Monday, April 11, 2005

   Nougat: Origins (Chapter II)
[Well, we just got through the long talky character-intro chapter . . . time to kick it up!]


"Radio, this is cruiser PPT-four-niner," Nougat messaged into the hand-held speaker, "we are in pursuit of a blue New Yorker, license plate sierra-romeo-bravo, four-niner-seven. Currently heading down Clark, wouldn't mind some assistance. Over."

"You play the radio part well," Ruth commented as she drove the speeding police cruiser over the long, wet roads.
"Hey," Nougat replied, "since I didn't have to call for shotty, I figured I might as well do something to make up for it." As the siren above them wailed, Nougat was effectively bouncing in his seat with excitement. Ruth was quick to notice, and kept a calm grin on her face as she drove.
"So hey, you're quite the lucky one, aren't ya?" she asked.
"How do ya figure?" Nougat responded.
"Ya know, new guy gets to be in a car chase so early in his career . . . gotta be fun for ya." Nougat let out a strong, amused laugh.
"Just like goin' to the fair . . ."
"Yeah, don't forget to hang on to the ride - you're still new and I don't want your puke in my car, got it?"
"Yes ma'am!"

"Unit four-niner," someone hailed over the radio, "keep him going in that direction for a bit longer. Over." Nougat kept himself from swearing upon hearing the message.
"Um, how do you propose we keep him going? Last I checked our squad cars weren't equipped with telepathy-projectors . . . over."
"You're an ass, Nougat," Ruth commented quickly; Nougat grunted in response.
"Unit four-niner, just keep chasing him until you hit Shell Road. Once there it's a long straight road with no intersections for a while - we've got a trap set up at the end of it. Over." Nougat rolled his eyes and said something crude under his breath.
"Roger," he said into the speaker, "we'll do our best, over."

Nougat leaned over to his current partner.
"Alright Ruth, y'think you can keep him going straight for another five blocks?"
"I'm workin' on it!" Ruth answered back just before yanking hard on the wheel and regaining control over the slippery road. For the past couple weeks the weather had actually dried up quite a bit, so the roads were especially slick with the new rainfall. Ruth knew well enough that this was easily the worst situation to have in a high speed pursuit, but there was little she could do about it other than stay extra focused on the matter at hand. She was just glad that the other drivers on the road were pulling over early enough to make themselves less of a hazard.

"Three blocks on, two to go!" Nougat said enthusiastically as the scenery moved from the light commercial areas to a more spacious grid of long roads. To their right was a large field with various antenna towers built above them; to their left was a long sidewalk lined with trees and little else. "You're goin' down, ya car-jackin' bastard!" He continued shouting other similar remarks until the car jerked sharply again.
"Sorry," Ruth said flatly; Nougat stopped shouting.

"I think we lucked out," Ruth said, breaking the short ten second period of solid siren wailing. "I think that driver knows the roads are wet too, so he doesn't wanna take any fast turns and move off this road." Nougat nodded along, understanding completely.
"So he's not entirely reckless, then," Nougat commented.
"Nope, just reckless enough." Nougat could only grip at the door handle with one hand anxiously while drumming on the dash with his other.

Nougat clicked the radio receiver on as they neared the trap.
"This is unit four-niner, we're almost at Shell Road now. Over."
"Four-niner, this is eight-three," the radio chattered, "we're at the end just before Number 4 Road; we've got our cars set up in a road block. I think we've got 'im, over."
"Roger that, hope to see ya soon." Nougat replaced the receiver on its holster and watched the New Yorker blaze on, spraying water as it sped.

"Okay, we're going insanely fast and we're still not friggin' up to speed with him," Nougat said gruffly. "There's no way that guy's gonna brake in time to not smoke the roadblock and clear it anyway.
"They usually do," Ruth reassured, "don't worry . . . 'sides, the guys on the other end are good cops, they won't get hit too bad . . ." Nougat shot to attention.
"Hit?!"
"Not literally!" Ruth shot back. The rookie officer breathed out hard, drummed out three finals beats on the dash even harder, and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Hey, new guy, what the hell do you think you're . . . hey!" Nougat was already rolling down the window before Ruth could finish.
"Keep me steady . . ." he said as he unholstered his sidearm and reached his head out the window.
"Nougat! Get back in here right now!" Ruth commanded.
"It'll be alright," he shouted over the wind, sirens and rain, "I just wanna slow him down so he doesn't smack the other guys too hard!"
"We're almost at the roadblock! Do you wanna cripple yourself within the first month of your job you retard?!"
"Hold her steady!" Nougat shouted back; he was already leaning his entire torso out the window.

The young constable Took careful aim at the New Yorker's rear tire, squinting hard to keep the rain and wind out of his vision. He fired once, almost losing what little balance he had as he contained the recoil of the pistol - he missed. The young officer went on to lean even further out of the window, reaching to the point that his hips were resting on the car door. Ruth shouted again.
"Damnit stop shooting! You're gonna hit the guys on the other side of the . . ."

The roadblock came up quicker than anyone thought - the perpetrator included. The driver in the New Yorker slammed the brakes hard, trying not to crash into the makeshift wall created by two police cruisers set across the street with officers behind them. The effort was only partially successful, however, as the wet roads in turn put the New Yorker into a dangerous slide. As the stolen car slowly drifted sideways, Ruth slammed on her own brakes and swerved to her left. Though she also slid, it was nowhere as wild as the other car. Nougat, meanwhile, shook with the lurch and desparately tried to stabilise himself. Unfortunately with the rain, the top of the car gave little in the way of hand holds. As Ruth swerved to the left, Nougat fell to the right.

Nougat rolled as best he could to protect himself, but still managed to rub his elbows raw on the wet concrete. After groaning quickly, he looked up and saw the New Yorker already turning around to escape in his direction - Ruth had swerved completely out of the driver's way, leaving only empty road between himself and the young rookie. The New Yorker's motor roared and its tires skidded as the driver gunned it directly towards the downed officer. Nougat tried to get up and out of the way, but knew that his legs were too badly shaken from the fall to be of much use. At that point, the sound of the incoming engine seemed like the only thing remotely capable of movement.

Nougat's heart raced while the New Yorker beared down on him. It was then that something finally clicked inside him. As if on instinct, Nougat scanned the street for his pistol and saw it lying within a body's length from him. With one last curse he pulled himself over and rolled towards his firearm, grabbed it, and continued rolling until he was lying prone on the street - in the same moment, he squeezed the trigger.

An audible pop echoed in the spacious street as the New Yorker's front tire burst. The car screeched, swerved, and slammed into the far curb, stopping instantly. Nougat was able to raise his head out from under his hands early enough to see the rest of the officers rush in, sidearms drawn, to apprehend the dazed driver. The next minute or so more or less disappeared from Nougat's memory in the meantime . . .


". . . Noug'? Yo, Nougat?" Ruth repeated while helping the battered officer up off the ground.
"We get him?" Nougat asked, a slight sense of levity in his voice.
"Yes, you moron," Ruth answered, "we got him. Now let's get you back to the car until the ambulance gets here . . ." With that, she put an arm under Nougat's and walked him back - still, she couldn't help but notice that he was basically putting no weight onto her whatsoever.

Nougat was sitting in the car with his feet out on the street, eyes closed and head resting against his seat. Ruth opted to stay in the rain, leanging against the body of the car on the other side of the open door.
"Hey Nougat, pass me the radio," she requested. Nougat murmered quietly and passed the receiver to her. "Hello, unit two-eight, unit two-eight . . . Flint, where the hell are ya?" After a long break, the sergeant finally picked up.
"Yeah, yeah, unit two-eight, what the hell do you want, Ruth?" Nougat laughed out his nose listening to Flint talk - he still wasn't used to his crudeness.
"Just wanted to fill you in on the after-effects of that chase."
"Alright, go for it," Flint said. Ruth answered.

" . . . . . Flint, the new guy's an idiot. A big one. But . . . he can shoot like a rocket . . ."
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