[NS:]Delesa
22-04-2008, 04:15
ooc: this is going to be a police RP, I don't see a lot of these around. This will involve a plot involving a gang turf war between two major crime groups in delesa and corrupt officers and politicians. The two crime groups are first the French Mafia, the leader is the Don known as Jacque Lean. They are based in the island to the west, Quebec. The other group is the Irish Crime Syndicate, better known as McCarson Boys, as the leaders are the Irish Brothers Pierce and Rory. Add me on msn or tag me before you begin posting as we can figure out a way to add to you the story, maybe as an officer of the National Police or Internal Affairs, a crime boss for one of the zones or a small gang from your own country trying to make a break in Delesa.
Constable Jerry Foote sat in the driver’s seat of the St. Myhre Police Department’s Dodge Charger car number 204. The car was parked on the shoulder of highway 3 north of the city, in the southbound lane (directed back into the city). It was three in the morning and the city lights lit up the low hanging clouds over the city. He sat back in his chair, preparing himself for another routine night of speed trap duty. For the first hour of the shift he just turned off the radar gun and sat back, getting some twenty winks.
Foote was a rookie on the force, and hence had many hours to fill in the first year to stay on the force, so he had to cut back on his sleeping at home, and the sergeant he worked with right after he left the Academy told him it was always a good idea to take the speed trap assignments if you need an hour of rest.
Assigned to the St. Myhre Highway Troopers of the Police Department, the unit was responsible for the highways and roads in and out of the city in all directions, and the towns and hamlets in the metro area of St. Myhre. Another bonus of the Highway Troopers was the new Dodge Chargers recently bought for those high-speed pursuits and speeders.
Jerry closed his eyes, eager to rest his tired body from the many hours of patrol and workout, when the radar gun begun beeping. “Damn it!” he cursed as he remembered he forgot to turn it off. Now the gun’s alarm would be recorded in the system and if he didn’t attempt to catch the car there would be an investigation, if he was lucky. Being a rookie, if there was any suspicion of negligence of duty he could be released from the force, the last thing he wanted. He sat his car back up and strapped his seatbelt on. “Son of a bitch…” he continued to mumbled as he turned the key and the engine roared to life, putting his foot to the pedal the car lurched forward, he quickly switched on his sirens and lights, and looked at the radar gun’s recorded speed, 187 km/h (116 miles/h)! The speed limit was 90 on this stretch. He grinned, ‘Bastard wakes me up, now I got a big ticket for his ass!’
The Charger streaked down the straight highway, the speeds were nothing for the engine, and inside the car the engine made nothing more then a little hum. With all the excitement of the chase, Jerry almost forgot to radio in to dispatch, he picked up the radio, “Unit 2-0-4 to dispatch, in pursuit of speeding suspect, speeds upwards of 180 clicks. Heading southbound on highway three. Suspect is driving what looks like a blue BMW newer model probably M5 sedan.”
The radio cracked in response, “Unit 2-0-4, what’s the license on car?”
“Didn’t catch it, in pursuit now, unit 2-0-4 out.” He tossed the radio onto the passenger’s seat and turned up the radio. It was playing Le Grande by ZZ Top. Jerry chuckled softly at the music and the situation he was in. The police cruiser weaved between the other cars and trucks on the road as if they were standing still, slowly catching up to the suspect. Finally he managed to pull up behind it, the driver new the officer was flagging him down, and he slowed down, pulling off to the right shoulder. Jerry followed, stopping just behind BMW. He quickly typed the license plate number and make of the car into the computer and pulled out his ticket book. Opening his door he stepped out and pulled out his light and undid the buckle on his pistol holster, placing the hand on top of the handle he made his way over to the driver’s window. He was eager to write the ticket and get back to sleeping. He tapped on the window and the driver rolled it down. “What seems to be the matter officer?”
Back in the cruiser the computer was finished processing the license plate, and it flashed with red lettering ‘Known Gang Related Vehicle’. Jerry failed to follow SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) that stated him to stay in the vehicle until the license analysis came back.
“Do you know how fast you were traveling mister?”
“No sorry, my speedometer is broken. Been meaning to fix it. Silly thing busted a week ago.”
“So then I can right any number on this here ticket?” Jerry was pulling the driver’s leg, but kept a straight face, the driver laughed slightly. “Was that funny what I said?”
The driver stopped suddenly and looked Jerry in the eye, “No, but this ought to be.” Suddenly the person in the passenger’s seat produced a gun with his right hand and aimed it at the officer, unloading four rounds into Jerry’s chest. Constable Foote flew back from the impact, and the BMW sped off in a smoke of burning rubber. Jerry gasped for air, his vest had taken the brunt of the force but the gun was a .44 Magnum and the rounds still penetrated the vest. Jerry was a bleeding mess, blood spilling out onto his black uniform. He lifted his head slightly and looked at his chest.
“Mother of all god…” he head fell back onto the pavement. He slowly reached for the radio on his shoulder. “Officer down, officer down. Shots fired, suspect last seen speeding south on highway 3 in a blue BMW. Officer requesting medical assistance.” His body didn’t wait for a response as he blacked out.
Constable Jerry Foote sat in the driver’s seat of the St. Myhre Police Department’s Dodge Charger car number 204. The car was parked on the shoulder of highway 3 north of the city, in the southbound lane (directed back into the city). It was three in the morning and the city lights lit up the low hanging clouds over the city. He sat back in his chair, preparing himself for another routine night of speed trap duty. For the first hour of the shift he just turned off the radar gun and sat back, getting some twenty winks.
Foote was a rookie on the force, and hence had many hours to fill in the first year to stay on the force, so he had to cut back on his sleeping at home, and the sergeant he worked with right after he left the Academy told him it was always a good idea to take the speed trap assignments if you need an hour of rest.
Assigned to the St. Myhre Highway Troopers of the Police Department, the unit was responsible for the highways and roads in and out of the city in all directions, and the towns and hamlets in the metro area of St. Myhre. Another bonus of the Highway Troopers was the new Dodge Chargers recently bought for those high-speed pursuits and speeders.
Jerry closed his eyes, eager to rest his tired body from the many hours of patrol and workout, when the radar gun begun beeping. “Damn it!” he cursed as he remembered he forgot to turn it off. Now the gun’s alarm would be recorded in the system and if he didn’t attempt to catch the car there would be an investigation, if he was lucky. Being a rookie, if there was any suspicion of negligence of duty he could be released from the force, the last thing he wanted. He sat his car back up and strapped his seatbelt on. “Son of a bitch…” he continued to mumbled as he turned the key and the engine roared to life, putting his foot to the pedal the car lurched forward, he quickly switched on his sirens and lights, and looked at the radar gun’s recorded speed, 187 km/h (116 miles/h)! The speed limit was 90 on this stretch. He grinned, ‘Bastard wakes me up, now I got a big ticket for his ass!’
The Charger streaked down the straight highway, the speeds were nothing for the engine, and inside the car the engine made nothing more then a little hum. With all the excitement of the chase, Jerry almost forgot to radio in to dispatch, he picked up the radio, “Unit 2-0-4 to dispatch, in pursuit of speeding suspect, speeds upwards of 180 clicks. Heading southbound on highway three. Suspect is driving what looks like a blue BMW newer model probably M5 sedan.”
The radio cracked in response, “Unit 2-0-4, what’s the license on car?”
“Didn’t catch it, in pursuit now, unit 2-0-4 out.” He tossed the radio onto the passenger’s seat and turned up the radio. It was playing Le Grande by ZZ Top. Jerry chuckled softly at the music and the situation he was in. The police cruiser weaved between the other cars and trucks on the road as if they were standing still, slowly catching up to the suspect. Finally he managed to pull up behind it, the driver new the officer was flagging him down, and he slowed down, pulling off to the right shoulder. Jerry followed, stopping just behind BMW. He quickly typed the license plate number and make of the car into the computer and pulled out his ticket book. Opening his door he stepped out and pulled out his light and undid the buckle on his pistol holster, placing the hand on top of the handle he made his way over to the driver’s window. He was eager to write the ticket and get back to sleeping. He tapped on the window and the driver rolled it down. “What seems to be the matter officer?”
Back in the cruiser the computer was finished processing the license plate, and it flashed with red lettering ‘Known Gang Related Vehicle’. Jerry failed to follow SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) that stated him to stay in the vehicle until the license analysis came back.
“Do you know how fast you were traveling mister?”
“No sorry, my speedometer is broken. Been meaning to fix it. Silly thing busted a week ago.”
“So then I can right any number on this here ticket?” Jerry was pulling the driver’s leg, but kept a straight face, the driver laughed slightly. “Was that funny what I said?”
The driver stopped suddenly and looked Jerry in the eye, “No, but this ought to be.” Suddenly the person in the passenger’s seat produced a gun with his right hand and aimed it at the officer, unloading four rounds into Jerry’s chest. Constable Foote flew back from the impact, and the BMW sped off in a smoke of burning rubber. Jerry gasped for air, his vest had taken the brunt of the force but the gun was a .44 Magnum and the rounds still penetrated the vest. Jerry was a bleeding mess, blood spilling out onto his black uniform. He lifted his head slightly and looked at his chest.
“Mother of all god…” he head fell back onto the pavement. He slowly reached for the radio on his shoulder. “Officer down, officer down. Shots fired, suspect last seen speeding south on highway 3 in a blue BMW. Officer requesting medical assistance.” His body didn’t wait for a response as he blacked out.