Tears And Blood

12 Years Later...

In a sleepy California town on the way to nowhere, a police cruiser sits on a quiet street, right off a wider avenue. Main street. There is no traffic either way. The nose of the cop car juts out just off the street. Two cops are sitting, peeling back the wrappers on their burgers. As they nibble and talk, they pay scant attention to a set of headlights coming up the broad avenue. The lights come closer and shine right into the car. Only then, when the lights are directly on them, do the cops turn to see a car heading right toward their front end.

"What the..."

The front end of the cop car gets sheared right off by the impact. Glass shatters, metal crunches, airbags explode! The other car drivers door opens. A vodka bottle falls out, clinks to the sidewalk and a moment later, two legs emerge from the car. Two very long, very shapely legs. Legs that never end. In very high heels, and a very short mini skirt. And the face on top of it, framed by a mane of wild hair, is drop dead think-you-have-died- and-gone-to-heaven gorgeous. The whole package reads SUPERMODEL. And by the way she is weaving when she stands, and the bottle at her feet, the read is; very drunk supermodel. She looks at the crumpled police cruiser, looks into the windshield of the cruiser at the stunned cops, and says in the most sweetly drunk voice...

"Oops... " As she shruggs her shoulders and give the best smile she could muster.

The cops can't believe this. They regain their wits and bolt out of the car.

"That's all you have to say? Oops?" And, ever so sensually, she starts to laugh. The cops look at each other, perplexed. And she keeps laughing. The cops get pissed.

"Funny?" ...and she keeps laughing.

"Wanna laugh you crazy bitch? I'll give you something to laugh about!"

And even when they slam her to the hood of the car, jam her hands behind her back, and slap the cuffs on, she keeps laughing, and laughing.

A quiet night in the small station. Cat stands in front of the booking desk, so drunk the two cops have to hold her up. A surveillance camera over the desk innocuously records everything. Cat keeps her head down, her face, obscured by her mane of hair. As the Sergeant goes through her purse, finding no license, no registration and no ID except a library card.

"Well Ms..." He reads off the library card, "Valarie Phillips in addition to all that...you're being charged here with DUI, destruction of police property, driving the wrong way on a two way street..."

" Is that it?"

" Unless you can think of anything else you should be charged with."

" Wearing no panties?" She asks.

The Sergeant and the arresting cops holding her up give her a long look, as do any of the other cops in ear shot, whose eyes go to her very short skirt. She walked over and passes out cold right on the Sergeant's desk.

"Take her in the back, lock her up, put a cup of coffee in with her. Let her sleep it off, we'll book her tomorrow."

The two cops who booked her drag her out. As they do, the Sergeant and the two other cops on duty lean over to try and get a look up her very long legs and her very short skirt.

□□■■□□

Three black SUV's, with blacked out windows, come rolling up to the station. The doors open and a dozen U.S. MARSHALS jump out. Vigilant, forming a cordon around one of the vehicles, out of which comes a hand cuffed, kevlar wearing hard as nails mafia type. Gennaro Rizzo. The Marshal's surround him, guns bristling, on the look out for any danger, and hustle him towards the doors of the police station. The station doors slam open and the Marshal's barge in. The head marshal approaches the surprised Sergeant on the desk and flashes his credentials.