Chapter 12
We're with whatever police unit has been methodically searching the
entire apartment complex in Las Vegas. Despite apparently being able to
detect a male fitting Jason's profile, either this is another vague
sensor or the boots on the ground never got that info. They've searched
every apartment except two by now. One is owned by a Ruth Gomen, and the
other by an Allen Mufi. Naturally they pick Mufi's.
And ha, this group of police was ringing the bell to get people to let them in.
If you were assuming they were once again, a bunch of combine soldiers
doing breech-bang-clear thirty or so times, I don't blame you. This does
explain how the police were so quiet as to not be heard by Jason, I
suppose. This time, the police corporal in front tries Mufi's door
before ringing, and finds it unlocked. The police sneak in with
flashlights, and find everything dark and quiet, with the debris of a
party lying around.
quote:
[The police corporal] trod across wall to wall carpet, which depicted in gold Richard M. Nixon's final ascent into heaven, amid joyous singing above and wails of misery below. At the far door he trod on God, who was smiling a lot as He received his second only begotten son back into his bosom, and pushed open the bedroom door.
Mr. Mufi is asleep as a bunch of pols enter his bedroom. Mufi then wakes up, bolts to a drawer naked, and grabs some scissors, threatening to kill himself with them. To the pols this seems a bit of an overreaction, and they haul the blanket off of Mufi's bed, noticing someone else there. It is a naked thirteen year old boy.
This is naturally horrifying to the pols, but it gets worse because the nameless pol we're with asked if the boy can prove he is thirteen, the age of consent. So funny thing: as long as the boy is thirteen and voluntarily there, this is no longer a crime. The other pols are disgusted by this, but the corporal informs them that "victimless crimes" are being removed from the books, and this is one of them. Mufi is a legal sex predator, colloquially known as a 'scan. Bear in mind, this is still abhorred, and the corporal threatens to reveal Mufi's secret at work (he's a used Quibble dealer.) This doesn't make much impact with Mufi, where he moves from terror to excuse making to smugness when he realizes the cops are just gonna leave, so the Corporal spits in his face and departs.
The pols are completely disgusted, not to mention horrified that they had to see that and were unable to do anything. They take formation in front of Ruth's door, hoping this apartment is better.
Chapter 13
Jason is still in the apartment, and is literally just theorizing on how he has 24 hour minimum, up to 48 before the cops come calling. He then notices that it is quiet, too quiet. Jason suddenly realizes he's about to get got.
The doorbell rings. Jason opens the door. The cops place Taverner into protective custidy, along with Ruth. She asks if she can get a jacket, and one of the pols grabs her and hauls her out of the apartment. Ruth is sniveling that she's going to a gulag, and Jason says "nah, they'll probably just kill you", which gets a "well you're a nice guy" from one of the arresting pols.
Jason and Ruth are taken to the police van/quibble and searched, then put aboard. Both are being taken back to LA, to the police HQ. Ruth is somewhat understandably freaking out, and the pols are actually trying to console her, saying she's just being taken back to Los Angeles, chill. Ruth says she hates LA. The pol riding in the back with them says "so do I - but we must learn to live with it; it's there."
As Ruth continies to have a little breakdown, thinking of the pols ransacking her apartment (Jason responds to this with "Yup.") Jason asks the pol with them who they are being taken to, McNulty? The pol responds with Psalm 69 (lol) and says, no, it sounds like General Felix Buckman himself wants to talk to you. The pol then quotes another verse, Isaiah 65:13, 17. Then kinda on a roll:
quote:
"All flesh is like grass," the jesus freak Pol intoned. "Like low-grade roachweed, most likely. Onto us a child is born, onto us a hit is given. The crooked shall be made straight and the straight loaded."
"Do you have a joint?" Jason asked him.
"No, I've run out." The Jesus freak pol rapped on the forward metal wall. "Hey, Ralf, can you lay a joint on this brother?"
"Here." A crushed pack of Goldies appeared by way of a grey-sleeved hand and arm.
"Thanks" said Jason as he lit up. "You want one?" he asked Ruth Rae.
"I want Bob" she whimpered. "I want my husband."
Silently, Jason sat hunched over, smoking and meditating.
"Don't give up," the Jesus-freak pol said beside him, in the darkness.
"Why not?" Jason said.
"The forced labor camps are not that bad. In basic orientation they took us through one; there's showers, and beds with mattresses, and recreation such as vollyball, and arts and hobbies; you know ----- crafts, like making candles. By hand. And your family can send you packages, and once a month they or your friends can visit you." He added "and you get to worship at the church of your choice."
Jason said sardonically, "The church of my choice is the free and open world."
After that there was silence, except for the noisy clatter of the quibble's engine, and Ruth Rae's whimpering.
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