GUN RUNNER PT. 2

WHEN THE POLICE HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO TURN...

THEY TURN TO THE LOOSEST OF LOOSE CANNONS...

THE CRACKEST OF CRACK SHOTS...

THEY TURN TO...

GUN RUNNER

Crack. Whether you knew it as rock, Betty Boulder, Crunch Berry Supreme or Plumber's Solid didn't make a difference. Crack, in all of its many guises was bad news for the people that used it, their families and the city they lived in. The only people it was good for were drug dealers and, sometimes, silverware manufacturers. You can only burn a spoon so many times before its unusable for ice cream.

But the spoon makers were a result of the problem, not the cause. That fell on the heads of the drug dealers. Something else was about to fall on the heads of the drug dealers, a '59 Chevette of Justice known to the criminal world as Gun Runner.

"Hurry up and fill those Pamper boxes with more crack," growled drug lieutenant Sheffield "Shemp" White. His eyes once again darted to the window. Word on the street was the toughest of tough cops, Gun Runner, was off his suspension and working to stop the drug trafficking. Nothing had been confirmed yet, but White was wary. Shaking like a leaf, White made sure the last box of loaded diapers was in its case before signaling the truck to pull out. A combination of nerves, adrenaline and crack had him as fidgety as an 8 year old on a 5 day sugar high. Except in White's case it wasn't sugar as much as it was illegal drugs. Only an idiot would get hooked on his own product, some would say, but White was not only an idiot, he was also a crack head.

"Hey Shemp!" yelled the look-out man.

"Wh-wh-what is it?" hollered White.

"Truck's stopped."

"Wh-wh-why?"

Stepping out of the truck the driver inspected the back wheels. Taking off his cap, the pudgy man looked more surprised than an Atheist in heaven. "The tires are flat."

"Take one more step, and your heart monitor will be flat too," said a gravely voice. Stepping out of the darkness Gunther Ruettiger. It wasn't his best intro line, he'd hoped the truck drive would say "The tire's busted." Then the lone wolf cop could have said "So are you." That would have been awesome.

"GUN RUNNER!" shouted the truck driver reaching for his gun.

"Drop it!" yelled Ruettiger, firing his gun at the same time. Unfortunately for the truck driver, bullets travel faster than words. And fatally wound a lot more.

A hail of bullets zipped past Ruettiger as the look-out man opened fire. Ducking behind the truck Ruettiger poked his head around at his target. The guy had to be 6'5". BLAM! 5'6". BLAM! 3'8".

The squeal of tires and the flash of headlights signaled that White was bailing the scene faster than a frat boy after a bootie call. Ruettiger cursed his lousy luck, he couldn't let White get away, at the same time he couldn't leave a semi truck full of crack and diapers sitting in the middle of the road.

Holstering his gun, Ruettiger suddenly remembered something.

He knew how to drive a double clutch.