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Medallions d20 Modern (Update Wednesday 09-20-06)
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<blockquote data-quote="Old Drew Id" data-source="post: 947824" data-attributes="member: 12175"><p><strong>P.I. Willie Lamar</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>P.I. Willie Lamar</strong></p><p></p><p>You hate the rain. </p><p></p><p>Okay, you hate the rain, and you hate Sunday nights.</p><p></p><p>Okay, fine, you hate rain, you hate Sunday nights, and you hate Councilman Jim Slate.</p><p></p><p>It would be bad enough, stooping to these little, petty, is-my-husband-cheating-on-me jobs, where you spend nine days hiding in the bushes like a peeping tom, if you could at least go around on your own time, and stake the guy out proper. Instead, it's Sunday, and the bus don't run on Sunday. Which means you have to get Gramms to come out and drop your broke ass off here in Vestavia, so you can spend three hours in the bushes with your disposable camera and try to get a shot of this guy getting some action with his secretary between his weekend city council meeting and returning home to Jane and the kids. </p><p></p><p>Then the rain hits.</p><p></p><p>So now, just to recap, you are sitting outside the Vestavia City Hall, in the rain, in the dark, in the bushes, soaking wet, with a disposable camera, and your gun digging into your hip. You sit there for one hour, then two. You really need to bring a radio on these stake-outs. Your mind wanders. You re-play an entire season of New York Undercover in your head. You remember some dream you had last night. A nightmare, now that you remember it. You were at the funeral for your grandfather. You walked up to the casket, and put two dimes on his eyelids. Then he started growling. </p><p></p><p>The councilman guy finally comes out, and what does he do? Hops straight into his car and drives off. The secretary doesn't even come out for another five minutes, and when she does, she drives off in the other direction. </p><p></p><p>Fine. Cool. Stupid white people want to spy on each other, that's fine. Let 'em, as long as they pay the bill. Now you can at least go home and get dried off. And man, that rain is really coming down now. </p><p></p><p>You can't just walk into the civic center and use the phone to call Gramms. You want to, but you tell yourself that you will at least be professional, even on these stupid adultery cases. And besides, a soaking wet black man walking into the city hall at night while carrying a gun might not be too welcome. </p><p></p><p>So you walk a couple of blocks north up Highway 31. You make it into the Ruby Tuesday's and use the phone. Gramms answers. </p><p></p><p>Sorry, the storm is blowing too hard. She can't drive in this weather. Best wait it out a bit until the storm lets up. You don't want Gramms driving off the road, do you? </p><p></p><p>No, Gramms, that's fine. I understand. No, you're right. I'll just wait here at the bar-</p><p></p><p>You're not calling from a bar, are you?</p><p></p><p>No, Gramms, it's not a bar. Well, okay, it is a bar, but it's not a bar-bar. It's a Ruby Tues-No, ma'am, I was not going to --- No ma'am…No, ma'am I have not been drinking…. No, I was just calling from here… Yes, ma'am...</p><p></p><p>You close your eyes and lean your rain-soaked forehead against the wall, still listening to her. You can also hear the little kid bartender, in his red-and-white golf shirt and colorful flair buttons on his apron, snickering at you from across the room. You wonder in the back of your mind if this would qualify for a "black rage" defense in court.</p><p></p><p>Yes ma'am, you saw a library across the street. Yes, the one she saw on the way over. Yes, you can wait out the storm there. Yes, it would do you some good to spend some time reading from the Good Book. Yes, ma'am. You will call her back when the storm dies down. </p><p></p><p>Fine. Fine. Fine. You slam the handset back on the receiver, and march back towards the door. You stop suddenly, just even with the pip-squeak bartender. You level your best cold gaze at him. "Something funny, mother*^$*#*?"</p><p></p><p>His eyes get bigger than silver dollars, and actually does one of those big gulps, like you see in movies. You fight the urge to grin, as you head back into the rain. </p><p></p><p>Ah well, what the hell, maybe the library has a good book on police techniques. Or at least the latest issue of Guns and Ammo.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Old Drew Id, post: 947824, member: 12175"] [b]P.I. Willie Lamar[/b] [B]P.I. Willie Lamar[/B] You hate the rain. Okay, you hate the rain, and you hate Sunday nights. Okay, fine, you hate rain, you hate Sunday nights, and you hate Councilman Jim Slate. It would be bad enough, stooping to these little, petty, is-my-husband-cheating-on-me jobs, where you spend nine days hiding in the bushes like a peeping tom, if you could at least go around on your own time, and stake the guy out proper. Instead, it's Sunday, and the bus don't run on Sunday. Which means you have to get Gramms to come out and drop your broke ass off here in Vestavia, so you can spend three hours in the bushes with your disposable camera and try to get a shot of this guy getting some action with his secretary between his weekend city council meeting and returning home to Jane and the kids. Then the rain hits. So now, just to recap, you are sitting outside the Vestavia City Hall, in the rain, in the dark, in the bushes, soaking wet, with a disposable camera, and your gun digging into your hip. You sit there for one hour, then two. You really need to bring a radio on these stake-outs. Your mind wanders. You re-play an entire season of New York Undercover in your head. You remember some dream you had last night. A nightmare, now that you remember it. You were at the funeral for your grandfather. You walked up to the casket, and put two dimes on his eyelids. Then he started growling. The councilman guy finally comes out, and what does he do? Hops straight into his car and drives off. The secretary doesn't even come out for another five minutes, and when she does, she drives off in the other direction. Fine. Cool. Stupid white people want to spy on each other, that's fine. Let 'em, as long as they pay the bill. Now you can at least go home and get dried off. And man, that rain is really coming down now. You can't just walk into the civic center and use the phone to call Gramms. You want to, but you tell yourself that you will at least be professional, even on these stupid adultery cases. And besides, a soaking wet black man walking into the city hall at night while carrying a gun might not be too welcome. So you walk a couple of blocks north up Highway 31. You make it into the Ruby Tuesday's and use the phone. Gramms answers. Sorry, the storm is blowing too hard. She can't drive in this weather. Best wait it out a bit until the storm lets up. You don't want Gramms driving off the road, do you? No, Gramms, that's fine. I understand. No, you're right. I'll just wait here at the bar- You're not calling from a bar, are you? No, Gramms, it's not a bar. Well, okay, it is a bar, but it's not a bar-bar. It's a Ruby Tues-No, ma'am, I was not going to --- No ma'am…No, ma'am I have not been drinking…. No, I was just calling from here… Yes, ma'am... You close your eyes and lean your rain-soaked forehead against the wall, still listening to her. You can also hear the little kid bartender, in his red-and-white golf shirt and colorful flair buttons on his apron, snickering at you from across the room. You wonder in the back of your mind if this would qualify for a "black rage" defense in court. Yes ma'am, you saw a library across the street. Yes, the one she saw on the way over. Yes, you can wait out the storm there. Yes, it would do you some good to spend some time reading from the Good Book. Yes, ma'am. You will call her back when the storm dies down. Fine. Fine. Fine. You slam the handset back on the receiver, and march back towards the door. You stop suddenly, just even with the pip-squeak bartender. You level your best cold gaze at him. "Something funny, mother*^$*#*?" His eyes get bigger than silver dollars, and actually does one of those big gulps, like you see in movies. You fight the urge to grin, as you head back into the rain. Ah well, what the hell, maybe the library has a good book on police techniques. Or at least the latest issue of Guns and Ammo. [/QUOTE]
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