1995 Orick, California
Officer Randall flipped his lights on as he pulled up behind a posh black 1975 Camaro with tinted windows. Nothing pissed him off more than tinted windows. Unable to see if a driver was worth harassing was an automatic qualification for harassment in Officer Randall's modus operandi. Plus, he loved flipping his lights on and knowing the immediate spike in fear most people felt when they discovered the 5-0 was on their ass.
Pulling out his new tint meter, Officer Randall swaggered up to the driver window with his right hand resting on his sidearm. The driver had only lowered the window a small crack, with their license, registration, and proof of insurance card already sticking out the window.
"Please lower your window," Officer Randall said curtly as he took the proffered material.
"May I have your badge number and name please?" an older woman asked as she lowered her window another inch.
Great…some stupid lawyer. Probably has one of those portable phones.
Letting his tone grow colder, he gave the woman his badge number and name, which she wrote down on a legal pad. With a frown, he decided to check her information before interrogating her more. She was definitely outside of the demographic of people he was interested in harassing.
"Dispatch, I need plates run for 2 7 9 urinate, rectal, nuisance, for a 10-37" Officer Randall radioed when he returned to his car. Technically, he was supposed to radio dispatch before he approached the driver.
"Very funny, Randall," Susan rasped back dryly. "Remember what the captain said about using proper phonetic spelling on the radio from now on."
"Fine…Union, Robert, Nora," Officer Randall griped into his radio. After some bored citizen with a police scanner took offense to their department's less than polite phonetic alphabet, the captain had made a point of making everyone on the force practice the proper phonetic scheme.
"1975 Camaro registered to an Alican Moore," Susan spoke after a moment of radio silence. "No prior record. Insurance is current. What was your PC?"
"Tinted windows," Officer Randall replied shortly.
"10-4," Susan's voice had the professional tone that Officer Randall had come to recognize as her way of conveying disapproval.
Getting out of his cruiser, Officer Randall walked up and handed the information back to the woman.
"I'm going to need you to lower your window more to test the tint," Officer Randall told the woman firmly.
She lowered the window another five inches without replying. As he slid the tint meter over her window, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A young woman was walking down the opposite side of the street. She had some kind of goofy hat with earflaps and a pair of rose-tinted glasses.
He glanced back at his meter and grunted irritably. Thirty-five; right at the edge of legal tint.
"Thanks for your time, ma'am," Officer Randall said distractedly. "Drive safely."
Without a word, the woman rolled up her window and drove away.
"Bitch," Officer Randall muttered under his breath. His heart wasn't in it though. His mind was already focused on the girl as she passed him on the other side of the street. This was much better than some dried up old hag.
"Excuse me, miss," Officer Randall said curtly as he marched across the street to confront her. "We're conducting a search for an escaped felon in the area. Can I see your ID, please?"
She paused as he stepped in front of her, and he had a moment to get a better look at her. She was shorter than he had realized, probably not even five feet. The part of her face that wasn't obscured by her goofy hat and glasses hinted at very striking features. Large breasts were prominent even under the thick white jacket she wore. Her feet were adorned with an odd pair of green boots that stopped just below the knee. Her toned thighs were covered in thin white leggings that made his pulse quicken.
"I'm sorry, did I make a wrong turn somewhere?" the girl asked in a musical voice. "I thought this was still America. I haven't made a point of carrying my papers with me for over half a century."
"Unless you would like to be charged with obstructing justice, I suggest you produce some identification," Officer Randall said belligerently. "Lose the hat and glasses."
"Which part of the fourth amendment did you misunderstand while going to cop school?" the girl asked with a contemptuous twist of her mouth. "I'm guessing it was most of it, since it probably required a degree of literacy. What kind of moron do you take me for? There aren't any prisons in the area for a felon to escape from. Why don't you go find another law-abiding driver to harass? I'm sure there are more cars with tinted windows that are probably hiding several kilos of unlawful substances you need to inspect."
Officer Randall had tried to break into her tirade several times, but she had just spoken louder each time he tried to interrupt. With a growl, he grabbed her arm and pulled out his cuffs. A split second later, he found himself doubled over into a fetal position as a blinding white pain erupted in his groin. He let out a pitiful howl as he hurriedly un-holstered his pistol.
He looked around from his fetal position for the source of his near castration, fully intending to put a couple slugs in the little bitch. He swung his head around in every direction without spotting her. With a pathetic groan, he rose to his knees and peered up and down the road. She had vanished without a trace. There was no way she could have run away that fast; the closest trees were almost fifty feet away from the road. He continued scanning the area with his gun half-raised, convinced she was hiding in the short grass somewhere. After almost five minutes of half-crawling, half-staggering around, he gave up and went back to his car.
With a vicious curse, he realized his legs were wet with a significant amount of blood. She must have had sharpened metal on her boot tips to have caused so much damage.
"Dispatch, I need an ambulance at North Lake Road," he groaned into his radio's mic.