NPC: Officer Stoneridge Meets Jeremy
4/18/2005
08:59 PM
Logfile from GarouMUSH.
Currently the moon is in the waxing Gibbous Moon phase (66% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 56 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northeast at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.28 and steady, and the relative humidity is 53 percent. The dewpoint is 39 degrees Fahrenheit (3 degrees Celsius.)
It is currently 20:35 Pacific Time on Mon Apr 18 2005.
East Bridge Street
The power plant to the south, chain-link fence delineating it sharply from the street, takes up two blocks, from Fourth to Second. Across the street, and down along Second and to First, are tenements, small bars, and the occasional slightly-better-maintained building. Teenagers give older, grim-looking men and women nowhere near enough space for respect, jostling them and sometimes knocking them down while brushing arrogantly by. Trash in the gutters and along the sidewalks is a glum reminder, with the filth spewed from the power plant itself and the factories beyond to the south, of the poverty of the area and the lack of care given to this section of the city. The occasional shot rings out, down the street or in the tiny, darkened alleys burrowing between buildings.
Contents:
Jeremy
Obvious exits:
McAffee Court Harbor PArk Holland Place Charlie's Tavern Alley Washington Warehouse WHarf St. Claire Power And Light East South North West
Nearing 9 PM on a Monday evening, the dregs of rush hour are just starting to taper off on Bridge Street. Workers are coming out of their shifts, replaced by the employed for late-night bees. The bar and club scenes are also just starting up as well, and even though it's a Monday, they still expect some business. No Prohibition here. No Prudes Allowed. This is Downtown St. Claire. 'Old Town', if one wants to relate it with Sin City terms.
Zooming down the street is the sleek black and silver pin striped beast of the Neon RT, woofers rumbling in the trunk as heavy metal pounds its way into the ears of the kinfolk. He hasn't slowed down once since taking off, his mind a buzz with many different things. The windows is slightly cracked, allowing his hair to feather in the streaking breeze.
Speeding is not recommended once one gets around the vicinity of the borders to Harbor Park. The cars are fewer, sure, but they run low and quiet in the presence of young, brash looking gangsters and dirty, yet alluring streetwalkers. The police take longer to respond out here than usual. This is a problem sector. A thorn in the side of the city chief. As the kin's sleek and hopped up vehicle comes tearing down the street, he attracts looks and glances. Nice cars aren't a rare sight in this neighborhood really. But the ones that do come around, aren't usually just breezing on by without reason.
If the kin was thinking clearly instead of being in a whirl wind of emotions, he would have avoided this particular route. Unfortunately, there is no turning back now. Slamming the car into a higher gear, the engine continues to rumble, cold air intake humming beautifully as he zips around a corner, hugging it like a pro. The entire time, his eyes stay focused forward, his hands and feet the only free thinking parts about him.
The unfortunate thing about emotions. It's almost as bad as driving under the influence. Sometimes, it's even worse. As the black and silver Neon speeds towards the intersection of 3rd and E. Bridge, the attempt to beat the yellow light is suddenly blocked by a long-bodied Chevy starting to make its left turn down 3rd Street. There's only a few seconds to react before the cars are going to crash into each other.
Eyes coming once more into focus as the typical driver's 'danger sense' kicks in, Jeremy slams on the break as the tires howl out, jerking himself to a quick stop. Good thing he got new ones. Letting out a slow breath, he drops his head back into the headrest of the chair, staring at the red light.
The dark blue Chevy Impala continues its turn and drives off, utterly unaware of the near-miss. The red light continues to stay that way for an irritatingly long time, despite the fact that there are no other cars waiting at the intersecting street.
The engine continues to rumble away under the hood as Jeremy glances about, edging the car a bit forward some, trying to pressure trigger the street light. He puts the car into first gear, shifting down on the clutch a bit.
Then come a light tap-tap on the window of the passenger side, and a face of a black male - a homeless bum he looks like with the dirt and grime visible even through the dimly lit street - shows through the glass. Ugly, opaque water gets sprayed onto the windshield of the kin's car, and a questionably clean clump of newspaper goes to work, supposedly 'cleaning' the windshield of dirt and grime. Yeah. That reaaaaaally helps.
Glancing up sharply at the tapping sound, Jeremy stares over at the window, then lets his elbow bump the door lock. Click. Frowning, he waves his hand at the guy, trying to shoo him away. "No thank you!" He calls out.
Stubborn bastards. Or perhaps, just desperate bastards. The guy doesn't leave, still doing his offered service of washing the Neon's already clean windows and giving the driver a dopey looking snaggle-toothed smile despite the kin's shooing. The rays of the red light (it's still red?!) from the streetlight light one half of his face, as the bum continues to window washing. While Jeremy's distracted with the bum on the passenger side of the vehicle, there's sudden movement right beside the driver's side door and another male, this one young and black as well, is pointing a very large, likely .40 size caliber pistol in the kinfolk's face. "Get outta the car!" the assailant, wild-eyed, demands. "Get outta the car or I'll blow your fuckin' brains out!"
Freezing up as he hears the voice, Jeremy slowly lets out a breath. Glancing over to the window, he stares through the tint at the gun pointed, his mind calculating a thousand possibilities at once. Slowly, he licks his lips, eyes flickering to the rear view for a quick moment.
The bum has made a very fast retreat, leaving the clump of wet, dirty newspaper stuck on the windshield as he ran like a bat out of hell towards the nearest alley, crying out 'Don't Shoot! Don't Shoot!' The gun is shaking, but still trained on the kin's head as the carjacker tries the door, finding it locked. "I said get outta the car, NOW!" Again, that voice seems so far away over booming bass and thumping audio of the Neon's sound system. In the rearview mirror, there's not a car in sight for at least two blocks back. Its headlights wait at the intersection there, and a few cars cross the intersection back around 5th Street.
Glancing at the rear view once more, then back over to the black man, Jeremy slams on the gas as one hand drops the seat backwards, his other shoving the car in reverse. There is the peel of tires as clutch lifts, looking to lurch the car backwards. His knee is planted on the steering wheel to keep him straight.
The earsplitting SKREE! of screeching tires and the smell of burning rubber fills the air, and the Neon responds perfectly to its master. The carjacker, startled with the sudden jerk and driving of the 1-ton vehicle, reflexively pulls the trigger on his pistol and a loud BLAM!, and shattering glass, also fill the air. The kin's face gets cut with a few flying shards, but it could be worse. He could've had a bullet put down his ear canal. "Muthafucka!!!" cries out the angry, thwarted robber as he turns the pistol and starts emptying the clip in the direction of the car. This guy doesn't seem to be in his right mind, firing off shots in rapid succession, and missing the Neon for at least 3 of the rounds in his gun. Two bullets crash through the windshield and out the back, zinging over the kin's flattened body by a foot or so.
Jerking the wheel around with his hand, Jeremy shoots straight up once more and slams the car back into gear, wheels spinning, smoking as he shoots off in the opposite direction, the engine rumbling heavily. He keeps himself slumped a bit, making sure to glance in the rear view wildly. He is breathing hard, chest pounding as his hands quiver and shake.
Two more rounds fire off from the man's gun, with one slamming itself into the trunk of the Neon and another one missing entirely. Fortunately, the car provides ample enough armor against the bullets flying, and no serious injuries are had. The carjacker is foiled, and quickly shrinking in the rearview mirror as the kin drives off, all limbs accounted for and skull still in one piece.
Keeping his hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel, Jeremy shifts up a bit more and rightens the seat back into place. Soon as the man is out of sight, he turns a corner and starts to look about, trying to figure out exactly where he is. Turning the volume down on his stereo, he surveys the damage of his car, groaning. ".. Fuck."
Signs point out that the street is about 4 blocks down, in an alley between 7th and Bridge. Luckily, this far west, the businesses and residences are just a touch safer than the crazy local of 1st through 4th. The alley is quiet, and there's no one here to disturb the damage surveillance. The windshield and back window sport two bulletholes and cracks through the main body of the glass. The driver and passengerside front windows, too, cracked and shattered by the point blank force of a .40 caliber bullet going through them and without the special reinforcing polymers that car windshields and back windows have. The truck has one bullethole through the center section, but luckily none of the taillights are hit. One of the kin's bass speaker though... R.I.P.
Letting out a loud curse under his breath, Jeremy starts to punch the steering wheel, tweaking the horn at times in his frustration. Tears streak down his bloodied cheeks as he hisses out, his nerves shot. Shakily, he puts the car back in gear and puts out of the alley, then heads back to the main road, glancing about carefully.
No crazed carjackers out here to harrass. The further west one drives on Bridge Street, the more and more civilized things seem to be. Quiet thought it is on a majority, there are still Monday night partygoers on the street who cast momentary, or slightly more than momentary glances towards the battered Neon as it passes on the street. Cars continue on their paths to destination-anywhere. No one really seems to care out here. No one, until around 10th and Bridge, the flashing red and blue lights pull up from behind, and the slight bleep-boop of the squad car behind the kin's vehicle signals for him to pull over.
Shrinking his shoulders some, Jeremy curses under his breath and pulls the car to the side of the road, making sure the stereo is off and his hands on the wheel. He mentally checks himself.. no records, car is insured and in his name, no guns on him or in the car. Swallowing, he leans his head back on the seat.
The squadcar pulls up at a designated safe distance, and for a time, the officer inside doesn't exit the vehicle. Likely checking records and running plates, talking to dispatch. The lights are cut all for but one to direct traffic around the pulled over vehicles, and the officer exits the car. Officer Stoneridge comes up, visible in the rear view mirror, flashlight shining. Officer Stoneridge's pace is cool, confident, calm. Officer Stoneridge, is fucking hot. The female officer looks at the teary eyed kinfolk, flashlight beaming into his eyes at first, then swinging around to check out the obvious damage to the car, and then lowering down to a point on the kin's shoulder. "You alright there?" she asks first. Her voice is like an angel's. One of Charlie's angels.
".. No.. I'm not OK... some guy just tried to steal my car.. he started shooting when I wouldn't get out." Jeremy's voice stammers out in a tremble as tears leak down his cheeks, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Swallowing tightly, he glances upwards at the woman, blood leaking down his cheek from the cuts, blue eyes cloudy from behind his thin rimmed glasses.
"Looks like you were headed west-bound, coming out of downtown," Stoneridge remarks softly, her voice so sympathetic even as she states just the facts. The flashlight gets clipped onto her shoulder-holster, becoming a hands-free lightsource as she removes a black leatherbound notepad from her belt and flips it open. "Do you think you can describe to me what this guy looked like?"
Swallowing, Jeremy shakes his head. "He was black. Young.. um.." He stammers out. "It's real dark out and it happened real fast. I think he had a red shirt on.. maybe.." Licking his lips, he shrugs his shoulders back and stares up at the ceiling of the car. "Really bad shot."
Officer Stoneridge jots down what Jeremy says quickly, looking like she's writing more than just what he's said to her in answering her questions. After a minute or two of writing, Stoneridge closes the notepad and puts it away. She casts another glance around the vehicle, faintly grimacing at the shattered and cracked glass. "We've had a series of carjackings lately downtown," she tells him. "Maybe by the same group of thieves looking to score cars." Then she's looking upon his face again. "You should come down to the station and file a report. Maybe it'll help calm you down a little, with some coffee and a bite to eat. Talk it out of your system."
Blinking his eyes, Jeremy wipes at his face as he clears away the tears and blood, glancing at himself in the mirror. "Officer Stoneridge, you're too pretty to be working this side of town." He says with a soft sigh. "Be careful yourself, OK?" His voice quivers just a moment, then strengthens as he slumps his shoulders down into the seat. "I guess I can file a report.. I'll need to for insurance reasons."
Stoneridge laughs, as she regards the kin with confidence brimming. "Don't you worry about me, Mr. Winters," she replies. Yep, must have ran the plates while she was in the car. "I've been working this side of town for oh, three or so years now." She certainly has that toughness about her to prove her nerves. But then that would make her... how old? "If you want, I can radio on ahead to let them know that you're coming down to tell them about it."
"Sure, if you want." Jeremy says as he puts the car back into gear, wiggling the stick shift some, turning his eyes back to the woman. He pauses for a moment, raising up a brow. "Thank you for your concern.. it was nice to meet you." The engine rumbles lightly as he taps the gas with his foot just a bit, just to keep it warm.
Stoneridge nods again, offering a warm smile that's really needed on a cold-hearted night like this. "I'll do that then," she says, taking a step back from the car as the kin taps the gas. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Happens out here." Spoken like a true native of downtown. "You be careful yourself now, ok? Drive safe, keep your seatbelt on, and stay under the speed limit."
"I always do." Jeremy says with a bright smile upon his face, then starts away from the curb. He lets his eyes meet hers for a moment, before vrooming away at an easy pace, keeping to the speed limit, as instructed. Reaching to the knob, he turns the volume up a bit, then winces at the flat sound.
The retreating form of Officer Stoneridge can be seen walking back to her vehicle, and the door of her car opening and shutting. The streets are back to normal ebb and flow now, no dark shadows coming out of the alleys to scratch away more of the kin's nerves. The trip to the police station on Elson, if he takes that route, is uneventful. Usual questions will be asked, forms filled out, and all that jazz. Complimentary coffee provided, but donuts seem to be reserved for special cases only. City budget's just that tight it seems.
[So just how hot is Officer Stoneridge? Well, I likened her to Jessica Alba. Sin City's 'little' Nancy Callahan. "Nancy Callahan grew up. She filled out."]
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