I live and breathe my life in what I would like to call the Gray Zone. In the Gray Zone, a man finds themselves breaking the law, but not enough to where a police officer would bother nor care about enough to waste their time on you. The law is Black and White, of course, involving all sorts of horrible and atrocious acts: Homicide, Theft, Selling drugs, J-walking, driving without paperwork, speeding, driving under the influence, etc. etc. etc.
But the Gray Line is where one finds themselves then they are breaking the law, but not enough to be bothered with. This varies, of course, from pig pen to pig pen upon what the Long Arm of the Law defines as undeserving of their time. Most people wouldn't be bothered much by J-walking enough to chase down a suspect...
Boy, am I having a bad fucking day then.
Never in my entire life had I anticipated such a heightened reaction from Honolulu Police Department's finest for the simple act of walking across the street. I billowed out grunted, tight huffs as I proceeded to jet down Beritania Street, darting on my first right and into the heart of Chinatown, Hawaii. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed a single, lone HPD officer barrelling down the sidewalk in hot pursuit.
You see, normally the reaction wouldn't be as harsh nor as immediate as a footchase with the police. Usually they would give up and go about their way - but no, today by the hands of fate I crossed paths with the only fit, non-lazy officer in the entire HPD. The term "pig" would be unfitting to describe this most-likely-Japanese gentleman, for he was neither fat nor lazy. No, I was being chased by a damned shark. A demon. Satan himself wanted to see justice done and unleased the hounds of hell upon me.
Not to mention: If the police have to chase you, they're bringing an ass-beating with them. Just ask Rodney King.
But the Gray Line is where one finds themselves then they are breaking the law, but not enough to be bothered with. This varies, of course, from pig pen to pig pen upon what the Long Arm of the Law defines as undeserving of their time. Most people wouldn't be bothered much by J-walking enough to chase down a suspect...
Boy, am I having a bad fucking day then.
Never in my entire life had I anticipated such a heightened reaction from Honolulu Police Department's finest for the simple act of walking across the street. I billowed out grunted, tight huffs as I proceeded to jet down Beritania Street, darting on my first right and into the heart of Chinatown, Hawaii. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed a single, lone HPD officer barrelling down the sidewalk in hot pursuit.
You see, normally the reaction wouldn't be as harsh nor as immediate as a footchase with the police. Usually they would give up and go about their way - but no, today by the hands of fate I crossed paths with the only fit, non-lazy officer in the entire HPD. The term "pig" would be unfitting to describe this most-likely-Japanese gentleman, for he was neither fat nor lazy. No, I was being chased by a damned shark. A demon. Satan himself wanted to see justice done and unleased the hounds of hell upon me.
Not to mention: If the police have to chase you, they're bringing an ass-beating with them. Just ask Rodney King.
I looked forward, charging into the ruckus of Chinatown on a busy Monday, and attempted to wrap my cocaine-coated brain around possible options. I grabbed a shopping cart from a homeless man, turning it down behind me in hopes it would delay my pursuer.
Alleyways? - unlikely. Chinatown's alleys are all sealed.
A store? - Not with him in sight.
A bar? - Yeah. In midday. Next.
The harbor? - This isn't a videogame. Besides, that's a crime in and of itself nowadays. I'm not feeling a trip to GITMO anytime soon.
I looked back behind me, my sunglasses blocking the sunlight long enough for me to see the Terminator vault the shopping cart like it didn't even exist. Do they make new recruits take track?!
I cornered hard onto infamous HOTEL STREET - which, in modern times, has seen a hell of a neutering of it's once-grimey atmosphere. The only whore houses that exist do so in back rooms and there's a decent gamble that you're going to get a male companion. This wasn't exactly on my to-do list at the moment, though. The only thing I was focused on was the 5'6" of pain with it's sights honed on my ass.
I was barrelling towards the Marketplace, careening through groups of people and desperately looking for something - anything - for a way to lose him.
Pressed for space, I made a move that would make or break this chase. I darted into the chaos of Maunakea Marketplace, with absolue uncertainty of where I was going to go. Here stands change regularly, and there is no predictable path of persons to follow. By instinct I ran for the food court, my cocaine-hightened senses imbewing within me some kind of Spiderman-esque reflexes. I slid across it, and didn't dare to look behind me. I could feel his eyes on me: his flaring, just breath on the rim of my collar.
There is no other event in my mind at this moment. I was pure instinct - run. Escape. If I was caught, I was facing 6 months minimum for this escapade alone. If they connected me with any warrants, I'd be seeing the gray-green walls of a cell for 2-3 years.
Fuck that. People zoo is not where I'm planning to spend any portion of my life - those animals would devour an intellectual being like me up for lunch.
Alleyways? - unlikely. Chinatown's alleys are all sealed.
A store? - Not with him in sight.
A bar? - Yeah. In midday. Next.
The harbor? - This isn't a videogame. Besides, that's a crime in and of itself nowadays. I'm not feeling a trip to GITMO anytime soon.
I looked back behind me, my sunglasses blocking the sunlight long enough for me to see the Terminator vault the shopping cart like it didn't even exist. Do they make new recruits take track?!
I cornered hard onto infamous HOTEL STREET - which, in modern times, has seen a hell of a neutering of it's once-grimey atmosphere. The only whore houses that exist do so in back rooms and there's a decent gamble that you're going to get a male companion. This wasn't exactly on my to-do list at the moment, though. The only thing I was focused on was the 5'6" of pain with it's sights honed on my ass.
I was barrelling towards the Marketplace, careening through groups of people and desperately looking for something - anything - for a way to lose him.
Pressed for space, I made a move that would make or break this chase. I darted into the chaos of Maunakea Marketplace, with absolue uncertainty of where I was going to go. Here stands change regularly, and there is no predictable path of persons to follow. By instinct I ran for the food court, my cocaine-hightened senses imbewing within me some kind of Spiderman-esque reflexes. I slid across it, and didn't dare to look behind me. I could feel his eyes on me: his flaring, just breath on the rim of my collar.
There is no other event in my mind at this moment. I was pure instinct - run. Escape. If I was caught, I was facing 6 months minimum for this escapade alone. If they connected me with any warrants, I'd be seeing the gray-green walls of a cell for 2-3 years.
Fuck that. People zoo is not where I'm planning to spend any portion of my life - those animals would devour an intellectual being like me up for lunch.
I found myself drawn to a particular shop with a decent-looking Chinese woman at the front end. She couldn't have been any older than 30 (Context: I'm from a small town in Nowhere, Alabama originally, so the age of asian persons is a struggling art for me), and had a very ugly smile as she greeted me.
"Welcome to CoCo's Dre-" she began, but was immediately hushed.
"Excuse me. I'm looking for a dress for my wife do you mind no thank you." I pushed the phrases out, turning behind a rack of silk and nylon dresses. For what felt like an eternity of time I shuffled the dresses, pretending to look for something that would match my non-existant wife's body. It was a grueling process, sorting through dresses and making a hallowed attempt to look busy.
My ears then picked up on a subtle communication:
"... Nonono. He not in here." The lady said aloud, her chinese accent swam through the dresses like ether through a rag.
"Miss, you understand that hiding a fugitive is a crime, yes?" Said a very distinct and commanding voice of a well-trained demon pig.
"He not in here! We sell dress. We have officer special - half off for Christmas, yes?!" She said back.
There was a pause. I heard radio traffic on the officer's walkie-talkie. Seconds ticked by with the steady unease of hours until finally:
"Thank you miss." The officer's voice said, before hearing his communication on the radio:
"Lost suspect. BOLO for a white male, approximately 5'7" with sunglasses, white Hawaiian shirt, sandals. Possibly under the infl~" his voice trailed off.
I let out a sigh, and fell to my knees in a state close to tears. It wasn't emotion, however - it was all of the anxiety build up releasing into my hyped-up system. My brain couldn't process the relief I was feeling at the moment. After a second I recomposed myself and pulled up from the floor of the store, leaning on the wall next to the silk dresses. Standing at the far-end, glaring at me with the heat of a million foul Chinese women was the lady from the front.
"You lucky that you cute." She said simply, crossed arms tied before her like two snakes bound in fate. Her face had a cruel, smug grin on it revealing her crowbar-pulled (yet, startlingly white) teeth.
"... Kindly, Miss Coco. I can't even-" I began saying in return, fixing to give her all the praise and adoration she was likely expecting.
"You take me to lunch down at Pig and Lady," she said, turning beyond the corner and out of sight. If you've ever delt with any Chinese business, you know that negotiating is futile in the face of a Chinese woman.
"... Yes ma'am." I responded. Who would really argue with that? Besides, dinner didn't seem THAT bad of a punishment for that whole ordeal.
"Welcome to CoCo's Dre-" she began, but was immediately hushed.
"Excuse me. I'm looking for a dress for my wife do you mind no thank you." I pushed the phrases out, turning behind a rack of silk and nylon dresses. For what felt like an eternity of time I shuffled the dresses, pretending to look for something that would match my non-existant wife's body. It was a grueling process, sorting through dresses and making a hallowed attempt to look busy.
My ears then picked up on a subtle communication:
"... Nonono. He not in here." The lady said aloud, her chinese accent swam through the dresses like ether through a rag.
"Miss, you understand that hiding a fugitive is a crime, yes?" Said a very distinct and commanding voice of a well-trained demon pig.
"He not in here! We sell dress. We have officer special - half off for Christmas, yes?!" She said back.
There was a pause. I heard radio traffic on the officer's walkie-talkie. Seconds ticked by with the steady unease of hours until finally:
"Thank you miss." The officer's voice said, before hearing his communication on the radio:
"Lost suspect. BOLO for a white male, approximately 5'7" with sunglasses, white Hawaiian shirt, sandals. Possibly under the infl~" his voice trailed off.
I let out a sigh, and fell to my knees in a state close to tears. It wasn't emotion, however - it was all of the anxiety build up releasing into my hyped-up system. My brain couldn't process the relief I was feeling at the moment. After a second I recomposed myself and pulled up from the floor of the store, leaning on the wall next to the silk dresses. Standing at the far-end, glaring at me with the heat of a million foul Chinese women was the lady from the front.
"You lucky that you cute." She said simply, crossed arms tied before her like two snakes bound in fate. Her face had a cruel, smug grin on it revealing her crowbar-pulled (yet, startlingly white) teeth.
"... Kindly, Miss Coco. I can't even-" I began saying in return, fixing to give her all the praise and adoration she was likely expecting.
"You take me to lunch down at Pig and Lady," she said, turning beyond the corner and out of sight. If you've ever delt with any Chinese business, you know that negotiating is futile in the face of a Chinese woman.
"... Yes ma'am." I responded. Who would really argue with that? Besides, dinner didn't seem THAT bad of a punishment for that whole ordeal.
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