Girl Jacked
Chapter 1 – The Boar’s Butt
“Car 68?” The dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Copy.”
“We got a 10-10 in progress at The Boar’s Butt.”
The Boar’s Butt was a local bar and pizza joint that mainly catered to the same crowd of rowdy guys. Jack always laughed at the name.
“Any other info?” Jack swung the car around and hit the lights.
“Bartender called it in. No other details. Backup is going to be delayed. What’s your ETA?”
“Ten minutes,” Jack grinned.
“10-4.”
The smile on his face grew as his speed increased. He loved driving fast and relished one of the perks of law enforcement.
I’ll gun it and be there in less than six.
As he raced to the opposite side of town, he looked down at the clock. 11:35 pm. There wasn’t another car on the road in the county of Darrington. The sleepy backwater community had little to offer in excitement and nightlife.
As he sped down the deserted streets, Jack felt alive.
The leather creaked as he gripped the steering wheel and settled back into his seat. He always preferred the refitted Charger for patrol. Its V8 with 368 horsepower and 395 lbs. of torque roared to life.
I love this car.
The other cops knew Jack had practically claimed it as his own. To Jack, the car did belong to him which was why he had almost gotten into a fistfight with Billy Murphy when someone saw Murphy doing donuts in a deserted parking lot.
The stupid idiot.
Jack cut down a side road that ran straight for nearly a mile. He pinned the gas pedal flat to the floor and the Hemi roared with pleasure at its freedom. A rush of adrenaline surged through him as the telephone poles whizzed by at light speed. He kept his hands slightly loose on the steering wheel as he made minor corrections. All too soon, he neared the end of the street and forced himself to slow down… his momentary escapism ended.
A minute later, Jack killed the lights as he rolled into the bar’s parking lot. Jack had a knack for getting into trouble. He decided to angle the Charger so it pointed at the woods and not towards the front of the bar.
No need for the dash cam footage to end up on Sheriff Collins’ desk.
There were less than a dozen cars and trucks parked outside. He scanned them quickly and two stood out. An old Chevy Super Sport and an enormous red Timberline work truck.
The guy who owns that Chevy always has an attitude.
Jack had pulled him over a couple of times. He fancied himself a tough guy and a ladies’ man. Jack didn’t think he was either.
The Timberline truck meant he would find other lumberjacks inside. In his three years of being a cop and during his tour in Iraq, Jack had seen some tough guys, but a lumberjack made his short list of guys that he didn’t want to fight.
He grabbed a backup set of cuffs and jumped out. Instinctively, he reached back in and snagged his hat.
They taught you at the academy how to use something as simple as a hat for crowd control. From the gold shield on top, to the trick of angling your head to hide your eyes, the hat was a tool to be used.
He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, before pulling the hat down a little lower than usual.
It’s a fight. Crowd control; investigate, intimidate then dissipate.
As he climbed the steps that led to the outside deck of the bar, he made sure not to touch the railing. Made out of 2” rusted plumbing pipe screwed directly onto the porch, the thick railing would turn the palm of your hand an instant rusty orange if you touched it.
Jack pushed the heavy wooden door in as a young couple hurried out. The door had similar pipe for a handle, and Jack tested it as he held open the door and stepped out of their way. The man nervously looked over his shoulder back into the bar as he prodded his girlfriend to escape. She flashed a smile at Jack before she was hustled down the steps.
Jack was a good-looking guy, definitely not a pretty boy but he never had to work too hard to attract girls.
He began scanning the room as he walked through the door. The entire restaurant was a large, open room with a kitchen at the back. There were five booths against the wall and next to them were five large tables, each covered with checkered red and white vinyl tablecloths. Dwight Yokum’s version of ‘Little Sister’ played over the jukebox, and the smell of pizza and beer filled the air.
On the opposite wall was a long serving bar with a dozen stools. Jammed into the corners were two pinball machines and a jukebox. They had painted the brown floor so many times that it was hard to tell, but it was wood underneath.
Calling the Boar’s Butt a restaurant was a stretch. It served a few different types of pizza. If you asked for an appetizer, the waitress pushed a bowl of popcorn closer to you. They served beer, hard liquor, and on occasion cheap wine for the rare girl who dared to ask.