A story called "Can you check my speedometer?"
About 20 years ago, in a small, flat, Indiana farming town of about 2000 people, there was a town police officer who took great joy going out of his way to inconvenience people a lot more than the other five officers did. While the other officers were known and well liked in the area, he was considered an outsider. He particularly relished in ticketing younger drivers for whatever violations he could, no matter how insignificant. He was even known in the small community for "baiting" drivers at night by leaving his high beams on in the eyes of oncoming traffic, then when the oncoming motorist "flashed" their high beams as a reminder, they were stopped and ticketed for "failure to dim high beams". He also enjoyed being on the 6pm to 6am shift, because it allowed him to feed his power-hungry ego until about midnight, at which point he went home and watched television until the end of his shift, leaving the town unprotected. Yes folks, Officer Marrette was a real work of art.
Officer Marrette had a favorite spot he liked to occupy when he was hungry for his next "victim". Like a panther lying in wait for its prey, he sat in the alley next to the town's fire station which jutted out a mere ten feet from the road, making him virtually invisible to traffic approaching from the north. The grade school on the other side of the alleyway provided him no camoflage, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make; since it was a school zone, any ticket issued carried an automatic double fine.
The youth of this small town was just like any other in many ways; many cliques existed within the adolecent population. There were the nerds, the jocks, and the gearheads, among others. Officer Marrette harassed both the jocks and the gearheads equally. In his own youth he was shunned by both, which only fueled his desire to lord his position as Police Officer over them whenever possible.
On one particular Saturday evening one of the "gearheads", a 19 year old kid named Scott with a nice 1983 Monte Carlo, cruised down the main drag of town from the south. Even though most of the cruisers knew each other, this car commanded the respect of others, and the disdain of most of the local law enforcement. You see, this was no run-of-the-mill Monte Carlo. Sure, from the outside, it was no different than the other billion G-bodied cars on the road in the Corn Belt; faded white paint, steel rally wheels, bench seat, and a column shifter.
It was the sound of this car that betrayed it.
Faster than one of Officer Marrette's marks trying to sidestep their way out of a ticket, the symphony of the 454 turning 2000 RPM put all who heard it on notice: there's more to me than meets the eye...spar with me at your own risk. To the trained ear, it sang a ballad about a big block Chevy mated to a Turbo 350 transmission, sending it's power to a 3.73 Positraction rear end.
Spotting Officer Marrette in his favorite lair, he passed from the south through the "kill zone" one mile per hour under the 35 mile per hour speed limit. Scott and Officer Marrette knew each other's reputations, and Scott knew that not giving Marrette an opportunity to "flex his muscle" in front of the other jocks and gearheads inflicted as much pain on the cop as a root canal, hold the novacaine.
And so the Wolf in Sheeps Clothing calmly made it's way past the Panther. One watching for a moment of weakness, the other wary of any hint of aggression.
Scott made his way to the other end of town, where he parked in the parking lot of one of the local establishments where "the crowd" gathered on a regular basis. It was almost midnight and the restaurant closed, so the parking lot became their little piece of "turf" for a few hours.
They did what kids do; a few would leave to cruise, and some would park to shoot the breeze withtheir friends. There was a lot of BSing, a ton of bench racing, and as a fellow cruiser left for the night, the occasional burnout.
Scott's friend Steve showed up. "Hey, Marrette just got Jerry" Steve said as he got out of his Camaro. "I don't even know what for, he was right behind me, we weren't speeding or anything! What is it with that guy!"
"Man, you know how it is, if that *ss doesn't have a reason, he invents one" Scott said. "Hell, last week he wrote Dave Richards up for driving after dark without his headlights on, and it wasn't even five o'clock yet."
About that time Jerry pulled up.
"Wha'd he get you for Jerry?" Said Steve.
Jerry chuckled. "Friggin license plate light! Can you believe that crap? And only one of the two of them were out!"
They all shook their heads, as if to say "What a jackass".
"You know, maybe it's time Marrette got taught a thing or two" Said Scott, with a slight smirk. He knew that Marrette would never allow his reputation to me marred by "one that got away". But the getting away would be the tough part.
What did you have in mind dude?" Craig asked.
"C'mon, I think my speedo's a little off, maybe he can check it for me." The smirk grew slightly into a grin.
They all piled into the Monte Carlo and headed south, knowing full well that the Panther would be guarding his hunting grounds. By now, it was closing in on 2am, and not another car was on the road.
They passed the fire station. "Is he back there?" asked Scott. A chorus of "Yeah, the b*st*rd!" echoed through the car. "Good" he replied.
They continued south to the other end of the cruise loop, and headed back. Scott slowly turned into the alley and pulled up to the squad car.
"What do you want!" hissed Marrette like a cornered cobra. "Hey, uhhh.. listen, I think my speedo might be reading a little slow, if I come by here can you clock me and let me know how fast I'm going?"
Marrette was an *******, but he wasn't a stupid *******. He instantly realized that if the speedometer was reading low, Scott would be speeding when he passed by. "Ticket time for that punk!" Marrette thought to himself. "Yeah, sure, I'll tell you how fast you're going" he said with a grin that was invisible in the darkness.
"OK, thanks man, I'll be by in a minute"
Marrette couldn't belive his luck. It was almost like this dumbass was asking him for a ticket, and he was more than happy to help out. He thought about the look that would be on Scott's face as he asked for his signature, and then told him to "have a nice day". He chuckled to himself.
As the minutes ticked by, Marrette became restless; the Panther wanted his promised kill. Five minutes passed, then ten.
Then it happened.
The Monte Carlo shot past the fire station at over 135 miles per hour in a streetlight-lit blur, a full hundred miles per hour over the speed limit. The sound of the 454, previously muffled by the side of the enormous fire station, echoed through the night air like a sonic boom from an F15 at full throttle. Marrette spilled scalding hot coffee on his private region. The Panther, so accustomed to being the hunter, was now the prey. He'd been had big time by the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing.
By the time Marrette had begun to grasp what had happened, the Monte Carlo was every bit of 3 miles down the road, it's taillights quickly evaporating into the darkness.
The occupants in the car were busy hi-fiving each other in a frenzy of celebration when someone asked the obvious question... "Jesus man, he KNOWS it was you, what the Hell are you gonna do now? You're in it deep man!"
Scott grinned, because that was the foundation of the whole plan. "He won't say a word. If he does, it means he has to admit I got away. He can't handle that."
They all laughed even harder. Yes, the Panther had been had.
_____________________________________________________________
Hope ya'll enjoyed my little story, it's "based on actual events", and no, "Marrette" is not his real name.
It's close tho
Scott
EDIT: This is my first attempt at creating a short story. Please let me know what you thought of it, maybe I'll write some more if it gets a positive response -Scott
About 20 years ago, in a small, flat, Indiana farming town of about 2000 people, there was a town police officer who took great joy going out of his way to inconvenience people a lot more than the other five officers did. While the other officers were known and well liked in the area, he was considered an outsider. He particularly relished in ticketing younger drivers for whatever violations he could, no matter how insignificant. He was even known in the small community for "baiting" drivers at night by leaving his high beams on in the eyes of oncoming traffic, then when the oncoming motorist "flashed" their high beams as a reminder, they were stopped and ticketed for "failure to dim high beams". He also enjoyed being on the 6pm to 6am shift, because it allowed him to feed his power-hungry ego until about midnight, at which point he went home and watched television until the end of his shift, leaving the town unprotected. Yes folks, Officer Marrette was a real work of art.
Officer Marrette had a favorite spot he liked to occupy when he was hungry for his next "victim". Like a panther lying in wait for its prey, he sat in the alley next to the town's fire station which jutted out a mere ten feet from the road, making him virtually invisible to traffic approaching from the north. The grade school on the other side of the alleyway provided him no camoflage, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make; since it was a school zone, any ticket issued carried an automatic double fine.
The youth of this small town was just like any other in many ways; many cliques existed within the adolecent population. There were the nerds, the jocks, and the gearheads, among others. Officer Marrette harassed both the jocks and the gearheads equally. In his own youth he was shunned by both, which only fueled his desire to lord his position as Police Officer over them whenever possible.
On one particular Saturday evening one of the "gearheads", a 19 year old kid named Scott with a nice 1983 Monte Carlo, cruised down the main drag of town from the south. Even though most of the cruisers knew each other, this car commanded the respect of others, and the disdain of most of the local law enforcement. You see, this was no run-of-the-mill Monte Carlo. Sure, from the outside, it was no different than the other billion G-bodied cars on the road in the Corn Belt; faded white paint, steel rally wheels, bench seat, and a column shifter.
It was the sound of this car that betrayed it.
Faster than one of Officer Marrette's marks trying to sidestep their way out of a ticket, the symphony of the 454 turning 2000 RPM put all who heard it on notice: there's more to me than meets the eye...spar with me at your own risk. To the trained ear, it sang a ballad about a big block Chevy mated to a Turbo 350 transmission, sending it's power to a 3.73 Positraction rear end.
Spotting Officer Marrette in his favorite lair, he passed from the south through the "kill zone" one mile per hour under the 35 mile per hour speed limit. Scott and Officer Marrette knew each other's reputations, and Scott knew that not giving Marrette an opportunity to "flex his muscle" in front of the other jocks and gearheads inflicted as much pain on the cop as a root canal, hold the novacaine.
And so the Wolf in Sheeps Clothing calmly made it's way past the Panther. One watching for a moment of weakness, the other wary of any hint of aggression.
Scott made his way to the other end of town, where he parked in the parking lot of one of the local establishments where "the crowd" gathered on a regular basis. It was almost midnight and the restaurant closed, so the parking lot became their little piece of "turf" for a few hours.
They did what kids do; a few would leave to cruise, and some would park to shoot the breeze withtheir friends. There was a lot of BSing, a ton of bench racing, and as a fellow cruiser left for the night, the occasional burnout.
Scott's friend Steve showed up. "Hey, Marrette just got Jerry" Steve said as he got out of his Camaro. "I don't even know what for, he was right behind me, we weren't speeding or anything! What is it with that guy!"
"Man, you know how it is, if that *ss doesn't have a reason, he invents one" Scott said. "Hell, last week he wrote Dave Richards up for driving after dark without his headlights on, and it wasn't even five o'clock yet."
About that time Jerry pulled up.
"Wha'd he get you for Jerry?" Said Steve.
Jerry chuckled. "Friggin license plate light! Can you believe that crap? And only one of the two of them were out!"
They all shook their heads, as if to say "What a jackass".
"You know, maybe it's time Marrette got taught a thing or two" Said Scott, with a slight smirk. He knew that Marrette would never allow his reputation to me marred by "one that got away". But the getting away would be the tough part.
What did you have in mind dude?" Craig asked.
"C'mon, I think my speedo's a little off, maybe he can check it for me." The smirk grew slightly into a grin.
They all piled into the Monte Carlo and headed south, knowing full well that the Panther would be guarding his hunting grounds. By now, it was closing in on 2am, and not another car was on the road.
They passed the fire station. "Is he back there?" asked Scott. A chorus of "Yeah, the b*st*rd!" echoed through the car. "Good" he replied.
They continued south to the other end of the cruise loop, and headed back. Scott slowly turned into the alley and pulled up to the squad car.
"What do you want!" hissed Marrette like a cornered cobra. "Hey, uhhh.. listen, I think my speedo might be reading a little slow, if I come by here can you clock me and let me know how fast I'm going?"
Marrette was an *******, but he wasn't a stupid *******. He instantly realized that if the speedometer was reading low, Scott would be speeding when he passed by. "Ticket time for that punk!" Marrette thought to himself. "Yeah, sure, I'll tell you how fast you're going" he said with a grin that was invisible in the darkness.
"OK, thanks man, I'll be by in a minute"
Marrette couldn't belive his luck. It was almost like this dumbass was asking him for a ticket, and he was more than happy to help out. He thought about the look that would be on Scott's face as he asked for his signature, and then told him to "have a nice day". He chuckled to himself.
As the minutes ticked by, Marrette became restless; the Panther wanted his promised kill. Five minutes passed, then ten.
Then it happened.
The Monte Carlo shot past the fire station at over 135 miles per hour in a streetlight-lit blur, a full hundred miles per hour over the speed limit. The sound of the 454, previously muffled by the side of the enormous fire station, echoed through the night air like a sonic boom from an F15 at full throttle. Marrette spilled scalding hot coffee on his private region. The Panther, so accustomed to being the hunter, was now the prey. He'd been had big time by the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing.
By the time Marrette had begun to grasp what had happened, the Monte Carlo was every bit of 3 miles down the road, it's taillights quickly evaporating into the darkness.
The occupants in the car were busy hi-fiving each other in a frenzy of celebration when someone asked the obvious question... "Jesus man, he KNOWS it was you, what the Hell are you gonna do now? You're in it deep man!"
Scott grinned, because that was the foundation of the whole plan. "He won't say a word. If he does, it means he has to admit I got away. He can't handle that."
They all laughed even harder. Yes, the Panther had been had.
_____________________________________________________________
Hope ya'll enjoyed my little story, it's "based on actual events", and no, "Marrette" is not his real name.
It's close tho
Scott
EDIT: This is my first attempt at creating a short story. Please let me know what you thought of it, maybe I'll write some more if it gets a positive response -Scott
