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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2155594
by tucson
Rated: GC · Chapter · Crime/Gangster · #2155594
Part one of part two of a longer story

Deputy Hudson Ram's fingertips strummed over the green, glowing buttons of his vehicle's service radio, sending clumps of black and brown dog hair into flight. Hot, damp breath panted into Hudson's ear despite the refreshing night air that streamed in through the steel mesh bolted into the rear window frames. Rutting croaks from just defrosted frogs penetrated the armor of the custom-built ride.

Hudson peered through the bank of solid aluminum bars behind him. "Partner, you need a mint." he recommended. A volley of tiny, wet spots buffeted his face from popping spit bubbles dribbling off the lolling, pink tongue of his hundred-pound German Shepherd, inches from his face.

"Are you ready to find some bad guys, Squatch?" Hudson goaded. Sasquatch yipped and twirled, launching a flock of his shedding winter coat airborne. Drool splattered the kennel that replaced the truck's back seat. A swarm of fur orbited him as he stopped spinning and barked out the window.

Good Boy," Hudson praised, "Leave that mess at work. The county doesn't issue us vacuums." Sasquatch regained his composure and commenced staring a hole through the filmy windshield. The canine's dark eyes twinkled as he scanned the migrating school of traffic.

The power knob of Hudson's generation three, night vision goggles clicked as he shut them off and relocated them to their hard case sitting in the passenger bucket seat. Stars and a blazing full moon rode shotgun for the environment and conserved Hudson's land fill bound batteries one more night.

Southbound cars flashed by below his perch atop a rock cut that banked the west edge of the interstate. Hudson surveyed the cruising vehicles, profiling drivers, cars and license plates before they reached cover in the spring night's distance. He adjusted the low-rise duty holster and it's .45 caliber payload that dug into his right hip.

Hudson manipulated the dials of his digital communications and surfed the broad variety of channels it received. Android like beeps and snippets of conversation, laced with ten codes, flooded the cab. Den Creek County's reached the 200 watt, hidden antenna carrying a request for 10-28, a registration check, and 10-29, a stolen vehicle check.

"Think we'll get invited to that party, pup?" Hudson asked. Sasquatch, no longer lured by the menu parading before them, diverted his attention to mauling a two inch thick branch. Dispatch returned a negative stolen and current registration. Hudson waited for the unlikely 10-32, a single unit vehicle stop, and in its place came a disregard.

Hudson scouted highway patrol domain on the next few channels and only flushed a request for a tow truck. Another click and he landed on a repeater carrying the chatter from Blazington PD, one of the local city police departments. They had a domestic disturbance but Hudson knew his dog, in most cases, wouldn't be called into a home without a warrant.

Hudson trolled on and caught a transmission from the state game wardens, a 10-47, criminal records check, and wants and warrants, a 10-50, from across his county, deep in the woods.

"Sounds sweet," said Hudson, "Let's hope, right buddy?" He checked on his furry T-Rex and found him prone, curled with nose under tail. Hudson bet he wouldn't stay that way long. An all clear from dispatch and a nothing further from the warden was uncooperative in winning his wager. He adjusted his low-rise duty holster and it's .45 caliber payload that dug into his right hip.

A scroll through a dozen more channels rallied no business for the canine. Hudson set his voltage hungry lifeline to Den Creek's main channel, Kimball Tower. He ignored the white gypsy moths that danced in the wild vegetation on the edge of the cliff and returned to browsing the conveyances on the road below as they shimmered by.

"Well partner, we might have to find our own can of worms tonight, half those slugs are probable napping." Hudson conceded. The dog, on his feet again, catapulted fluff, wagging his feathery tail. Giving the execution of his post due diligence, Hudson returned to his attempt at defiling motorists.

Weapon, ammo and gear pouches covered the green Kevlar body armor that fortified Hudson's torso. He extracted his smartphone from one pouch and swiped past his smiling, gap-toothed granddaughter to confirm his twelve-hour shift was almost half over.

High beams burst onto the horizon escorting a dirty, lagging red sedan. Moonlight whitewashed the interior and Hudson detected one large, lone driver hiding behind the bug splattered windshield. He identified the cars blue and purple plate as one from Arizona and a flight of butterflies bustled through his gut while it darted toward the horizon

"Pretty cold still, I wonder what he's doing way up here, huh pouch?" Hudson teased, "What do you say killer, wanna go find out?" Sasquatch vocalized positive with a whine of yelps.

The transmission clunked as Hudson shifted the three-quarter ton pick-up and idled over the downhill stretch of gravel that led to the hardball. Brass clasps braided into coiled leather leashes clattered against the cage they hung on as he turned after the escaping quarry and employed the throttle. A gas flooded, ten-cylinder power-plant generated a mountain of tire burning torque and wind roared around the smooth cap covering the bed, rocking the truck on its six inch factory lift. Sasquatch stood and braced his generous architecture against the back wall and the stainless-steel oval links in his collar rang against it.

Fuzzy tail lights ghosted into view. Saguaro cacti silhouetted by a setting sun came into focus as Hudson torpedoed to within feet of the tag on the exposed back bumper. He eased on the skinny gas pedal and glided behind his first victim of the night.


© Copyright 2018 tucson (michael2018 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2155594