True Stories from a Cop: Plumbers, a Princess and a Pontiac

Plumbers, a Princess and a Pontiac

Hello again folks. I am back.
I know it's been a while as several of you have written to remind me (like a WHOLE week, what an asshole I know, right?! Like, totally.) I appreciate you checking in on me to ensure that I wasn't dead, or abducted by rabid single Imgurians, or fed to the cats for not getting a new story out soon enough.

Seriously though, I'm sorry. It's been hectic with the hiring process wrapping up, selling a house, finding a place to live two states away, and trying to relocate, all in a two week window. I do try to get these out as often as I can, while making sure that they're still good.

Thank you for the messages asking if you'd missed my latest story, or asking where it was, when it was due out etc. Don't worry - you haven't missed it. In fact - you're reading the most recent one right now. (Unless this is sometime in the future - then you may not be. In which case - how are flying cars doing? Are we close?)
I will always go back and link my next story from the last one. So you can always find it that way.

Alright, gather round, it's story time don'tcha-know.
Ready? 3...2...1...Go!

The Call: Incoming pursuit with shots fired

It was around 1630 - 1700 on a weekday. Officer Caboose, another Officer and I were all at court. We don't always have trials at traffic court, but we have show up and hang out for a few hours to find out if we do. (You guys only go when you get a ticket, I have to go EVERY month. Ain't that some shit?)

So Caboose, the other Officer and I are standing in the hallway outside the court room talking when we hear dispatch broadcast this: "[Neighboring Agency] is in pursuit of a silver Pontiac northbound on Interstate [redacted]. They're not sure - but they believe the suspects are shooting at the pursuing officers." The Interstate they're on is bringing them right into our city, at rush hour.

Zoinks! Like, we gotta go gang!

This is going to end badly.
I turn around and look at my Sergeant who was standing at the other end of the hallway. Before I could form the words to ask the question, he merely leaned on the crash bar of the exit door and held it open.

The three of us rush down the hall. I know we were moving - I'm like 84% sure we were; but in my head it felt more like we were running on ice - just spinnin' our wheels in place-complete with the Scooby Doo bongo sound (yeah this one: http://putative.typepad.com/files/bongo-feet-and-zip-1.wav)

We hauled ass over tea kettle down the hall and out the door toward the back parking lot where our fleet sat.
I was the first into the garage where the keybox was located. (Anyone who read "That Is Not My Fetish, won't be surprised to learn that I got there before Caboose.) Officer Caboose headed for the gear lockers. The other Officer, Officer Petty, called out the side number of an available car in the lot and I threw the keys to him.

Officer Caboose handed me my rifle that he'd graciously grabbed from my locker, as he slung his. We both headed outside and found Officer Petty sitting behind the wheel of a black and white, prepped and ready to go.

I call SHOTGUN!

I jumped in the front seat, and Caboose jumped in back. Thankfully Officer Petty had grabbed a car without a transport cage, which made things much easier for Officer Caboose.

We launched out of our parking lot just as the gate swung open. We heard one of our cars advise he was behind the Pontiac and in pursuit.

Officer Petty took a course to intercept the pursuit and got after it. We go scooting up the road toward an on-ramp for the interstate, hoping to be able to catch the pursuit and help. Unfortunately the Pontiac and the pursuing cars were traveling much much faster than we were and ended up well out in front of us by the time we made the highway.

You asked me how to get there and I told you. Exit at Traction!

As we continued northbound a few miles behind the pursuit we continued listening to the lead cars call out the position on the radio. We were falling further behind because traffic had moved out of the way for the first wave of officers that had gone through. But apparently weren't keen on showing us the same courtesy. The drivers were too busy looking at the pursuit ahead, or texting, or updating their Facebook feeds to notice that they were missing the real show: Officer Petty, in the car behind them. Losing. His. Fucking. Mind.

Why was he a disgruntled driver suffering a minor bought of road rage? Because traffic wouldn't move over. (It was truly a sight to behold. Fortunately, the dash cam caught every masterfully woven string of swears and curses for posterity, and the Captains, and probably his retirement party...)

8.4 thousand flashing red and blue lights on the car? Check.
40 bajillion decibel siren? Check.
Eleventy-seven thousand lumen spot light? Check.

Is any of this fazing Tommy the Twittering Twat ahead of us? Not even a little. His car is planted squarely in the #1 lane, face in his phone, and head squarely in his ass. (By the way, this happens ALL. THE. TIME. It happens to me more often than not. Please pay attention people. And after you've seen one cop car go by, always look for second and third Police cars. If you don't get out of the way, you're slowing us down and keeping us from getting to someone who needs help.)

Luckily the Putzs driving the Pontiac had no idea where they were (between the five of them - and Apple Maps, [LOL] they couldn't figure it out). They exited the Interstate and began driving through residential areas. As soon as that happened I knew they were lost. I told Officer Petty to turn around as soon as he could. "Why?" He asked. "Because" Officer Caboose chimed in, "they're going to head back toward what they know." He said, finishing my thought for me.

No sooner had we gotten off at the exit ramp to turn around than we heard the lead car update the pursuit. They were back on the interstate heading southbound - toward us.

It's a Pontiac not a Wii controller.

Well boys, now we're racing.
And Officer Petty rose to the occasion. He is really hauling trying to get down the interstate to a good spot where we can get out and deploy stop sticks. He's not driving recklessly, but we are chewing up some real estate trying to get to a spot where we can stop. We have to get there fast enough that we have time to stop, get the sticks out and get them deployed - all before the Pontiac, which is traveling somewhere in the neighborhood of 120 mph, can catch up to us.

We round a large curve in the interstate to find an area where it straightens out. There are two cop cars already stopped prepping sticks. As we pass, we get a very confused "WTF? Where's the car guys?" They thought we were the pursuing car. We point behind us as we roll passed, indicating that they should watch for the silver car that's traveling southbound at Mach 1. "Ya can't miss it."

We pull over a little south of the other cars and start prepping our stop sticks. The interstate is three lanes wide at this location, plus two very wide emergency lanes/shoulders. It would take several sets of sticks to cover the roadway well.

Physics? Never met him.

As we get our car stopped, we pop the trunk and jump out to grab our sticks. The lead car broadcasts the location- and they're coming 'round the curve we just negotiated. 120 mph is incredibly fast, and more than a bit terrifying if you're standing on the road watching a 4000 pound vehicle hurtle toward your general direction, covering more than half a football field per second.

The driver of the Pontiac, Mario, hits the straight away and sees the stop sticks in the road in front of him. Either he's played too much Mario Kart or not enough GTA, I'm not sure on exactly how much is the proper ratio. But he commits an error.

Rather than just drive over the stop sticks, he had another activity in mind. He's like "I got dis." and jerks the wheel to the side.

Grand Pappy Physics was like, "LOL. no."
Then Papa Physics fucked up Mario's Pontiac with a red shell.

Yellow flag's out

They cart wheeled that fucking car through the median in spectacular fashion.

Mario swerved so hard that he got the car sideways and it flipped. It tumbled, it rolled, it spun, and it and flew - oh did it fly. Like a one-winged ostrich launched from a trebuchet - did it fly, before coming to rest on its lid in the median. The only thing missing was an epic explosion. Michael Bay would have been proud.

Thank heaven it stopped in the median rather than tumbling into oncoming traffic during rush hour. None of the five Rhodes Scholars inside were wearing their seat belts. But fear not - for the stupid shall protect you! Miraculously (but after 8+ years doing this, not surprisingly) they all survived, and are relatively un-hurt. How does someone endure a crash that would have made ESPNs NOT-TOP-TEN, without wearing a seatbelt? Beats the shit outta me. But I've seen it enough times to just shake my head and move on. It'll bake your brain if you think on it too long.

We break the (remaining) windows and rescue the occupants by extricating them from their Pontiac Prison. Princess Peach, Luigi, Yoshi, Toad, and Mario all get pulled or crawl from the car. They're all detained and looked over by medical. All decline any medical treatment.

I knew it! I'm surrounded by Assholes.

We notice that the Pontiac has numerous bullet holes in it. After asking around to the agencies that were involved in the pursuit - no one reports having fired any rounds at the suspect car.

Where'd the bullet holes come from?

Apparently somebody elected Yoshi the gunner. While attempting to go super thug on who or whatever he was shooting at - he emptied an entire magazine out the back window. Yoshi's exuberance at raising his street cred score exceeded his actual skills, by a lot. Yoshi hit the car he was riding in with every-single-round. The side, the back, the trunk...fucking nailed it.

I wish I was making this shit up.

We call for a couple of wagons and the whole gang is transported to booking where they're held until the detectives can talk to each of them and sort out exactly what the hell happened out there.

First up: Peach. As it turns out, it was her car, but she let Mario drive. Good decision?
I use "was", as in past tense, because that's the proper tense to use when someone or something died. And that car died. It died a magnificent death.

While talking to the Detective, Peach has the following exchange:
"I knew we shouldn't have come to [City]! Bad shit always happens to us when we do!"
The detective asks "What do you mean?"
"We always end up wrecking our cars, and stuff. It's total bullshit!"

Do extra chromosomes run in your family?

Peach goes on to tell the detective that a few months earlier her cousin, Bowser, had also run from our department. One of our Officers had tried to stop him for traffic violations early one morning and the chase was on.

I remember hearing about this particular chase because of how it ended. Bowser, like Mario, also believed that all those hours he logged on the driving simulator "Mario Kart" would translate seamlessly to real world skills. (Spoiler Alert: They don't). Bowser exited the interstate and ended up on some surface streets, driving at ludicrous speed.

The Officer chasing him wisely terminated the pursuit. But apparently rehab is for quitters, and Bowser ain't no quitter! So even though he wasn't being chased anymore, Bowser didn't slow down.

Based on some surveillance footage we got from a gas station after the fact, Bowswer blew a red light going somewhere north of 135 mph. About 1.2 seconds and 4 blocks later, he straightened out a curve, hit a pole and his Bonneville turned into an unguided rocket.

Bowser, Oh did he slip the surly bonds of earth, dancing the skies on silver Pontiac wings. He wheeled and soared and swung, but effortlessly not, nor was it fun.

Bowser suffered some major issues on re-entry. Mainly the landing part. I *think* where it all went wrong was when his craft smashed into a cement building. Bowser did not survive. (That's why NASA used monkeys). Subsequent toxicology testing revealed Bowser's BAC was "shitfaced" (that's a clinical term, sorry to get all technical on you.)

So, with this Radical Rocketman's lineage coursing through her veins, Peach comes by it naturally I suppose.

wut?

The Detective sits there slack jawed, staring dumbfounded at Peach for several seconds in silence.

Finally he asks her: "Have you all ever considered, y'know... for posterity's sake... maybe stopping for the Police once in a while?"
Peach doesn't miss a beat: "Not really. And What's 'Poss-Terry'?"
The detective shakes his head and mumbles, "Yeah, on second thought - good thinking. And don't worry about "Poss-Terry", It's not important."

The gang all got interviewed. That poor detective got measurably dumber after listening to all five of them. They never made it to level 8-8, they ended up in jail instead.

That's it for today Koopas and Kongs.

Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
I do have a confession though.
I need to introduce you all to Scout, my Ghost Writer. He's been assisting me with this series, and has demanded more recognition; starting right meow.

Also, credit to John Gillespie Magee, Jr
for the Poem "High Flight" from which I borrowed a bit for this story.
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/highflig.htm

Until next time,
La'ers.

Table of Contents, Past Adventures:
Accidental Assault by Sex Toy http://imgur.com/gallery/fV4D0
Highway Divider of Love http://imgur.com/gallery/k2ZWJ
Departing Party Hat http://imgur.com/gallery/lMjIP
Larry Snickets and a Series of Retarded Events http://imgur.com/gallery/a8SJZ
Mary Poppins' Magical Purse http://imgur.com/gallery/h4BLz
Alcohol Fueled Anarchy http://imgur.com/gallery/Qk5rD
Rainbows, Unicorn Piss and Fairy Tales http://imgur.com/gallery/M6KdQ
That Is Not My Fetish: http://imgur.com/gallery/f0irf
Karma: Revenge From Afur http://imgur.com/gallery/tBDLJ
Poppy the Penguin: http://imgur.com/gallery/VF7mD

CEOh shit: http://imgur.com/gallery/lPb2K

AMA part 1: http://imgur.com/gallery/IcQ83
AMA part 2: http://imgur.com/gallery/wMZa9
AMA part 3: http://imgur.com/gallery/V8DEi