Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The Novel Chapter VII
The DEA agent compared the license plate now refecting in his rearview mirror to the readout on his laptop. It was Corky Jeffson all right-yes THE Corky Smith Jeffson-wanted by the FBI for a list of numerous crimes, including neutering a Idaho narc with a twelve inch hard steel Finnish anglers knife.
Corky was a loser and he had nothing to lose. He had been lost since he was a child, growing up in Colorado City. Corky's mom was one of eleven wives of the polygamist Rufus Jeffson III. Corky was only 13 years younger than her. They looked like brother and sister more than mother and child. Corky was the runt of the litter and Rufus didn't take to him well. He wasn't like the other young boys at Colorado City. He was lazy and had a penchant for stealing, and by the age of 12 he noticed he had his fathers genes and a eye for the girls. The town elders tried in vain to straighten him out and Rufus's leather belt could not detour his wicked cravings. By age 15 he had fathered a child and was excommunicated and banned from Colorado City. He was on the road.
He had learned two fatal bad lessons growing up - lie to the law, and every gentile is your enemy. He had been in and out of juvenile halls, state prisons, and half way houses ever since. He loved Meth. He also loved the rush of being evil. He liked to brag to his Golden Shores buddies that he had once taken a man's life in a botched robbery at a BunBoy Restaurant in Baker Calif. His favorite hobby was stealing. Sometimes he would steal from his so-called friends just to keep in practice. He couldn't be trusted by anyone at the makeshift commune. Most of the court jesters gave him a wide berth. The Glock 23 that he was undoubtably carrying was most certainly the one stolen from Turner's Outdoors just days before.
The task force had spent two days analyzing the video surveillance tapes. "I don't wanna kill anybody here!" Corky had shouted out nervously as he pushed the .40 caliber weapon deeper and deeper into the cashier's abdomen. "Ain't no one gonna die long as you give me the money from the cash registers and these guns---don't move---I mean it!!! Where's the fucking safe? Some motherfucker let me into the safe!!!! Don't move or this bitch is dead!" screamed Corky, unaware that he was being videotaped on the stores camera system as he pushed open the back doors of the store looking for an exit into the alley with his hostage. It was a scene right out of an Oliver Stone movie, only it was real.
The tired local cop was now at the DEA agent's side. These multi unit task force jobs brought everybody out. Dolorez was cranky from the sweltering heat and had almost dozed off. She couldn't stand the humid 100 degree Mohave weather. Missy D had the undercover car's air conditioner and AM radio on high blast and was multi-tasking, putting on some cheap Sam's Club red rouge lipstick, organizing her purse, answering her cell phone and trying to find just one decent Needles radio station that did not play that disgusting redneck Country and Western music. Basically she was doing everything but her job. Anyway nothing ever happens in these hick towns on stake-outs. Until today................
Posted by Blue Heron at 9:29 AM
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