Johnston's head exploded in a pink mist that decorated Joe Marsh's Crown Victoria with blood and brains.
Officer Joe Marsh had just come from briefing before going on duty. His was the 3-11 shift, the most interesting time to work, he thought. Joe liked how the shift passed quickly, with one call for service after another keeping it lively. Except for the damn paperwork that went along with it. That part he would just as soon skip. Fat chance.
It was still quite warm, and although he had the Crown Vic's air conditioning running at a brisk pace, he kept the front windows down in order to hear any sounds that might tip him to trouble nearby. He liked to think of his assigned sector as "His" neighborhood. He wouldn't want to live here, or have his kids enrolled in the nearby high school, that's for sure. It was a low-income area, no doubt about it, but certainly no shortage of pawnshops, bars, and payday loan establishments. Yep, you could say there was a thriving economy here, both legal and otherwise.
Joe saw evidence of the illegal economy every night, familiar faces seen at familiar places, engaging in their own special kind of capitalism. Joe kept a running log of notes,which he turned into reports, good intel for the drug boys downtown. You had to wonder why little seemed to change here at the street level. Sure, busts were made, but the song remained the same and Meth was the piper calling the tune these days.
She used to have dreams,she thought somewhat absently, as she chopped the crystalline powder into neat ordered lines. Lines that were likely the only ordered thing in her life now. All else had spiraled into chaos since her introduction to "ice" two years ago. Oh well.... Once she snorted the neat ordered lines, she wouldn't care about those dreams anymore. The ice was here,the ice was now, and it was all she dreamed of anymore...
It was dusk now, the heat of the afternoon sun replaced by a lazy, humid warmth that would last well into the evening. Joe Marsh turned left onto 23rd, hoping to grab a burrito at the Taco Bell before the next call. The radio was quiet for now, but soon it would have plenty to say. Domestic this, drunken that, and don't forget the "shots fired" calls. At least those were good for an adrenaline rush.
Before he made it to the Taco Bell, Joe observed an individual he knew, a known street dealer named Kyle Johnston, street name "Iceman". He was stepping away from a pay phone, no doubt having concluded a "business meeting" of some kind. Joe pulled to the curb, approaching with caution, since "Iceman" was probably "tweaking", hopped up and edgy as hell. "Hey Ice!", he called. "Whatcha doin,man?"
"I ain't doin shit,man!" was the immediate, and expected response. "What the **** you want?" Ok, he was being chatty tonight, very social, and therfore not in possession of anything worth Officer Marsh's time before lunch.
"Nothin from you, dirtbag!", Joe said, ready to pull away and go to lunch. "Iceman's" mouth started to form yet another pleasant response, which Joe would never hear, since there was a shot and Kyle Johnston's head exploded in a pink mist that decorated Joe Marsh's Crown Victoria with blood and brains.
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