The Vulture (part two) [FICTOID]

Oscar Martin had two drunk driving convictions, a suspended license, and just enough beer in him not to feel really drunk but certainly enough to register on a breathalyzer should he be pulled over.

When he saw the Anaheim police blocking the freeway with red flares and blinking blue and white lights, the first thing he thought -- the only thing he thought -- was a DUI checkpoint meaning if they found him drunk driving without a license he would be going to state prison this time, not the country jail.

So in desperation he swerved around the police vehicle on the left and roared down the shoulder, thinking if he could just get to Ball before the police jumped in their cars and gave chase that he stood a chance of getting off the freeway and ditching his vehicle and running away on foot and claiming tomorrow somebody stole his car.

And of course he clipped a police officer he didn’t see on the other side of the vehicle and luckily for the officer it only sent him sprawling but then the other Anaheim police whipped out their guns and fired at his car so now Oscar -- really panicking -- took off like a scalded jack rabbit with a pack of hungry coyotes on his tail.

One lucky shot shattered his rear view mirror so Oscar looked back over his shoulder to see how close the police were and in that split second drifted into the concrete divider and the impact flung the car into the air, cartwheeling down the highway, rupturing the gas tank and spewing fuel that ignited from the shower of sparks as metal grinded against cement.

The resulting explosion and fireball looked pretty spectacular on The Vulture’s video.

The Vulture did a quick screen cap of the best frame and emailed it to all the local TV station news desks.

The news desks cursed him soundly but they all knew if it bleeds, it leads and if it burns, it earns so they all bid on it and the winner, a network affiliate, meant The Vulture made even more money when they broadcast it nationwide.

The police, of course, now had a huge mess on their hands and with the highway shut down for a crime scene investigation, the Anaheim chief found himself receiving the stink eye from his officers, we-told-you-so smirks from other departments, and irate calls from local politicians demanding to know why every TV station in the country was reporting a major gunfight with possible terrorists on the doorsteps of Disneyland.

The Vulture drove home -- the northbound 5 still being open -- and parked at his apartment building. 

The Vulture never knew when the feel would hit him again, but he knew it would come soon.

He also knew -- much more than felt -- that some night he would be the one sharing a rendezvous with fate.

You don’t get a talent like this without a little curse to go with it, no?

He felt thirsty and headed to the dive bar next door.

The joint was dead.  By that time his video hit the local late news and replayed again and again in all its fiery glory on the TV over the bar.

The Vulture signaled for a beer and said, “Helluva night.”

“Helluva night,” said the bartender.

© Buzz Dixon