| From: | Frank Pelletier <jeanpell@****.IVIC.QC.CA> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Never talk to strangers |
| Date: | Sun, 26 Apr 1998 23:27:08 +0000 |
>>>>>[
+++++Including Cybersenses (Merged)
+++++Include Cybercomm thought track
The inky dark of the night parts before the glaring headlights of the
black sedan. The road, the yellow dots rushing by, continues straight
through Salish territory, not a curve in sight. An ambient glow fills the
car, neon needles waving against digital backgrounds, the bleak, sickly
light bathing me.
It's been this way for a couple of days. Fuel up, sleep in the car,
drive. Repeat. I couldn't risk taking a plane and... fuck, who am I
kidding? I have no money for a plane, let alone enough to bribe myself in
with my gear. So I took the long route. And it paid off. It made me
think. About things. About me.
People think I'm a fool. Sometimes, that works. But I can't go on with
that tag all my life. I can't let people judge me by a few muthafuckers
with big mouthes. And I need a good rep. 'Cause a good rep mean good
jobs. And good jobs mean money. And I need that right now.
So here I am, in this tan Americar, with my gear well hidden in the spare
tire compartment. Wrapped in thermal absorber, won't be caught by
detectors. And my ID still holds up. Cyan Fitzpatrick, Computer Repair
Man. The road looks cool, car seems fine, I'm doing 80 in a 60... fuck.
Two luminous strobes light up behind me. Red and blue. His driving
lights almost blind me. He closes in. I have no choice. Muthafucker
makes me pull over. So I do.
The gravel bumps my car around as I leave the smooth pavement. He drives
up behind me.
The "He" now becomes the "Them"... Two of them. Tanned, leathery
skin.
Sioux. Amerind cops. One of them walks up along the driver side,
flashlight searching the back seat. The other walks along the other side.
Game face on, muthafucker.
"Hello officer. Was I..."
"Cut the bullshit. License and Registration. Now."
"Sure, sir..."
Fucking moron! I got a gun in there! Shit. Stupid shit. That's gonna
get me killed. Stupid goddamn muthafucker. Now what? Now what? He's
gonna see the piece. He's gonna...
"Sir...License and Registration NOW." I can see him signaling to the
other. Shit. I reach for the glove box. I didn't want. I honestly
didn't think about...
It takes a second. I only see his suprised face suspended in a shard of
time, frozen for eternity. Then he his no more. My arm moving like a
blur, aiming the gun to his head. Half his face gets torn apart, blood
flying backwards. He stumbles back, then falls on the cold ground. In
the rearview mirror, his partner just now registers the event.
Barely raising his gun as I sprint out of the car. One shot, hitting the
rear of my car. Two, three, four shots. He flies back, his back hitting
the front of the squad car, the folding over on the ground.
I reach back inside my car, pulling out my deck. Quick. No time to
waste. Running back inside the squad car, I splice the inner video
system, and jack in. Surprinsgly tough. I can't suppress the damn video.
But... I can... I find a routine that sends all video data up to the
local station every hour. A few touches here, a line of code there. It's
gonna loop the first 50 minutes of this hour. Hopefully, that'll give me
time. I turn off the squad car's lights, put it in neutral...
The car drops gently by the roadside, coming to a halt in a nearby ditch.
The two bodies follow. Time...I need time.
I drive away. Fuck. This was not the way it was supposed to be.
+++++Archive closed (Misc-819)]<<<<<
-- Haze <22:04:12/04-26-59>
