Under the Radar

It seemed like the afternoon sun was concentrating all it's might on an innocent Crown Vic preying patiently in a clearing off the side of a sparsely vegetated highway just outside of Hartford Connecticut.

"We can fry eggs on the hood of this bitch," Jeff Summers, an auspicious rookie cop, blurted out as he was baking in the passenger seat.

"You already ate breakfast kid. For lunch we're getting takeout." Bill Falco, a long-time trooper blurted out. "But we always get takeout Bill. And you call it takeout but we never actually take-out. We always eat inside that un-air conditioned hell-hole just so you can look at that one petite Asian waitress waving her non-existent ass around."

"Watch it kid. I like you but watch it. When you get to be my age, you get the privilege of looking at any type of ass your failing heart desires."

"So that's where half my check goes, towards supporting a generation of porch-perverts sitting on your asses pretending you can still get a hard on."

"Say another word and I'll shove this gun so deep down your throat you'll get a speeding ticket for shitting so fast."

"Alright, as long as get my chicken-and-broccoli."

"That's what I thought."

Bill threw his foot on the throttle. Smoke came out from under the rear tires and drifted up into the pine trees.

"Let's do some Super Trooper type shit next catch. I play good cop, you play bad—" Jeff was interrupted by a black BMW X5 that blew past their vehicle.

Bill instantaneously drew out the radar gun and clocked the vehicle at 90; the speed limit was 65 mph.

"Quick Draw McGraw over here," Jeff said.

"You learn kid, you'll learn."

Bill turned the sirens on and slammed his foot down against the throttle, now in pursuit of the law-defying vehicle. The driver, once realizing she was being pursued, let up and pulled over to the shoulder.

"Good cop, bad cop?" Jeff asked.

"I'll be the bad cop." Bill replied.

Jeff was the first to walk over to the culprits car. He walked over with an air of righteous experience, chewing slowly on god knows what with his thumbs hidden behind a thick black leather belt, and gave three sure knocks against the window.

The glass pane sailed down and behind it was a young asian woman.

"License and registration please," Jeff softly commanded now turning his head towards the female. "Say aren't Mrs. Zhou's daughter? From Lucky Dragon?"

"Yes," Charlotte Zhou, Bill's not-yet legal temptress said, "I'm sorry officer, I'm running late for my SAT exam; I really need to go."

"College more important than obeying the law is it?" Jeff said sternly. "I'm only teasing. Do you know what I pulled you over for?"

"Was I speeding? Are you going to write me up? Maybe we can work something out." She flashed a lascivious glance at our dear officer. He noticed a twinkle in her eye.

"Ma'am are you causing this officer prob—" Bill walked by and interrupted himself,"Oh Charlotte! How are you? I hope that Jeff isn't causing you too much trouble. We were actually just on our way to Lucky Dragon for lunch. How's your mother?"

So much for being bad cop, Jeff thought to himself.

"Hey Bill, she's fine. I'm sorry but I gotta get to my SAT exam; this is the deadline if I want to start college at the end of this summer."

"What's the matter? Don't want to stay working at your moms?" Yeah you'd like that wouldn't you, you old perv, Jeff thought. Bill continued, "No worries. We understand, just watch your speed. Good luck."

She thanked Bill, peaked her head out of the window and flashed another glance at Jeff who was leaning against the toasty hood of the Crown-Vick. Her expression was now wicked, her eyes were now barren without any sign of hope. The twinkle in her eye was just a twinkle in her eye.

"She's a nice girl; knows how I like it: always puts extra duck sauce in the bag."

"Yea she's a real fucking Lolita," Jeff said.

As Jeff and Bill drove in the direction of Lucky Dragon, Bill's radio went off, Caucasian male shot dead in the street; he did it for the Gram, OVER.

Jeff started to laugh but Bill failed to understand the pop-culture reference.

Just below 250 Albany Ave, Hartford, CT. OVER.

They were about 20 minutes away and the appetite for some action trumped their actual appetite. Plus Charlotte wouldn't be working at the restaurant.

"I've never seen a dead body," Jeff said, "have you seen a dead body?"

Bill gave him a hardened look then turned his head back all cool.

"Bullshit."

"Today won't be your lucky day, body will be gone by the time we get there."

Jeff took Bill's radio. Could you tell them to keep the body on the street till we arrive. Over.

Bill snatched the radio out of Jeff's hands. "What the fuck is wrong with you kid. Psycho."

"I didn't join the force to submit to women who mentally jack you off trying get out of parking tickets."

"Watch it wise guy— or your gonna suffer the same fate as our friend friend out across Albany avenue."

"Bill, I challenge you to a duel. If I kill you, I'm better than you and therefore I get your job. And your benefits. I wanna be able to sit on a nice porch, couple of tallboys next to me, and just stare at all the pretty schoolgirls as they go by."

"Tallboys and schoolgirls," Bill responded.

"Fuckin 'A' man...fuckin 'A'."

Bill continued to drive into the late afternoon. They soon arrived at the location. A rectangle, formed by bright yellow caution tape started at the edge of the sidewalk and stretched out into the street. Bill parked the car on the opposite side and they walked to a corner of the rectangle.

"There's nothing here; where's the chalk outline?" Jeff inquired.

"That's just a myth kid," Bill laughed. "We don't do that." "Lame."

They stared at an empty, sectioned off piece of asphalt for 5 minutes without uttering a sound. Each one of them was thinking about the same thing, a nice porch, a couple of tallboys and some schoolgirls."

A detective-looking man ducked under the yellow tape and proceeded toward a red pool on the ground. He searchingly kneeled on top of it and peered into it as if it was supposed to project the playback of the shooting. As his eyes were commanding the animate pool of blood to reveal the murderer, two cops appeared at his side. They showed him something on a phone they were holding. He peered at the screen with the same unrelenting gaze that reflected a painted face moments ago. The detective nodded, exchanged some words with the officers, then was off. The cops started walking toward our dynamic duo, Jeff and Bill.

"Hey guys, get a load of this: the murder was caught on camera— by the asshole who got killed!" one of them blurted.

This in fact was true. What happened was, a rapper that went by the stage name of Lil Radar, birthname Andy Stroot, came down from his suburbian throne to get a taste of the street life; at least prove that he was down with it— for marketing purposes. Jeff went to high-school with the kid, so he knew. Lil Radar's Instagram Live video revealed that he managed to get caught up shooting dice. Being both rich by association and an asshole, he threw $200 into the the pot first-go. The unidentified opponent matched then called Lows. He rolled a two; Lil Radar rolled a six. It was the strangers roll first. He anticlimactically rolled a two; this meant an automatic loss. Lil Radar, perhaps never playing before became visibly excited while the opponent started cursing out everything on God's green Earth. Lil Radar, took the pot and started to walk away. In his camera he noticed that a large mass was hurling towards him so he started to sprint away. The Instagram story concluded with two loud bangs, a thump against the asphalt now fenced off with the word 'caution', and then a serine sequence of clouds rolling across the sky. The clouds trailed on for awhile until their peace was finally broken by a bald, round-faced man in a blue suit hovering over the camera. He picked up the phone and the story ended.

The detective called over the two cops, the guardians of this precious evidence, to him.

"The casualties of a dice game," Jeff started.

"Kids are stupid nowadays. Back in my day, you didn't fuck around in these parts if you were an outsider, everyone knew that, even the stupid knew that." Bill said.

"It's a different world nowadays. It's expected to be safe. Threatening situations are only a thing of movies. What we're seeing here is the old clashing with the new. The dude that supplied the dice was surely an OG; who shoots dice anymore like that? Stuck in the 90's no doubt. The kid from the suburbs probably rapped about being hard but never grazed a gun in his life. He was convinced, through his own lyrics, and the fact that he lived in the city, that the streets would welcome him. But life is different at the top of the hill. Surely his parents knew that, but it was never translated to him."

"This is why I like you kid. Even when you talk out of your ass it has sense to it."

"I just went to school with him, I know what he was about."

The detective came over to Jeff and Bill.

"Hey guys," the detective started. "Thanks for coming out. We're all set with what we need."

Jeff and Bill nodded in-sync, as if they were one sole being, then started off towards the car.

"This social media thing is really making our jobs a lot easier." Bill said.

"Yea. There are cameras everywhere; we're always under surveillance.

As Bill touched the door handle of the trooper car, a Black X5 whipped around the corner and pulled up directly behind them. Charlotte burst out and ran to the tape, dropped down to her knees, then covered her mouth when she caught sight of the the thin pool of red. Bill and Jeff immediately rushed over to her. The hands over her face masked the visual expression of grief but caused an echo effect, amplifying her sobbing. Jeff tugged his pant-legs up and crouched down to the left of her. He wrapped an arm across her shoulders and his hand began gently stroking one side.

"It'll be ok Charlotte, we'll get the bastard. I'll detain him myself and I'll let you take a couple of good jabs at his gut."

She didn't say a word and shook Jeff off. At that moment Charlotte's parents whipped around the corner in a white Mercedes G-Wagon and parked behind Charlotte's car. They burst out, ran over, and enveloped Charlotte like a thick cloak.

"We're clearly not wanted here," Jeff said to Bill. "Let's go." And again they walked to the trooper car who heard everything but said nothing. Christy, Charlotte's mother came running over to them as Bill gripped the handle for the second time. "Bill, Bill!" she yelled. "Where did they take Andy?" "I'm not sure, they didn't brief us but the two cops over there might now," Bill said as he pointed across the fenced plot of asphalt. "Thank you so much," she said and then ran off towards the cops who were still examining the video with the detective. Charlotte remained on the ground sobbing, her arms were locked around her father's torso who now had a salty mixture of sweat and tears, stained on a white dress shirt, her head pressed into the concave of his chest. Bill finally opened the door handle and both him and Jeff got inside of the trooper car.

"I think Lil Radar was her boyfriend," Jeff started.

"Yea must of been."

"But you know what's funny? In his music he's constantly talking about fucking all these women."

"Maybe him and Charlotte were just real good friends."

"Or maybe it was just for arts sake. But going off how he was sophomore year high-school, I doubt it."

"People change Jeff."

"No they don't."

White noise and mumbled, incoherent words sounded from the cop radio. Bill started up the car and pulled out, heading back in the direction of the highway.

"They should continue Lil Radar's Instagram story with the aftermath," Jeff resumed.

"What is wrong with you?"

"I'd like to see Charlotte crying, hands removed from her face and all."

"Do I need to flag you?"

"The murder frequently gets documented, but never the mourning afterwards," Jeff went on ignoring Bill's comment. "Shouldn't potential criminals in the contemplation stage be exposed to the aftermath? The agony? The tears?"

"That stuff is awkward. And wrong," Bill said.
"What kind of sick person would like to record the deepest trenches of human sadness? Is that what you're saying?"

"Sure."

"You mean you wouldn't want to avoid a generation of potential killers by exposing them to the emotional aftermath of a murder?"

"Guess I would."

Jeff took the radar gun, gripped it in both hands like a pistol and pointed it out in front of him. Simultaneously as a car blew past the intersection they were stopped at, he had had it recoil and whispered pew-pew while he was doing the motions. Bill turned the sirens on.

"Good cop, bad cop?" Bill asked.

"Sure, but this time i'm bad cop."

Bill slammed his foot down against the throttle. "Tallboys and schoolgirls?" Jeff said.

"Tallboys and schoolgirls."