Zem Vymes
Mar 8th, 2005, 06:27:53 PM
<font size=-3>(Song excerpts from Kid Rock's "Bawitdaba")</font>
<center><font color=red>And this is for the questions that don’t have any answers
The midnight glancers and the topless dancers
The gander freaks, cars packed with speakers
The g’s with the forties and the chicks with beepers
The northern lights and the southern comfort
And it don’t even matter if the veins are punctured
All the crackheads, the critics, the cynics
And my heros in the methodone clinic
All you bastards in the IRS
For the crooked cops and the cluttered desks
For the shots of jack and the caps of meth
Half pints of love and the fifths of stress
For the hookers all trickin out in hollywood
And for my hoods of the world misunderstood
I said it’s all good and it’s all in fun
So get in the pit and try to love someone</font></center>
I passed out the holograms to each of my team members, so they could get an up close and personal view of our punk of the day.
"Take a look at this pendejo and know him by heart. His name is Ott Mandeeta."
The Twi'lek had lived a rough 27 years. Whatever parts of him weren't criss-crossed with knife scars or blaster burns were "decorated" with gang insignia ink and gold. The 24 karat crowns on his sharpened teeth were eye-catchers. They were supposed to be.
"His crew in Ja Paro Deenacha* call him the Trash Collector, and he's got the union job to match, all parole work, and all pre-arranged. Up until today, nobody's bothered to look inside the trash bags he picks up. If I'm right, it's dirty in a whole different sense of the word."
I glanced at the three badges huddled around me in the district motorpool. All ladies. I was the only man in the house, and I didn't want that kind of responsibility.
"Sergeant Burckharf, you've got raid experience. Gallagher, I know you're salty from off-district work. Keep the rookie's nose clean.
This is a frontal raid. We know that Mandeeta has to pass his product to a clearinghouse before he drives to waste management. From there, it gets doled out to the dealers in our district. Red blow, uncut Ryloth ryll. I've done a lot of intel to get to the main pipe coming through Coco district, and I think this is the one. If we hit after the pass-off, we bag any of the dozen or so major distributors of ryll in Coco.
These tail-heads aren't all solidarity. Once we got 'em, at least a few will crack, and drop dimes on their vatos. Once that happens, we roll on bigger fish, like Mandeeta himself."
I gave the team members another pass, as I lit a cigar.
"Any questions?"
<font size=-3>* = Twi'Lek street gang</font>
<center><font color=red>And this is for the questions that don’t have any answers
The midnight glancers and the topless dancers
The gander freaks, cars packed with speakers
The g’s with the forties and the chicks with beepers
The northern lights and the southern comfort
And it don’t even matter if the veins are punctured
All the crackheads, the critics, the cynics
And my heros in the methodone clinic
All you bastards in the IRS
For the crooked cops and the cluttered desks
For the shots of jack and the caps of meth
Half pints of love and the fifths of stress
For the hookers all trickin out in hollywood
And for my hoods of the world misunderstood
I said it’s all good and it’s all in fun
So get in the pit and try to love someone</font></center>
I passed out the holograms to each of my team members, so they could get an up close and personal view of our punk of the day.
"Take a look at this pendejo and know him by heart. His name is Ott Mandeeta."
The Twi'lek had lived a rough 27 years. Whatever parts of him weren't criss-crossed with knife scars or blaster burns were "decorated" with gang insignia ink and gold. The 24 karat crowns on his sharpened teeth were eye-catchers. They were supposed to be.
"His crew in Ja Paro Deenacha* call him the Trash Collector, and he's got the union job to match, all parole work, and all pre-arranged. Up until today, nobody's bothered to look inside the trash bags he picks up. If I'm right, it's dirty in a whole different sense of the word."
I glanced at the three badges huddled around me in the district motorpool. All ladies. I was the only man in the house, and I didn't want that kind of responsibility.
"Sergeant Burckharf, you've got raid experience. Gallagher, I know you're salty from off-district work. Keep the rookie's nose clean.
This is a frontal raid. We know that Mandeeta has to pass his product to a clearinghouse before he drives to waste management. From there, it gets doled out to the dealers in our district. Red blow, uncut Ryloth ryll. I've done a lot of intel to get to the main pipe coming through Coco district, and I think this is the one. If we hit after the pass-off, we bag any of the dozen or so major distributors of ryll in Coco.
These tail-heads aren't all solidarity. Once we got 'em, at least a few will crack, and drop dimes on their vatos. Once that happens, we roll on bigger fish, like Mandeeta himself."
I gave the team members another pass, as I lit a cigar.
"Any questions?"
<font size=-3>* = Twi'Lek street gang</font>