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Messages - hopi

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91
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 10, 2008, 02:09:06 PM »
Gentleman - May I present - Anna, Claudia and Grecia -



Viva la Mexico!

92
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 10, 2008, 10:00:33 AM »
This is one of my God daughter in Mexico - Se llama Claudia - She just turned 21 last week and is now looking for a "sponsor" - So I am interviewing - Send in your qualifications please -




If by "sponsor" you mean "husband", and by "So I am Interviewing" you mean "Hopi is the perfect guy for the job", then i like where this is going...

93
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Brain Excersise Word Asociation Thread......
« on: December 09, 2008, 09:18:47 PM »
Glock 7.

'new porcelain gun you can get through metal detectors at the airports...'

94
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 09, 2008, 03:46:39 PM »
oh, and a package of Kirkland Signature Athletic Tube Socks.....

95
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 09, 2008, 03:44:03 PM »
Am heading to Costco - Need anything?

Pick me up a gun safe, two bottles of Listerine, a 20lbs stick of salami, and the bulk pack of Duct Tape....

Thanks!

96
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 09, 2008, 03:34:43 PM »
Good book to read...


Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole


97
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 09, 2008, 02:15:29 PM »
Big happenings on the .net + elimination of the Politics forum = a return to "normalcy"

98
......Continued......

Chapters: Ten-Eleven

X.


"Ok," Victoria offered, "I wasn't going to say anything because I thought it might cool off your friendly disposition towards me, I mean, I've seen you looking at me, and I didn't want this ride to get weird."

"Go on."

"Well, Danny works with my brother. They are partners in Indigo Fog LLC, contracting P.I. jobs in the city. I called my brother to let him know where I was headed and who I was with. He mentioned that Danny and you work in the same department at PD. Why?, did Danny call you?"

"Something like that." Jakowski said in a deflated tone.

"So, what's this stop we're making?"  Pressing the "End" button on her cell phone, tucked in her back pocket, Victoria was confident enough in her ruse that she decided to forgo the "911" text to Paul.

"We're going to stop by the local country produce stand. You know, vegetables for the road. How much do you weigh?"

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me."

"About 125 or so, I don't know, I haven't checked in a whi-."

"Yeah right. 125 it is." Jakowski checked the fuel level gauge on the dash and calculated some quick weights in his head. "Buckle both of the harnesses on your seat belt."

Victoria looked over at the speedometer and noted that they were only traveling about 65 mph but thought she would obey Jakowski's ever increasing serious tone. "Click", the second harness snapped
shut and locked victoria's body snugly into the seat. Victoria thought it curious that there were racing harnesses inside the truck and yet the stereo and paint went neglected. Rising her eyes back to the speedometer, no more than 20 seconds after her first peak, Victoria noted the rapidly sweeping hand now moving past 95 on the dial. She could feel the difference in speeds become more pronounced with the blurring of the landscape outside of the passenger window.

"What are you doing?!" She demanded.

"Hold on."

Jakowski turned the truck sharply, changing course and narrowly missing 2 Joshua Trees positioned like goal posts. The truck, now barreling across the desert at 130 mph, barely hiccuped over the imperfections in the terrain.

Victoria, who's face was white with fear, had gripped the hand rail on the door with her left hand, and with her right she found an "Oh-Shit" bar welded to the ceiling of the interior tubular steel roll-cage.  Jakowski, both hands on the steering wheel, stared blankly through the windshield as his baby ate up the desert carpet.

"Here it is." The speedo trembling on 145,  the engine screaming in 4th gear, the roar of the wind over the rear view mirrors almost drowning the voluminous sucking sounds of the engine's air filter. "Don't worry, they know me." Jakowski managed to say just as the front end of the truck hit the small dirt ramp.   

Victoria didn't really believe it, she knew what was happening, but she didn't believe it.

The truck's back tires left the dirt ramp and spun freely in the air as the truck became air-born. Victoria looked down and marveled, if only for 1/100 of a second, at the deep and wide canyon they were now effortlessly flying across.

Jakowski griped the wheel, and only a few seconds after they took flight, the truck's tires touched down on the hard desert floor on the opposite side of the gap. The truck body compressed the suspension and lifting the tires up and off the ground once before hunkering down and pulling the truck straight and true, still moving at nearly 100 mph.

"WHAT THE &^$*%^#*!!" Victoria barbed through gritting teeth.

" I said hold on."




XI.



Slowing to a stop after about 5 minutes of post-flight hustling at 100 mph+,  placing the tranny in neutral, Jakowski eyed  the temp gauge as steam cooked off the hood of the truck, or maybe it was smoke from inside the engine bay, either way, the engine was hot. So was Victoria.

"You should have told me we were going to fly! You could've killed me!

"That's why I didn't tell you."

The sound of 2-stroke engines buzzed, faintly, then louder. Victoria saw a dust trail wafting out of the desert floor about 35 yards ahead. Then, seemingly rising out of the ground, two bikes popped up and began to decrease the distance between the two groups. Coming to a stop 5 yards from the truck, the two riders lifted the face-visors on their helmets and both gave a thumbs up.

Jakowski signaled back and pulled the tranny into drive. The two bikes circled around behind the truck and waited for Jakowski to roll. The three vehicles moved forward in procession and approached another gaping canyon in the desert floor. A road cut down into the rock lead to the canyon floor and had been the exit ramp for the bikes. The bikes ripped around and took the lead down the road.

"What is this, this is getting crazy." Victoria asked, having been surprisingly quiet up till now.

"Like I said, we need to make a stop at the local produce stand. Do you like Strawberries?"

"Sure, love 'em!"

"Well you're in luck." Jakowski said with a smile.

The road meandered down to the canyon floor and the bikes veered off and into a large cut-out door on the far canyon wall. Jakowski pulled the truck next to the horseshoe shaped door, placed the tranny in park, and turned the engine off.

Victoria noticed electric lights illuminating the interior corridor of the door way. The two riders had disappeared through a larger door just inside the corridor and the sounds of the bikes' engines could no longer be heard.

Jakowski unhooked his harness and Victoria followed suit. Both exited the cab of the truck, Victoria remarking to herself how nice it was for her feet to be on solid ground. She followed Jakowski through the doorway and they headed right and up a few steps. Coming to rest on the top step and facing a wooden door, Jakowski put his hand in the air and made the ASL sign for the letter "i".

Two cameras zoomed in on the hand sign, then back onto the faces of Victoria and Jakowski. A thud, followed by the sounds of rubbing steel, alerted Jakowski that the door had been unlocked and that they were cleared for entry.

It was very dark, and Victoria sniffled a bit at the unfamiliar smell.

"It is Ozone that you smell." Trumpeted a booming voice which echoed on the roof from above. "Frederick, always a pleasure!"

"Yes, yes it is." answered Jakowski, embarrassed that Victoria now knew his first name.

A light flashed on with a hum, revealing Ryan standing about 20 yards down a long hall. The walls of the hall were lined with long aluminum ducting and digital security cameras spaced at intervals of 50 ft.  The floor was no longer dirt and desert dust, it was steel reinforced catwalk.

"What is it this time? Guns? Drugs? Money? Gold? Guns? Ha ha ha ha.." Ryan chuckled.

"A little bit of all please. Of course. With an extra side order of guns." Jakowski answered, seriously.

"Cooked-to-order!" Ryan said as he walked toward Jakowski, arm outstretched with an open palm.

The two friends shook hands briefly and then pulled it in for a man-hug.

"Who is this fine senorita?"

"My name is Victoria."

"Hello, my name is Ryan. Tom Ryan."

"We don't have much time, I need to get back to Nogales." Jakowski informed Ryan. "I might need your help down there too."

"You know me, always willing to help. What do you need?" Ryan inquired.

"Hardware for a few days, 10K rounds, some light fireworks, a few ounces, and about $50K in cash."

"I got you covered for all that, but ounces?"

"Gold, Ryan, Gold." Quipped Jakowski, "I'll be back for the other "ounces" on the flip side."


The three walked down the hall, the metal accents on Victoria's shoes clanking on the steel flooring. About 50 ft down the hall, after Walking through one mechanical-sliding-door, Ryan halted the group in front of a tubular steel cage-like door. Keying in his 5-digit code on the door's electronic keypad, he pushed the door open and flipped a switch on wall panel. A red-hued light responded to Ryan's wishes and the room revealed itself.

The sight dazzled Victoria's eyes.

And to be truthful, even though he'd seen it a dozen times, the sight also dazzled Fredr...er, Jakowski's eyes.

Lining the walls of the room were racks of rifles; the racks were 2-stories tall, 20 yards long, and the guns were stacked 3-rifles deep. Aks, M-16s, G3s, FALs, Dragunovs, .50 BMG Barretts, Steetsweepers, numerous redundant sniper rifles from .223 through .338 lapua. 

Under the racks were pegboard organizers displaying handguns, and sub machine guns. Thousands of them. Mac-10s, H and K MP5s, Sigs, Glocks, Uzis, you name it.

Two tables in the middle of the room held crates filled with explosive ordnance, and mini guns, stacked 5-6 crates tall.

Another three tables were stacked with crates filled with variously marked ammo from a wide spectrum of manufacturing countries. Crates under all 5 tables were also filled with ammo.

Victoria, having a serious firearms fetish, immediately ran to a rack and picked up a vintage 8mm MG42.

"Where are the strawberries you promised?" She asked looking back at Jakowski, barely containing her excitement.

"So I lied." Jakowski  said with a smile ear to ear.

99
......Continued.......

Chapters: Seven-Nine

VII.

"I'm making good time....who is Victoria......do you want any Mezcal from Nogales?" Danny read, aloud,  the text response from Jakowski.

"It's about time you two got back here. Paul, where have you been?" Danny asked as he noticed Wilson filing his nails with a wooden emery board as he walked toward the two men standing in the garage.

"We went to get some beer and meatball subs, sorry, we're all out of subs, but we've got plenty of beer!"

"I'm not thirsty, how much more time are you two going to need down there?" Danny answered with an apparent frustration at the men's break times.

"Relax, we'll be done tonight." Wilson offered with confidence, "You can expect to be on the road by noon tomorrow."

"Good, I fear that Jakowski will get suspicious and change course, or do something stupid." Danny, not the smartest cookie in the jar and  completely unaware that he had tipped his hand to Jakowski via text message, speculated with clairvoyant accuracy.

"Danny, do you think he suspects anything? Do you think he knows who Victoria is?" Queried Wilson as he lifted one eye from his nail-filing.

"No, I'm just being my paranoid self. And even if he did start to piece it together, he's gone too far now."

VIII.




"Hey, these fries aren't half-bad," Jakowski mumbled with a part of a fry hanging from his lip, "even if they are a little bit cold."

"Flip the radio on, let's listen to some music for the rest of the way."

"It don't really work, but  you can try if you'd like," Jakowski offered with a quick look over to Victoria while she reached out to turn the knob on the console. He noticed that her shirt fell forward a bit and he couldn't help but sneak a quick peak.......and he found more than he had hoped.

Across the top of her right breast was scrolled in Old-English what appeared to be the name "Pauly" with 4 dots over the top of the "a" and "u". Realizing that his peak had turned into an extended stare, Jakowski whipped his eyes back to the road and coughed out some small talk...

"So, ya got a boyfriend?" Noticing that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring, Jakowski's detective skills kicked in on autopilot. "Any kids?"

"Nope,  Me neither. I've had some bad luck with that stuff."

"Yeah, me too, I guess."

"Hey, how come we didn't get back onto the highway?" Victoria asked, not expecting anything besides an offering of a "short-cut".

"Like I said, plans have changed."

Pavement gave way to gravel as Jakowski's tires ate up the road to Nogales...  a plume of dust rising into the still southern California air.

No one had wanted this beast at the police auction he'd bought her at... the primer patchwork and dented rear quarterpannel were not particularly appealing to the crowd who'd shown up to bid on the confiscated property that day... And to be fair, she didn't turn a lot of heads parked in the back amongst all the beamers and benzes... the lexus suv's and the porche 911's... He'd gotten her for a song.. $500 cash and a bit of back registration... Even the auctioneer had shaken his head in disbelief when he'd raised his hand to bid...

But Jakowski knew something the others didn't, she was a bit special...

Large capacity gas tank, a fuel injected 440 with aluminum heads that had been painted to look like rusty steel covered in grease, Tubbed wheel wells stuffed with run flat racing tires mounted on steel rims with the white lettering on the inside to avoid calling attention to itself.. a subframe and a roll cage immaculately hidden inside the panels and trim. Sway bars, monroe air shocks and ad a leaf's kept the rear end ridged when transporting heavy loads, and an overbuilt aluminum drive shaft antonised flat black made sure the power made it from the 727 torqueflight's output shaft to the dana suregrip rear end.  quality high flow mufflers kept the sound down to a normal level when the tuned exhaust cutouts were closed.

beat up and stained ugly pea soup green upholstery and a dilapidated paint job was a small price to pay for the fastest smuggling car the san diego sheriffs department had ever caught... and even Jakowski's buddy in patrol who had given him the heads up acknowledged that they'd have never caught her if they hadn't stumbled across he hidden in a field with the driver suffering a bout of 'Montezuma’s revenge' behind a nearby bush...

Even after a thorough search, and seizing all the contraband drugs with a k9... there were still some surprises that they'd missed... If Jakowski hadn't tried put in a new stereo he would never have found the hidden compartment in the dash that held the two old pineapple type hand grenades and a slightly rusty 1911A1... and if he hadn't tried to replace the front quarterpannel he never would have found the old ak47 wrapped in grease soaked rags that was hidden behind it...

As Victoria turned up the volume on on radio and the crackling sound  stevie earl's copperhead road filled the cab, Jakowski couldn't help but smile to himself as she tried to change the station only to be met with static for her efforts before tuning it back...

He'd originally planned on a full restoration.... new interior... new paint... new sound system, but after getting to know her a bit better he'd decided to leave her exactly as she was... sometimes perfection came from the imperfections...


Those superficial imperfections became blessings, absorbing the scratches and nicks being added to the underside and rocker panels by the hundreds of small bits of gravel kicking off the truck's spinning tires.

"What do you mean plans have changed?" asked Victoria nervously.

"No biggie, we're gonna stop by my buddy's place before we head across." With a sly grin, he added, "Yeah, I got a message from Danny and it's important that we make the stop...how long have you known Danny?"

"Oh we, eh, Danny who? Danny Miramontes?" Victoria's tongue stumbled over her lips, conspicuously showing her feigned ignorance.

"No. Not Danny Miramontes." Jakowski answered sarcastically. "You are in the middle of the desert girl, right now you have a serious need for one of the following two things, either (1) a very coherent and detailed explanation of how Danny knows that you are riding with me, or (2) a lot of water and some good walking shoes. Which did you bring with you? I'm betting it's going to be a story and some answers?"  






IX.


Wilson lifted the glass on his welder's mask and looked down on his handiwork. The beads on the final seam were flawless, just beautiful. Wilson could have easily attained a comfortable living with his legitimate talents, having exceptional skills in metals, composites, chemicals, fabrication, and engineering. Closing the door on the top of the cage, Wilson simultaneously slid the two bolt latches through the channels and turned them with a solid "clunk". Turning the keys on both bolt locks, he placed the two keys and keyring into his shirt pocket.

"Alright Paul, ready?" He asked as he secured the final of the 4 hooks to the cage,  giving the chains a half-inch roll through their pulleys to relieve any slack in the lift.

"Yep! I'm gonna start her up..." Paul flipped the toggle on the lift and the pulleys started to rotate, slowly at first, gaining speed and a faint but noticeable hum as the chains started to make progress up the well. "Looks good from here! Ease her up and then swing her to the left."

The cage eased up and out of the mouth of the well, rocking gently back and forth before coming to a stop directly above where Wilson was standing, 25 ft below. Paul released the lift lock and guided the cage to the left by hand, positioning it directly over the forks on the Bobcat. Re-locking the lift, Paul flipped the reverse on the toggle and lowered the cage down onto the forks.

"We're good to go! I'll lower the hooks down for ya." Paul unhooked the cage from the lift and dropped the chains back into the well. Wilson grabbed the steel loops on his body harness and affixed the hooks through the holes. Giving a solid tug on the chains, he wrapped his gloved-fingers around the links.

"Alright, bring me up," Wilson commanded as his feet slowly left the floor of the well.

Paul went to the broken wood cabinets laying in the corner of the old garage and opened a sliding drawer. He pulled out a shiny aluminum case the size of a small microwave,  and a dark brown backpack. Laying them on the counter top next to the deep wash sink, he waked back over the lift and flipped the toggle to the off position, Wilson swung a bit to the right as he steadied himself above the mouth of the well.
 
"When's Danny gonna be back? Like 15 minutes?" asked Wilson.

"Yeah, probably. He just went out for gas and cigs." answered Paul. But this wasn't the truth, Danny had already gassed-up and was on his way to Nogales.
 
Wilson stepped out of the well and unhooked himself from the lift. Paul unlatched the lock on the aluminum case and opened the top to reveal a 9mm Sig and matching suppressor fitted neatly into the foam.  This had been a "throw-away" gun Paul got from Danny, and he thought to himself that it was really too nice a gun for this job. Sad.

"Grab all your stuff, we aren't coming back any time soon." Paul advised Wilson as he removed the pistol from the case and inserted a magazine that held only 2 rounds.

"What about the welding gear, gas, chemicals, and engineering plans down there?" Asked Wilson, now turning to look for his custom jacket with sewn-in shoulder holster. The holster, holding the 1934 Colt  Pattern-1911 he had carried daily for the last 13 years, was hand-stitched from lamb skin and sewn into the natural location under the arm pit. The gun had belonged to his father and served in both Korea and Vietnam, it had served Wilson faithfully as well. Wilson was just as his father, a man that believed he had better things waiting for him always right around the corner.  They both shared a cocky disposition, and with it a confidence that ultimately betrayed his father, that genetic hand-me-down would soon also betray Wilson.

"Throw me my key and let's be ready to hit the road, the clean-up guys will be here in about an hour, I want to be long gone by then." Paul said as he deliberately screwed the suppressor onto his Sig.

Pulling the key ring apart and tossing one of the two cage-keys over to Paul, Wilson reached down to the floor to pick up the jacket he had been looking for. It was lighter than expected, and Wilson instantly realized his pistol was not in the holster.

"Oh Shi...." Wilson began to say as he swung around to face Paul.

SNAP. POP.

Paul looked down at Wilson slumped on the floor, his eyes were wide open, a single stream of blood trailing down between his eyebrows and onto the bridge of his nose.

Paul took a deep breath. Then another. d

Then he grabbed Wilson by the shirt collars and dragged his body over to the well. Bending him into two and pushing him into the hole, he watched the body fall onto the light they had placed on the floor of the well. As the lamp crushed under the weight of Wilson's body and extinguished the light, Paul tossed the Sig and suppressor down into the dark of the hole.


Attaching two liquid propane tanks to the hooks on the lift, Paul hoisted them down into the well.  He had neglected to tell Wilson that they were both the fabrication team and the clean team. But he figured it wouldn't matter much considering the circumstances.

Emptying the contents of the backpack and affixing the simple detonator he had Wilson fabricate from a cell phone earlier to the plastique, also the handiwork of Wilson's, Paul inserted the two hot wires and armed the bomb. The plastique was destined as the catalyst for what lay in the cage, or so it was told to Wilson, but today it would be used to erase the traces of the project. Paul placed the plastique on top of a another liquid propane tank and wrapped it with soft welding rod, which worked surprisingly well. He rolled the propane tank over to the mouth of the well and hooked it onto an unused hoist. Manually rolling it up and then over into the hole, Paul slowly let it descend into the darkness. It landed softly without a noise, Paul assumed that meant it came to rest on top of Wilson's body.

Starting the engine on the Bobcat, Paul shifted into gear and drove through the interior roll-up door with the cage and motored over to the  parked BMW. He popped the trunk and slid the cage off the forks using the nice built-in roller on the bottom of the cage, massaging it into the trunk. He closed the trunk, just barely clearing the cage top. Perfect engineering, another Wilson contribution.  

He walked back through the roll-up door to the interior "office". Pulling down and closing the door behind him, he walked over the cabinet where he had placed his hat and Wilson's pistol. Paul released and then re-inserted the full magazine into the 1934 Colt  Pattern-1911 he had just "inherited" and slid it into the small of his back.

Closing the door behind him and exiting the makeshift "office", which only recently had been haphazardly erected to conceal the entrance to the well, Paul sealed the final resting place for Wilson and he walked towards the garage door mechanism. Flipping the switch and watching the door roll-up,  he looked down the street both ways, scanning for suspicious cars. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary he exhaled hard. Spitting onto the sidewalk and then turning back towards the garage, he walked to the BMW. Checking his back pocket for his wallet, then his front for his cigarettes, he reassured himself that he was ready to go. Check.

Seating himself into the driver's seat and turning the key, the 8 mighty cylinders roared to life. He pulled out of the door and eased into the street, checking his mirrors. Slowly rolling down the block, he came to a stop at the stop sign. He pulled from his front pocket his lighter and a box of Marlboros, he inserted the  filter end into his mouth and bit the tube of tobacco into half two halves. He spit the filter half out the window and stuck the other half into his mouth.  He flicked the blue BIC and lit the cigarette.

Pulling from his pocket a vintage '90's cell phone, he flipped it open and dialed '4-5-4', the phone rang once, then twice.

KAAAABOOOOOOOM!!!!!

Paul made a right hand turn and 18 seconds later he was entering the southbound freeway. Flipping the stereo to the CD function, he pressed PLAY. Easing over to the middle lane and placing the car on cruise control, Paul headed towards the Arizona border to the Eagles "Hotel California".




100
The story so far......

Chapters: One-Six


I.

The grass had been allowed to grow longer than usual, meandering into cracks between the bricks that lined the walkway to the garden shed. A volunteer Oak sapling, having taken root months before, spreads its leaves to catch the sun, fearless of being plucked from the lawn.
Just beyond the garden shed sat the trashcans. Since the murder of the old man who owns the house, nobody had taken the trashcans to the street so the true contents have yet to become known. As Monday morning is upon us - The sounds of working men and machines can be heard in the slight distance………

Detective Jakowski was tired, hung over from the night before and searching his pockets for the chance of a cigarette. Comes walking a creature unlike any he's seen in the past.
She stops and asks him "do you have a light?" -
“Why, yes I do.” he says.

Then he proceeds to ask her if she knows anything about the old man that used to live in the house.
"You could say I knew him well," she quietly replied.

“Please elaborate, as this is an investigation to a murder. Shall we get a cup of coffee or you want to go downtown?”

“You got nothing on me copper. Get a warrant.”

“You know, if something was to happen to you - No one would know, so why don't you tell me..” Jakowski quipped

“Ok, so how about that light? I first met him about 6 years ago. I was only 19 and hungry, he got me off the streets and into a job. I remember he would always take me to this Chinese restaurant over there on 5th and 73rd. He was a very interesting Fellow,” She replied. “Very quiet yet eccentric, peculiar and mysterious, I never did understood him"...

“Tell me - Did he ever hit you?”

“Never!” Starting to show tears welting up in her eyes, “he was like a father to me. He was truly a gentleman of high standards. However, this made him less than popular in some of the nightclubs near downtown.”

“I noticed the cigars in your handbag - Are those his?”
  
“I know the cigars are Cuban and not legal...but yes, they were his.
He was involved with many different people...including smugglers.”


The detectives mind was wandering. He knew he had to investigate the scene of the murder more thoroughly.

"So what kind of a job did he give you?" the detective inquired.

“Just cleaning up his house on the weekends and tending to his garden, Stuff that has to be done ever since his wife di.... eh...maybe we should wrap this up detective Jakowski?”

“I never told you my name was Detective Jakowski. I'm curious, how did you know my name?”

“Female intuition. Oh, and you have your name card stuck in your hatband. Now that he's gone, I don't know what to do. The last few years he has shown me so much, like the father I never had...”

"Do you still have a key to his house? We need to look around and see what we find. But I must be careful, it could be a trap!”



   II.

Meanwhile, downtown, in the dark, damp depths of the basement in an abandoned building, a shadowy figure is hunched over a workbench diligently working away. The shapes of rats scurrying in the depths and drops of water falling from the failing pipes give accent to the paint peeling from the walls.

“Wilson - Would you like something to eat? You've been down there for 6 hours already - What are you doing anyways?”

“Yes, please, I am starving and thirsty.  Do you have any crumpets and a Tecate?

“Yes, but if you'd prefer something good to drink, I have Negra Modelo.”

“Ahhhh...that will do, Mexican beer FTW!”





III.

Detective Jakowski thinks to himself about how he can get more information from this beautiful creature without scaring her away.

"So did he have any close friends or family in the area?"

“Yes, my beautiful cousin, we are VERY close, but she is albino and bisexual.  Does this bother you at all?”

Jakowski thinks "this is getting weird" just as the sound of screeching tires whips him back to the present.  Looking down the street he sees trouble in the form of a 76 Monte Carlo, and his years on the beat tell him that his day has just gone horribly sideways. Recognizing the Monte Carlo as the chariot of choice for Diego Jones, Jakowski quickly dodged behind the tires of a parked Ice Cream truck.  Reaching for the Sig P220 tucked into the waistband holster in the small of his back, Jakowski chuckled to himself as he thought, "I haven't even eaten lunch yet"....
The car slowed as it approached the ice cream truck, hard eyes scanning up and down the sidewalk.  "Who is the target?" Jakowski thinks as he hustles the now very confused lady up the lawn and between two houses, providing some cover, if only temporarily...
"Jakowski, where'd ya go?! I got something you might be interested in taking a look at...."
Jones called out confidently as he strolled around the parked cars and headed towards the two. Wanting to keep the lady out of the picture if at all possible, Jakowski heaved her over a low wall just as Jones rounded the corner.  He turned, started to draw, and was amazed to see Jones standing over him, not with a gun in hand, but a large manila envelope.
Staring down the barrel of a hot n' ready .45, Jones' confidence retreated as he quickly stammered to explain his suspicious arrival at the house.

"Whoa man, take it easy.....this is the missing piece, completing the puzzle that is your brother's untimely death in Nogales".....

“Well then, why didn't you say so.”

As he slowly tucks the Sig back into its holster he grabs the yellow color envelope with the other hand. By now, the young lady have shown herself to Jones...

Jones says: "Hey, who's the dame? What's she doing here?"

She sure is sexy though albinos are exotic! Jakowski mutters something unintelligible under his breath..As he slowly pulls a Camel cigarette out of his vest pocket - Letting out a deep sigh - Eyes lingering like he wants to say something. He is curious about the envelope and slowly tears open the top. He looks inside, then a bit startled, but trying not to seem so, he looks at Jones

"Where did you get this?" he asks

Turning the envelop over and dumping the contents into his open palm, Jakowski's face became red and his eyes welled-up with tears as he looked at the hotel room key, the Matchbook cover from "Antonio's", and a picture of himself and his brother in Nogales. The picture was time-stamped with the night before Jakowski's brother's murder, and the matchbook had a smudged phone number scribbled on the underside...Jakowski knew only one thing for sure...he was headin' back to Nogales.

"Who gave you these things, Diego?" asked Jakowski quietly, while looking at the smudged number on the matchbook with a growing sense of dread and remembering seeing his brother write down that number, the only way to contact his brother's "guy" in Nogales.

"It is not important,  Maria Castaneda Villalobos will meet you when you get to the border and she will arrange for transportation south out of Nogales and fill you in with some details. Remember Jakowski, you and me's not even by a long shot, but, you know, enemy of an enemy is my friend....Maria will get for me what I need, and you worry about yours......." Diego turns his back to Jakowski as he finishes his last sentence and heads towards his Monte Carlo.

As the Motor in the 76 turns, coughs twice and rumbles to life, Diego leans out the window...

"And Jakowski.... if you pull that rod in Nogales everyone's going to know your a cop... leave it and the badge home if you want information...  There were two dozen people in that bar, Someone must have heard the old mans chest getting hollowed out"

Gathering his thoughts, and clumsily stuffing the key, matchbook, and photo back into the envelope, Jakowski notices, for the first time, that the envelope is stamped with the name of the Hotel where the photo was taken. Glancing back towards his recent acquaintance, she smiles coyly and with a soft tone asks,

"So, ya want someone to keep you company down Mexico way?.....oh, my name is Victoria, in case you were wondering."

Jakowski shrugs. But he can not possibly refuse the company of such a fine specimen.








IV.


"Do you think that you can hand me that Dasani that's rolling around on the floor back there, can you reach it?"

Jakowski shuffles himself in his seat as Victoria stretches her arm back into the rear of the cab and fumbles for the bottle of water.  With 3 hours and some change remaining before they hit Safeway parking lot situated on the border of Nogales, AZ, the two unlikely travel companions share a nervous anticipation of their crossing into Mexico.

A fact that escaped conversation yet so far, Victoria,  not even 2 weeks previously, had just returned home from a small plantation 100 miles south of Nogales.  Why she was there in the first place, and why she intended to return would not become clear for Jakowski until sometime later.

What he did know was that he was getting hungry and the water wasn't helping him forget that.






V.



"Paul, I'm out of beer down here and I'm coming up!"

"Ok, sit tight and I'll send the rope down to ya....there, do you have a hold of it Wilson?"

As Paul hoisted Wilson up the well, the clanking of Wilson's tool belt against the walls became louder as he rose closer and closer to the top. With the rope straining under the stress of each revolution of the creaking pulley, Paul thanked God that they would soon be finished with this project and could return to Mexico.

"How much more time will you need? We are ahead of schedule and we don't get paid by the hour for this"

"We should be able to finish tonight, all I need to do is cross some "T's" and dot some "I's"...." Wilson answered.

"Do you think she made it down there OK?"

"Of course!"

"I know, I know, I shouldn't worry, but we've got a lot of money riding on her.....and I miss her." Paul's eyes began to wander a bit....

"Ahhhhhh, ain't that cute! Don't worry, you'll see her soon enough, and she'll have our money......it is Victoria we're talking about here....."

Wilson wiped the dirt from his pants, walked slowly to the table and slung on his shoulder holster on as Paul picked up the AK74 and M16 leaning against the wall. They walked toward the car, parked inside the abandoned warehouse, behind the roll up door. Wilson adjusted his holster and threw on his jacket.

"Put that hardware in the trunk Paul, we probably won't need either of those on our beer run." Wilson offered with a hint of sarcasm as he settled into the deep bucket of the driver's seat and fastened his seatbelt with a positive and reassuring "click".

 He watched Paul flip the switch on the garage door and step outside to take a look for traffic and any possible heat.  Fishing his keys from behind the sun visor, and finger-brushing the right side of his mustache, Wilson customarily winked at himself in the rearview mirror. Paul looked down the street in both directions and then gave Wilson the thumbs up. With a twist of the key and a deep growl, the engine in the 7 series BMW roared to life, and Wilson eased her out of the door bay under the gentle purring of idle.

"Let's go Paul!"

Paul flipped the garage door switch and watched it come to rest on the concrete floor as he casually seated himself into the jet black BMW.  Wilson, not being the most patient of fellows, punched the gas and the force pushed Paul hard back into the leather seat.

"Do you think that they'll let that cop live?"

"No." answered Wilson without any discernible emotion, and quickly transitioning queries, "We should get some meatball subs on the way back, no?"

"Of course."






VI.


"Let's stop and get some food at that Dairy Queen, we're almost out of Chandler, and we still have about 2 hours to go." Jakowski grumbled, mostly to himself, not looking for authorization from Victoria.

Sliding his wallet into the inside pocket of his sport coat and stepping out of the late '90's Ford pickup, Jakowski subconsciously felt at the P220 that hasn't left the confines of his conceal holster since the two hit the road in Pam Springs.

"Can't we just get this and eat it in the tru...."

"No," Jakowski snaps, "I need to use the restroom and take a quick breather."

"Whatever. What do you want to eat, I'm buying."

"Just get me a burger meal and a Coke...and grab us a seat." he answered as he made a bee-line for the men's bathroom.

Rubbing his hands under the heat of the blow-drier, Jakowski glanced at himself in the mirror and noticed that the left half of his face was starting to turn a subtle rose-color from the beating of the desert sun peering through his driver-side window.    Reaching into his pocket for his mobile phone, he wondered if the beeps, signaling a flurry of text messages,  had gone unnoticed by Victoria 15 minutes earlier in the truck.

"Twelve text messages!?"

Pressing "send", Jakowski concludes his one-line response and shoves his phone back into his pocket. There was only so much Jakowski could do about his circumstances now, he believed that no amount of text-message-quarterbacking from Danny was going to make this trip any easier and he decided it best that he keep him in the dark for now.  Although suspiciously, he did now wonder how Danny knew that Victoria was with him in Arizona.  Jakowski hadn't told anyone that he was traveling with a companion, let alone the details of her identity.


"I ate some of your fries..." Victoria welcomed Jakowski to the table.

"Ok, bag up the rest, I'll eat it on the road. Plans have changed."









101
Intermission.....



















































102
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 08, 2008, 11:29:18 AM »


Quote
John Beckwith: Claire's mom just made me grab her hooters.
Jeremy Grey: Well snap out of it! What, a hot older women made you feel her cans? Stop crying like a little girl.
John Beckwith: I wasn't crying like a little girl.
Jeremy Grey: Why don't you try getting jacked off under the table in front of the whole damn family and have some real problems, jackass. Hey, what were they like anyway? They looked pretty good, are they real? Are they built for speed or comfort? What'd you do with them? Motorboat? You play the motorboat?
[makes sputtering motorboat noise]
Jeremy Grey: You motorboatin son of a bitch! You old sailor you! Where is she? She still in the house?
John Beckwith: What's wrong with you?
Jeremy Grey: What do you mean "what's wrong with me?" What's wrong with you?
John Beckwith: No, what's wrong with you?
Jeremy Grey: No, what's wrong with you? You're projecting!
John Beckwith: Drop it.
Jeremy Grey: You drop it! You stop projecting on me! Why don't you go enjoy yourself while I go ice my balls and spit up blood.
John Beckwith: Drop it!
[starts walking away]
Jeremy Grey: Team player!

103
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 08, 2008, 11:20:39 AM »

104
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Post Count Photo Thread....[b]Read Rules[/b]
« on: December 08, 2008, 11:10:23 AM »

105
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Post Count Photo Thread....[b]Read Rules[/b]
« on: December 08, 2008, 11:09:21 AM »

106
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 08, 2008, 11:08:07 AM »
Poop.

107
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Post a Picture of your Pet!!
« on: December 08, 2008, 10:13:31 AM »





108
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Post a Picture of your Pet!!
« on: December 08, 2008, 10:03:53 AM »


My cockatoo


Angie,
Is that a Major Mitchell's? Beautiful bird, anymore pics?

109
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Brain Excersise Word Asociation Thread......
« on: December 08, 2008, 09:55:33 AM »
Ursula Minor

110
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 08, 2008, 09:54:51 AM »
Bean reminds me of a young Hopi...... ;D

111
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 07, 2008, 10:45:14 PM »
That's why we really need to bail them out - Again, who wants to buy a BK product -

I read about their "bank" employees ( I think that's what they're referred too as ) getting laid off and getting full 100% of their paychecks for sitting around in the union halls and diddle their thumbs all day -

I might not understand the full scope of things - But, WTF over -

It's all Bush's fault

112
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Brain Excersise Word Asociation Thread......
« on: December 07, 2008, 10:31:11 PM »
Eyes without a face.

Flesh for fantasy

113
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 07, 2008, 10:16:52 PM »
Oral arguments for Nordyke in the 9th court of appeals. San Francisco. There is already talks of  a dinner. I will be in the city all day, probably go up to bullseye to shoot early in the morn, then back to court by noon:30 or so......

114
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Post Count Photo Thread....[b]Read Rules[/b]
« on: December 07, 2008, 10:04:27 PM »

115
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 07, 2008, 10:01:44 PM »
I am not on top of things - When and where?

You going to Nordyke? We should meet up!

January 15th, San Fran in Fed Court.  It's on my birthday!

117
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 07, 2008, 09:55:35 PM »
You going to Nordyke? We should meet up!

118
Off Topic Discussion / Re: Thread about nothing #3
« on: December 07, 2008, 09:52:40 PM »
.ORG Continuation thread is gettin' good..... ;D


Saigon, you need to take a mini vacation....

119
X.


"Ok," Victoria offered, "I wasn't going to say anything because I thought it might cool off your friendly disposition towards me, I mean, I've seen you looking at me, and I didn't want this ride to get weird."

"Go on."

"Well, Danny works with my brother. They are partners in Indigo Fog LLC, contracting P.I. jobs in the city. I called my brother to let him know where I was headed and who I was with. He mentioned that Danny and you work in the same department at PD. Why?, did Danny call you?"

"Something like that." Jakowski said in a deflated tone.

"So, what's this stop we're making?"  Pressing the "End" button on her cell phone, tucked in her back pocket, Victoria was confident enough in her ruse that she decided to forgo the "911" text to Paul.

"We're going to stop by the local country produce stand. You know, vegetables for the road. How much do you weigh?"

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me."

"About 125 or so, I don't know, I haven't checked in a whi-."

"Yeah right. 125 it is." Jakowski checked the fuel level gauge on the dash and calculated some quick weights in his head. "Buckle both of the harnesses on your seat belt."

Victoria looked over at the speedometer and noted that they were only traveling about 65 mph but thought she would obey Jakowski's ever increasing serious tone. "Click", the second harness snapped
shut and locked victoria's body snugly into the seat. Victoria thought it curious that there were racing harnesses inside the truck and yet the stereo and paint went neglected. Rising her eyes back to the speedometer, no more than 20 seconds after her first peak, Victoria noted the rapidly sweeping hand now moving past 95 on the dial. She could feel the difference in speeds become more pronounced with the blurring of the landscape outside of the passenger window.

"What are you doing?!" She demanded.

"Hold on."

Jakowski turned the truck sharply, changing course and narrowly missing 2 Joshua Trees positioned like goal posts. The truck, now barreling across the desert at 130 mph, barely hiccuped over the imperfections in the terrain.

Victoria, who's face was white with fear, had gripped the hand rail on the door with her left hand, and with her right she found an "Oh-Shit" bar welded to the ceiling of the interior tubular steel roll-cage.  Jakowski, both hands on the steering wheel, stared blankly through the windshield as his baby ate up the desert carpet.

"Here it is." The speedo trembling on 145,  the engine screaming in 4th gear, the roar of the wind over the rear view mirrors almost drowning the voluminous sucking sounds of the engine's air filter. "Don't worry, they know me." Jakowski managed to say just as the front end of the truck hit the small dirt ramp.   

Victoria didn't really believe it, she knew what was happening, but she didn't believe it.

The truck's back tires left the dirt ramp and spun freely in the air as the truck became air-born. Victoria looked down and marveled, if only for 1/100 of a second, at the deep and wide canyon they were now effortlessly flying across.

Jakowski griped the wheel, and only a few seconds after they took flight, the truck's tires touched down on the hard desert floor on the opposite side of the gap. The truck body compressed the suspension and lifting the tires up and off the ground once before hunkering down and pulling the truck straight and true, still moving at nearly 100 mph.

"WHAT THE &^$*%^#*!!" Victoria barbed through gritting teeth.

" I said hold on."




XI.



Slowing to a stop after about 5 minutes of post-flight hustling at 100 mph+,  placing the tranny in neutral, Jakowski eyed  the temp gauge as steam cooked off the hood of the truck, or maybe it was smoke from inside the engine bay, either way, the engine was hot. So was Victoria.

"You should have told me we were going to fly! You could've killed me!

"That's why I didn't tell you."

The sound of 2-stroke engines buzzed, faintly, then louder. Victoria saw a dust trail wafting out of the desert floor about 35 yards ahead. Then, seemingly rising out of the ground, two bikes popped up and began to decrease the distance between the two groups. Coming to a stop 5 yards from the truck, the two riders lifted the face-visors on their helmets and both gave a thumbs up.

Jakowski signaled back and pulled the tranny into drive. The two bikes circled around behind the truck and waited for Jakowski to roll. The three vehicles moved forward in procession and approached another gaping canyon in the desert floor. A road cut down into the rock lead to the canyon floor and had been the exit ramp for the bikes. The bikes ripped around and took the lead down the road.

"What is this, this is getting crazy." Victoria asked, having been surprisingly quiet up till now.

"Like I said, we need to make a stop at the local produce stand. Do you like Strawberries?"

"Sure, love 'em!"

"Well you're in luck." Jakowski said with a smile.

The road meandered down to the canyon floor and the bikes veered off and into a large cut-out door on the far canyon wall. Jakowski pulled the truck next to the horseshoe shaped door, placed the tranny in park, and turned the engine off.

Victoria noticed electric lights illuminating the interior corridor of the door way. The two riders had disappeared through a larger door just inside the corridor and the sounds of the bikes' engines could no longer be heard.

Jakowski unhooked his harness and Victoria followed suit. Both exited the cab of the truck, Victoria remarking to herself how nice it was for her feet to be on solid ground. She followed Jakowski through the doorway and they headed right and up a few steps. Coming to rest on the top step and facing a wooden door, Jakowski put his hand in the air and made the ASL sign for the letter "i".

Two cameras zoomed in on the hand sign, then back onto the faces of Victoria and Jakowski. A thud, followed by the sounds of rubbing steel, alerted Jakowski that the door had been unlocked and that they were cleared for entry.

It was very dark, and Victoria sniffled a bit at the unfamiliar smell.

"It is Ozone that you smell." Trumpeted a booming voice which echoed on the roof from above. "Frederick, always a pleasure!"

"Yes, yes it is." answered Jakowski, embarrassed that Victoria now knew his first name.

A light flashed on with a hum, revealing Ryan standing about 20 yards down a long hall. The walls of the hall were lined with long aluminum ducting and digital security cameras spaced at intervals of 50 ft.  The floor was no longer dirt and desert dust, it was steel reinforced catwalk.

"What is it this time? Guns? Drugs? Money? Gold? Guns? Ha ha ha ha.." Ryan chuckled.

"A little bit of all please. Of course. With an extra side order of guns." Jakowski answered, seriously.

"Cooked-to-order!" Ryan said as he walked toward Jakowski, arm outstretched with an open palm.

The two friends shook hands briefly and then pulled it in for a man-hug.

"Who is this fine senorita?"

"My name is Victoria."

"Hello, my name is Ryan. Tom Ryan."

"We don't have much time, I need to get back to Nogales." Jakowski informed Ryan. "I might need your help down there too."

"You know me, always willing to help. What do you need?" Ryan inquired.

"Hardware for a few days, 10K rounds, some light fireworks, a few ounces, and about $50K in cash."

"I got you covered for all that, but ounces?"

"Gold, Ryan, Gold." Quipped Jakowski, "I'll be back for the other "ounces" on the flip side."


The three walked down the hall, the metal accents on Victoria's shoes clanking on the steel flooring. About 50 ft down the hall, after Walking through one mechanical-sliding-door, Ryan halted the group in front of a tubular steel cage-like door. Keying in his 5-digit code on the door's electronic keypad, he pushed the door open and flipped a switch on wall panel. A red-hued light responded to Ryan's wishes and the room revealed itself.

The sight dazzled Victoria's eyes.

And to be truthful, even though he'd seen it a dozen times, the sight also dazzled Fredr...er, Jakowski's eyes.

Lining the walls of the room were racks of rifles; the racks were 2-stories tall, 20 yards long, and the guns were stacked 3-rifles deep. Aks, M-16s, G3s, FALs, Dragunovs, .50 BMG Barretts, Steetsweepers, numerous redundant sniper rifles from .223 through .338 lapua. 

Under the racks were pegboard organizers displaying handguns, and sub machine guns. Thousands of them. Mac-10s, H and K MP5s, Sigs, Glocks, Uzis, you name it.

Two tables in the middle of the room held crates filled with explosive ordnance, and mini guns, stacked 5-6 crates tall.

Another three tables were stacked with crates filled with variously marked ammo from a wide spectrum of manufacturing countries. Crates under all 5 tables were also filled with ammo.

Victoria, having a serious firearms fetish, immediately ran to a rack and picked up a vintage 8mm MG42.

"Where are the strawberries you promised?" She asked looking back at Jakowski, barely containing her excitement.

"So I lied." Jakowski  said with a smile ear to ear.

 

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