“So, we’re up on that canyon ridge between Matheson and Beaumont, right?” he asked.īuck nodded. Rory gave him the “mission” code name of BFD: Big Fucking Dad, though the boys took to calling him Pops. When you talked with him at first, he was just a cool, calm, and collected dude. All that mundane bullshit, but he had an action-hero name, and was built like a tank. Gray father of three, drove a beach-sun yellow Jeep Cherokee, dressed like a day at Bette Garret’s swimhole from his sandals to his muscle shirt, and had been a road-paver for Old Man Grant back in the day. And while he didn’t seem it at first, we found the goddamn diamond of the pack. Including that one time he got a contact high ‘cause the guy was burning his meth stash and forgot the shit could explode.Īnyhow, I really gunned for us having a civvy because chatting it up with fresh blood while doing “Trash Picking: Drug Edition” was always a blast when you had the right person. Mick Maelstrom was yucking it up with a cute cowgirl and a MedHub hound on their off-day, May (lotta fucking Ms around here, huh?) was hanging with her field partner Jock “Wichita” Campbell and a retired Hell Patrolman who was running his mouth about all of the drug busts he had been on. Most of the folks were lone wolves or duos, so everyone wound up a trio. Now, while we were a three-piece on stage and in the field, I had lobbied to get us at least one civilian to work with. If it comes down to the dregs or your life, always choose your life. And if they get mean, get as mean as you have to, even if it means a slug between the eyes. Since everyone’s already teamed up, all I got left to say is good luck, Godspeed, and if you find any of the crackheads, catch ‘em and quiz ‘em. After the three days, y’all can go home and the resta Hell Patrol will take over. Once you guys hit the areas, everyone clocks out at 5 PM on the button and we start all over again bright and early at 5 AM like we are here-n-now. “Thanks Queen Bee” (she hated her call sign, but we had to use ‘em on duty) “Now, we only got all y’all regular folks for three days, and we don’t want to waste any of your time in that span. When she finished, and was sure that everyone had taken their notes, she let me wrap up the spiel. She whipped out a big ol’ map and the yard stick to match, and slapped it all over that sucker, laying out every single possible location. We got teams scoping out the Ivory Coast, but we can’t rule out any of the old mines, or any of the regional military bases from the Old World.” That means we’ve got to deal with the cats who mine this stuff. You can cook it, hop it up, tune her like a Ferrari, but she’s appearing like this au naturel in the wild. Radium the drug, the way it is NATURALLY formed, has an encrusted shell that contains the radiation, only broken when smoked, cooked, or split apart. “I’d say General for the sake of professionalism, but to hell with that, let’s keep speaking plain: Pop had the boys in the Lab do chemical tests, and what we got are some weird results. I let May take the stand after my jaw got sore from gabbing, and she came on with that classic Godred family charm. Apparently the shit had found its way into the Eastern region, but the Force’s outer third sector was a bulwark against it going any further…setting aside the fact there weren’t too many folks living on the backside of the Ambiorixians. It was an all-regions affair, and fortunately, I wasn’t the only one, as none other than old Hound in Black’s princess May was there to help give pointers. We had a ton of Hell Patrolman on one side of the room, a bunch of civvies on the other, and I was there giving the seminar on our wonderful new Wasteland resource: radium. I wasn’t exactly police commissioner material, but briefing a bunch of drug-busters-to-be wasn’t that tough a gig. But it’s green, it turns you into a ghoul, and it gives you the kind of adrenaline rush we get for free by being on stage.
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