Post by Ron Traeger on Apr 4, 2015 12:17:16 GMT -5
It’s a sunny afternoon in Pennsylvania. The smooth road stretches as far as the eye can see. A destination isn’t in sight, but this endless trail leads somewhere. Out here in the wilderness, an interstate carves a path that leads to a city of professional wrestling. While there may be multiple roads that can get someone to that location, this one is the most popular.
“Turn it up!”
A radio blares over the speakers of a finely crafted sports car that barrels down the quiet road. It’s almost too quiet on the outskirts of a Pennsylvania town.
“I love this song,” a voice tries to speak over the loud music.
Guitar riffs and a roaring engine would be enough to startle any critter venturing near the road, but it catches the attention of something entirely different. A small scope pokes out through roadside shrubbery. A gray campaign hat rises slowly above the top of the bush, revealing the hint of a Pennsylvania State Trooper uniform. The radar gun focuses on the road, but the noise echoing throughout the still scenery is evident that something is approaching.
“When is the next show?”
“Next week,”
The car clocks in at an amazing speed, which widens the eyes of the officer handling the device. With ample time, the uniformed individual gets into his white Interceptor with a quick click of his seatbelt. The vehicle pushes forward, rolls into the left lane of the two-lane interstate, and comes to a halt. It sits still but the engine hums with readiness. Various dispatch calls from around the area chime out through the radio as a pair of aviator shades focus on the rearview mirror.
“Oh shit, is that a cop? Dude, slow down,”
The white Interceptor is spotted. Oddly, it still doesn’t move. It just remains at a complete stop in the left lane of the well-traveled road. No other cars are around. The approaching muscle car slows down considerably, almost to a redundant speed, but merely wants to avoid any trouble with local or state law enforcement by its reaction. That, and the word around Holston, Pennsylvania is that the State Troopers are on alert. It’s just a rumor.
“What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he broke down?”
Distance closes as the previously speeding vehicle comes within reasonable range of the police Interceptor. Just as it passes by, the red and blue lights flash for a brief moment and it startles both the passengers in the sports car.
“Pull over, dude,”
“What? He isn’t even moving,”
“Pull over, Brian,”
“Fine,” said Brian.
All four wheels of the sick ride roll onto the emergency lane. It’s a smooth and patient pull over, with beady eyes still focusing on the police vehicle in the left lane, still unmoving. The two men wait a moment before questioning the entire situation. Brian turns the radio down and checks over his shoulder. Still there.
“It’s probably just a new way to get people to stop speeding, Ken,”
“I guess. He did flash his lights, though,” said Ken.
“Should we just continue to Holston?”
“Yeah, I think it’s OK – this guy isn’t doing anything,”
With a gentle push of the gas pedal, the vehicle pulls out from the emergency lane and continues down the road, picking up speed and gradually making its way to their destination, Holston. The dark aviator sunglasses inside the police Interceptor remain forward, examining the stretch of road before the gearshift slams into first. The back wheels of the white police car squeal and emit smoke as the Interceptor lunges forward after a buck. Sirens blare with red and blue flashes accompanying the ruckus.
“Weird cop,” Ken said.
“Shit, wait a second,”
A hazy image of the white Interceptor appears in the rearview mirror, hauling ass and heading straight towards them. Brian’s eyes go wide as Ken looks back to confirm the approach of the law enforcement officer.
“Oh fuck! Pull over! Pull over, Brian!”
Tires come to a halt and create black streaks across the road as the muscle car slightly begins to lose control, but Brian remains calm and steers the vehicle true. Both men brace themselves at the immediate stoppage, hands gripping onto the interior. The car pulls over to the side of the road, once again, but this time in a cloud of dust. Both Brian and Ken check each other in shock.
“Did we just run from the cops? Oh shit, man, we’re going to jail,”
“Calm down, we don’t even know if he’s chasing us,”
The Interceptor reduces its speed but eventually slams on its breaks as it approaches the parked muscle car. Tires scream and the vehicle slides along the road as if it were a dramatic movie scene, coming right up behind Brian and Ken with sirens still blasting. Rocks and dust are kicked up in the process.
“OK, he’s definitely pulling us over this time,” Ken said.
Brian eyes his rearview mirror again in fear while perspiration sets in. The Interceptor remains for a moment before the sirens cut off, and the door opens slowly to reveal a uniform stepping out. A stalking of a campaign hat and aviator sunglasses begins as the State Trooper draws closer. Brian keeps his hands on the wheel, but Ken continues to look around in disbelief. A gentle tap on the driver side window causes Brian to lower it slowly at the command of the law enforcement officer.
“Officer, we didn’t know what was going on back there,” Brian said.
Ken remains silent. Those dark aviator shades look down upon Brian with disapproval. Brian reviews the uniform briefly. Officer Traeger.
“Do you know how fast you were going, son?”
“Fifty-five, officer,” Brian said.
There was an awkward silence after the answer. The State Trooper just stared down upon Brian for a moment with an emotionless look.
“Yeah, something like that,” Traeger said.
Brian looks over at Ken with a questioning face, as if he is uncertain as to what Traeger’s response even meant. Ken looks worried. Traeger puts a hand on the window and gives a look inside the vehicle.
“What about you, boy?” Traeger looks upon Ken, who is clearly worried.
“Uh – Fifty-five?”
“Are you sure?” Traeger asks.
Ken shares another weird look with Brian, who at this point doesn’t seem to have the answers for this pop quiz by Officer Traeger.
“Yes, sir,”
“So you can see the dash from where you’re sitting?”
The question gridlocks Ken’s thought process, giving way to another strange silence that allows the uncomfortable vibe of Officer Traeger to be felt.
“Didn’t think so,” Traeger said.
“Excuse me, Officer, but why were we pulled over?” Brian raises the question while bracing for the worst.
Traeger seems to brush off the question with ease, almost a robotic response that evaded any actual conversation attempt or solution to the current dilemma, “Where you boys headed?”
“Holston, sir,” Ken said.
Traeger takes a moment to pull his head up and eye the stretch of interstate in front of them. A car whizzes by at high speed just before Officer Traeger lowers his head back down to address the two men after seemingly gathering his thoughts, albeit hiding the bursting glee of his opportunity.
“Almost made it,” Traeger said with a smile.
Without hesitation, Traeger turned around and went back to his white Interceptor, leaving both Brian and Ken to sit in confusion. Brian and Ken begin to bicker at each other for the situation they’ve been thrust into.
“Why the fuck were you driving so fast, dude?”
“I was only going sixty, man!”
“I guess that’s enough for him to write a ticket,” Ken checks the shiny Interceptor that remains still.
“Technically, yes,”
Just before Brian and Ken could draw a conclusion, Traeger was back, almost like a magician on a stage, appearing at the driver side window once more. It startled Brian, who immediately jumped back in his car seat at the image of the uniform outside his window.
“Do you know how fast you were going, son?”
Brian looked over at Ken, whose eyes widened even further. It was the same exact question Traeger had asked before, and weird enough, it was delivered in the same exact tone. There was an eerie silence before Brian spoke up, “… Fifty-five, officer,” Brian said.
The cold exterior of aviator shades didn’t change. They remained burning a slow hole down upon the skull of the weary Brian. Ken kept checking all around the car, still mystified by the reappearance of Traeger.
“Is that how fast we we’re going, officer?” Brian wanted an answer, but was too intimidated to deliver the question with real purpose.
Traeger ignored the question and lowered his head back to the window to glare at a startled Ken.
“… What about you, boy?”
Ken swallows hard, nothing but air and worrisome, but the sweat rolling off the side of his face indicates his is very uncomfortable. Traeger awaits an answer.
“Sixty, officer,” Ken said.
Traeger remains staring at Ken, who stands beside his answer with assurance. Brian keeps his eyes forward, trying not to be sucked into the glare of Officer Traeger.
“Turn the vehicle off and step out of the car, sir,” Traeger delivers the order with a tone of serious.
Yet the vehicle was already off, but Brian fumbles about in attempt to ensure it is entirely shutdown. Traeger watches with every attempt hold back a smile. Ken is utterly confused. Brian struggles to unbuckle his seatbelt, but then eventually steps out of the vehicle to come face to face with the campaign hat and aviators.
“Where you headed?”
Another repeat question. Brian searches his mind as if this were a riddle, but comes to his same answer, “Holston, sir,” Brian said.
Traeger rests his right hand on his holster, which causes Brian to lower his eyes and watch him caress his government issued weapon in fear and confusion. Both men remain, but Ken looks on from inside the vehicle as the situation unfolds.
“Holston, Pennsylvania?” Traeger delivers another odd question, which creates more questions to spawn inside the head of Brian.
“Y-Yes sir; Holston, Pennsylvania,” Brian said.
Traeger doesn’t move, yet still has a right hand on his holster as if he was ready to draw, but it was a comfortable grip that seemed unthreatening.
“Is that your man?”
Traeger dips his chin to motion at the t-shirt worn by Brian. It’s an Evan Wolfe professional wrestling t-shirt. The question doesn’t appeal to Brian, but he knows he must answer or it could spell trouble.
“I’m a fan, yes,” Brian said.
“So he’s your man?”
Brian resists the urge to question the implication, but Traeger is serious. Ken peers on.
“… He’s my man,” Brian said.
The response causes a very subtle chuckle from Officer Traeger, but Brian is too confused to catch on.
“I bet he is, son,” Traeger hides a smile, but takes his hand off his holster, which causes the intensity to come down a few notches.
“So you’re a wrestling fan on his way to Holston,”
“Yes sir,” Brian said.
Traeger resists the urge to clench his fist, but effectively deflates his impending frustration or disdain from wrestlers.
“Get back in the car,” Traeger said.
Without even checking a license or other identification, Traeger offers Brian the out, and he accepts by getting back into his vehicle eagerly. Officer Traeger holds an emotionless look as he pokes his head back down to look at both Brian and Ken.
“Don’t let me catch you wearing that t-shirt around here again,”
“Turn it up!”
A radio blares over the speakers of a finely crafted sports car that barrels down the quiet road. It’s almost too quiet on the outskirts of a Pennsylvania town.
“I love this song,” a voice tries to speak over the loud music.
Guitar riffs and a roaring engine would be enough to startle any critter venturing near the road, but it catches the attention of something entirely different. A small scope pokes out through roadside shrubbery. A gray campaign hat rises slowly above the top of the bush, revealing the hint of a Pennsylvania State Trooper uniform. The radar gun focuses on the road, but the noise echoing throughout the still scenery is evident that something is approaching.
“When is the next show?”
“Next week,”
The car clocks in at an amazing speed, which widens the eyes of the officer handling the device. With ample time, the uniformed individual gets into his white Interceptor with a quick click of his seatbelt. The vehicle pushes forward, rolls into the left lane of the two-lane interstate, and comes to a halt. It sits still but the engine hums with readiness. Various dispatch calls from around the area chime out through the radio as a pair of aviator shades focus on the rearview mirror.
“Oh shit, is that a cop? Dude, slow down,”
The white Interceptor is spotted. Oddly, it still doesn’t move. It just remains at a complete stop in the left lane of the well-traveled road. No other cars are around. The approaching muscle car slows down considerably, almost to a redundant speed, but merely wants to avoid any trouble with local or state law enforcement by its reaction. That, and the word around Holston, Pennsylvania is that the State Troopers are on alert. It’s just a rumor.
“What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he broke down?”
Distance closes as the previously speeding vehicle comes within reasonable range of the police Interceptor. Just as it passes by, the red and blue lights flash for a brief moment and it startles both the passengers in the sports car.
“Pull over, dude,”
“What? He isn’t even moving,”
“Pull over, Brian,”
“Fine,” said Brian.
All four wheels of the sick ride roll onto the emergency lane. It’s a smooth and patient pull over, with beady eyes still focusing on the police vehicle in the left lane, still unmoving. The two men wait a moment before questioning the entire situation. Brian turns the radio down and checks over his shoulder. Still there.
“It’s probably just a new way to get people to stop speeding, Ken,”
“I guess. He did flash his lights, though,” said Ken.
“Should we just continue to Holston?”
“Yeah, I think it’s OK – this guy isn’t doing anything,”
With a gentle push of the gas pedal, the vehicle pulls out from the emergency lane and continues down the road, picking up speed and gradually making its way to their destination, Holston. The dark aviator sunglasses inside the police Interceptor remain forward, examining the stretch of road before the gearshift slams into first. The back wheels of the white police car squeal and emit smoke as the Interceptor lunges forward after a buck. Sirens blare with red and blue flashes accompanying the ruckus.
“Weird cop,” Ken said.
“Shit, wait a second,”
A hazy image of the white Interceptor appears in the rearview mirror, hauling ass and heading straight towards them. Brian’s eyes go wide as Ken looks back to confirm the approach of the law enforcement officer.
“Oh fuck! Pull over! Pull over, Brian!”
Tires come to a halt and create black streaks across the road as the muscle car slightly begins to lose control, but Brian remains calm and steers the vehicle true. Both men brace themselves at the immediate stoppage, hands gripping onto the interior. The car pulls over to the side of the road, once again, but this time in a cloud of dust. Both Brian and Ken check each other in shock.
“Did we just run from the cops? Oh shit, man, we’re going to jail,”
“Calm down, we don’t even know if he’s chasing us,”
The Interceptor reduces its speed but eventually slams on its breaks as it approaches the parked muscle car. Tires scream and the vehicle slides along the road as if it were a dramatic movie scene, coming right up behind Brian and Ken with sirens still blasting. Rocks and dust are kicked up in the process.
“OK, he’s definitely pulling us over this time,” Ken said.
Brian eyes his rearview mirror again in fear while perspiration sets in. The Interceptor remains for a moment before the sirens cut off, and the door opens slowly to reveal a uniform stepping out. A stalking of a campaign hat and aviator sunglasses begins as the State Trooper draws closer. Brian keeps his hands on the wheel, but Ken continues to look around in disbelief. A gentle tap on the driver side window causes Brian to lower it slowly at the command of the law enforcement officer.
“Officer, we didn’t know what was going on back there,” Brian said.
Ken remains silent. Those dark aviator shades look down upon Brian with disapproval. Brian reviews the uniform briefly. Officer Traeger.
“Do you know how fast you were going, son?”
“Fifty-five, officer,” Brian said.
There was an awkward silence after the answer. The State Trooper just stared down upon Brian for a moment with an emotionless look.
“Yeah, something like that,” Traeger said.
Brian looks over at Ken with a questioning face, as if he is uncertain as to what Traeger’s response even meant. Ken looks worried. Traeger puts a hand on the window and gives a look inside the vehicle.
“What about you, boy?” Traeger looks upon Ken, who is clearly worried.
“Uh – Fifty-five?”
“Are you sure?” Traeger asks.
Ken shares another weird look with Brian, who at this point doesn’t seem to have the answers for this pop quiz by Officer Traeger.
“Yes, sir,”
“So you can see the dash from where you’re sitting?”
The question gridlocks Ken’s thought process, giving way to another strange silence that allows the uncomfortable vibe of Officer Traeger to be felt.
“Didn’t think so,” Traeger said.
“Excuse me, Officer, but why were we pulled over?” Brian raises the question while bracing for the worst.
Traeger seems to brush off the question with ease, almost a robotic response that evaded any actual conversation attempt or solution to the current dilemma, “Where you boys headed?”
“Holston, sir,” Ken said.
Traeger takes a moment to pull his head up and eye the stretch of interstate in front of them. A car whizzes by at high speed just before Officer Traeger lowers his head back down to address the two men after seemingly gathering his thoughts, albeit hiding the bursting glee of his opportunity.
“Almost made it,” Traeger said with a smile.
Without hesitation, Traeger turned around and went back to his white Interceptor, leaving both Brian and Ken to sit in confusion. Brian and Ken begin to bicker at each other for the situation they’ve been thrust into.
“Why the fuck were you driving so fast, dude?”
“I was only going sixty, man!”
“I guess that’s enough for him to write a ticket,” Ken checks the shiny Interceptor that remains still.
“Technically, yes,”
Just before Brian and Ken could draw a conclusion, Traeger was back, almost like a magician on a stage, appearing at the driver side window once more. It startled Brian, who immediately jumped back in his car seat at the image of the uniform outside his window.
“Do you know how fast you were going, son?”
Brian looked over at Ken, whose eyes widened even further. It was the same exact question Traeger had asked before, and weird enough, it was delivered in the same exact tone. There was an eerie silence before Brian spoke up, “… Fifty-five, officer,” Brian said.
The cold exterior of aviator shades didn’t change. They remained burning a slow hole down upon the skull of the weary Brian. Ken kept checking all around the car, still mystified by the reappearance of Traeger.
“Is that how fast we we’re going, officer?” Brian wanted an answer, but was too intimidated to deliver the question with real purpose.
Traeger ignored the question and lowered his head back to the window to glare at a startled Ken.
“… What about you, boy?”
Ken swallows hard, nothing but air and worrisome, but the sweat rolling off the side of his face indicates his is very uncomfortable. Traeger awaits an answer.
“Sixty, officer,” Ken said.
Traeger remains staring at Ken, who stands beside his answer with assurance. Brian keeps his eyes forward, trying not to be sucked into the glare of Officer Traeger.
“Turn the vehicle off and step out of the car, sir,” Traeger delivers the order with a tone of serious.
Yet the vehicle was already off, but Brian fumbles about in attempt to ensure it is entirely shutdown. Traeger watches with every attempt hold back a smile. Ken is utterly confused. Brian struggles to unbuckle his seatbelt, but then eventually steps out of the vehicle to come face to face with the campaign hat and aviators.
“Where you headed?”
Another repeat question. Brian searches his mind as if this were a riddle, but comes to his same answer, “Holston, sir,” Brian said.
Traeger rests his right hand on his holster, which causes Brian to lower his eyes and watch him caress his government issued weapon in fear and confusion. Both men remain, but Ken looks on from inside the vehicle as the situation unfolds.
“Holston, Pennsylvania?” Traeger delivers another odd question, which creates more questions to spawn inside the head of Brian.
“Y-Yes sir; Holston, Pennsylvania,” Brian said.
Traeger doesn’t move, yet still has a right hand on his holster as if he was ready to draw, but it was a comfortable grip that seemed unthreatening.
“Is that your man?”
Traeger dips his chin to motion at the t-shirt worn by Brian. It’s an Evan Wolfe professional wrestling t-shirt. The question doesn’t appeal to Brian, but he knows he must answer or it could spell trouble.
“I’m a fan, yes,” Brian said.
“So he’s your man?”
Brian resists the urge to question the implication, but Traeger is serious. Ken peers on.
“… He’s my man,” Brian said.
The response causes a very subtle chuckle from Officer Traeger, but Brian is too confused to catch on.
“I bet he is, son,” Traeger hides a smile, but takes his hand off his holster, which causes the intensity to come down a few notches.
“So you’re a wrestling fan on his way to Holston,”
“Yes sir,” Brian said.
Traeger resists the urge to clench his fist, but effectively deflates his impending frustration or disdain from wrestlers.
“Get back in the car,” Traeger said.
Without even checking a license or other identification, Traeger offers Brian the out, and he accepts by getting back into his vehicle eagerly. Officer Traeger holds an emotionless look as he pokes his head back down to look at both Brian and Ken.
“Don’t let me catch you wearing that t-shirt around here again,”
