Remington Quaid Part II (394 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.5 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by cat_head (View user info) at 2004-05-18 12:35:56 EDT
part I here: http://www.ubersite.com/m/32440
I continued to go out every weekend and have fun as my alter-ego, Remington Quaid. I had still not had any "heat" from my fellow officers, and I was really growing in confidence. I graduated from simply hamming it up in front of stranded motorists to actually making a few "busts". As this went on I felt a growing sense of a desire to uphold the law.
One quiet Sunday afternoon I was cruising down a random street of a small town and I saw an argument going on between two old men. One was shouting a lot, and the other was tearing up some letters and throwing them onto the other guy's lawn. I eased the bike up to the kerb and slowly dismounted, enjoying the sound that my boots made on the gritted concrete, and the way my leather trousers squeaked as I strode slowly towards these two. I pouched my wad of chewing tobacco in my cheek and spat a jet of brown syrup onto the old guy's petunias.
They had seen me, but were so worked up that they continued to shout and gesture.
"Shut the fuck up," I bellowed. I had learnt this from Harvey Keitel in "Bad Lieutentant".
They obliged. I flipped open my uncle's badge and stated my name.
"DI Remington (Justice) Quaid, Homicide," I proudly announced. "What appears to be the problem, sir?" I asked the one who hadn't been shouting, and raised my hand to the other guy to signify he was not to speak.
But he immediately began speaking again: "He's been accusing me of giving his address to insurance..."
-CRACK-
A light motion. Gentle, even. But enough. I had drawn my nightstick and hit the owner of the house across the shins with it. He screamed and fell to the floor.
"OK, now we're getting somewhere," I said. "You! On your feet!"
He got up, clearly wanting to protest but now afraid to open his mouth. The other guy looked confused, and I addressed him.
"OK, what's going on?" I said.
He gave me the story and it seemed clear to me that he was pretty much in the wrong, and the other fellow was absolutely right to be pissed off. I explained my impression of the situation and waited. The guy who I had hit stepped up to me and said, "So do I get an apology then?"
I removed my Aviators, folded them and clipped them onto my jacket. I slid my hand around the nightstick so that my hand was resting on the handle that's perpendicular to the stick and flipped the stick round so that the long part rested against my forearm. I then punched him in the solar plexus with the short end and he dropped like a stone, emitting an amusing "Euugghhhhffff" as he did so.
"No," I calmly said.
The other guy realised that all was not well and ran off down the pavement. I couldn't be bothered to chase him, and plus I figured I should get out of there anyway, so I hopped on the bike and cruised down the street after him. I took the nightstick in my left arm and as I passed him, swung it at his head. I was travelling at about 20mph, so the combined forces resulted in a rather large "crack" and he fell like a dead man. I gunned the engine and rode off. My work there was done. Those two punks wouldn't be troubling anyone for a while.
I was quite a way from home and I enjoyed the hour-long ride, taking it pretty slowly but occasionally getting up some serious speed. I was nearing home when I heard sirens behind me. In my rear-view I saw two pursuit cars bombing towards me. I gunned it and began to make some ground on them, but not much. They picked up the pace and followed me onto the motorway. I got maybe two miles ahead of them and managed to get through some cones and onto the other side of the motorway, and then I raced full-throttle to a service exit a few hundred yards away that I had seen whilst going the other way. I had successfully lost them and from there I made it back to the garage, changed and went home.
I was pretty nervous after that, and I carried the nightstick with me everywhere I went. I was doing some shopping in town when I noticed a middle-aged woman taking an interest in me. She was looking at me and talking into a mobile phone. I guessed that she was undercover, and that she was contacting "base". I walked towards her, pretending to look at electric kettles, and when I got within range I drew the nightstick from my tracksuit pants and cracked her in the head, hard enough to kill. Everyone looked. "Shit, they're all fucking in on it!" I thought, as I advanced into a offensive position in the store and cornered a group of people. I gave a war cry and went in, nightstick flying, heads smashing, bones breaking. I knew it would be the last time I would get to use my stick, so I relished every swing, every hit, every bone-splintering impact.
By the time they got me I had hospitalised nineteen people, six of whom would eventually die. Such a waste of lives, but I had no other option. I was a good cop, just doing my job. Protecting the public, upholding the law. I still smile at the irony when I look back at it. Me, "Justice" Quaid, suffering the ultimate injustice.
User Reviews
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2004-09-09 04:21:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Freaking A.
Submitted by BonesForBucks (user info) at 2004-09-09 04:04:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Absolutely beautiful.
Submitted by slowlyrotting (user info) at 2004-05-18 12:51:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
did you write this from jail, or did you get out on some legal technicality?
Submitted by cwl989 (user info) at 2004-05-18 12:51:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
What?