My car windows were open and Chino Moreno’s voice is blaring through the stereo. Shove it! Shove it! Shove it! Shaaaaaaarwrrrrrrr! My dad reeked of tequila and is in a coma riding shotgun beside me.
I’m doing 120kph on Regalado
yet my road kill count remains at zero so far and I intend to keep it
that way. One thing you should know about my dad is that hitting any
animal with the car, whether it’s a cute fuzzy cat, a stray dog or a
venomous snake – it’s going to cast a dreary shadow for the rest of the
night and I can’t have that considering he’s already piss drunk and I
need all his smooth talk to work its magic on the cops.
I’ve
seen it happen before; we were cruising down South Luzon Express way on
our way to Tagaytay when I felt something go under one of the car’s
tires. Strangely enough, when I looked in the rearview mirror I
realized it was a dog. How the hell did it get there? ‘You killed it!’ my dad shrieked in horror. ‘That
poor dog! She was probably on her way home to her little dog family and
now she can never go home again. The decent thing to do is get off the
next exit and go back and give the poor thing a proper burial.’ My
dad has a really twisted idea of how ideal vacations should go. After
all, nothing beats spending two hours under the scorching sun burying
an animal carcass in a shallow grave along the expressway using only a
spoon and a tire wrench as makeshift shovels. Genius runs in the family
you see.
I
pulled into the parking lot of the ramshackle structure of a police
station and seeing that my dad is still lulled in his befuddled state I
decided to leave him alone for the time being and see how my brother
was doing. The desk officer on duty was a feisty looking female. She’s
wearing the standard issue blue uniform and a small silver chain with a
pendant around her neck. Her shoulder-length black hair was parted and
pulled back neatly from her face revealing her forehead. She’s cute…
“Um, excuse me. I’m here for my brother, Villar. Ryan Villar.” What I actually meant to say was how do you expect me not to jump you and ravage you right now when you look too damn hot for a cop? Oh please Mike, not here.
“Beeelyar? Oh yeah, he’s in the interrogation room with four of his tropas.” She said with a strong southern accent.
“Can I see him?” Her nametag read ‘Simon’.
“Go ahead.” She says motioning lazily to a backroom partially hidden with mangy curtains.
“Hey!”
One of the inmates called out to me. “Nice watch! Give it to me so I
can hock it and buy myself some cigarettes” He said referring to my
fake Bulgari.
I
gave him the finger and muttered something with the words ‘scum’ and
‘society’ in it which probably wasn’t a smart thing to do considering
there’s a good chance that this man might be sharing the 4×4 meter cell
he’s in with my brother along with thirty one other inmates. It’s a
sorry sight. It makes those mass graves used by the Nazis to stack dead
Jews on top of each other look like the garden of fucking
I
barge into the interrogation room like I’m rich and important. This
tactic usually works when dealing with cops. The good thing about me is
that I have this ‘middleclass hygiene’ going on to back it up. Most
people know I’m a nine to fiver who earns a decent
paycheck by just looking at me. In this country, cops tend to get
daunted by middle class folk because they know we have enough money to
throw around and get their asses slapped with administrative cases if
they try anything funky on us.
“Release
these kids now or…” I said trying to come up with the most threatening
word I have in my scholarly, prodigious vocabulary. “…else.” Way to go Mike.
It
would’ve worked too if my voice had the guttural, thunderous quality
befitting my 5’10” 180lb frame but I have this odd shrill akin to that
of a giggling Irish school girl that I let out when I get beside
myself.
“Heh.”
Said the 40 something cop with ‘Esguerra’ written across his nameplate
in a manner I could almost interpret as insolent. “That’s not going to
happen. These kids are being detained until 10am tomorrow, the
complainant is filing physical injuries charges and this matter would
be taken to Fiscal Bautista’s office tomorrow afternoon.”
“But you can’t detain them! They’re minors fer chrissakes!”
“Says who?” Yeah Mike, says who?
“Okay
look, maybe we could talk about this man. What if I just gave you our
home address and telephone number and we’ll just return here tomorrow
in time to face the complainant.” That’s not going to work.
“That’s not possible sir. This is standard operating procedure” I told you it wasn’t going to work.
Esguerra
looks like an asshole. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could accurately
judge people by their appearance? Think about all the wonderful
possibilities: That pimply geek with curly hair will end up fucking
your girlfriend. The hottie you met in the bar last week is a
psychopath with at least fifty variations of mind games she enjoys
playing on men. And the sweet girl you’re courting has a plethora of
emotional problems and will stalk you for seven years after you break
up with her. Very convenient ain’t it?
So it
seems that I have no choice but to wait till 10am and it’s only
3am. Fuck it. I was so bored to my wits I actually came up with a short
poem about cops.
excellent writing!
hmmm. I didn't write this as exciting as I hoped it would be. I was getting sleepy. sorry.
Posted by Anonymous at July 27, 2005, 6:08 am