Facing the Music
I wrote this to the latest Thimbleful Thursday prompt. This is a world I've played in before but these are new characters.
“You, young lady,” said the police officer, “are in a great deal of trouble.”
“It could’ve been worse,” Sherda offered without a sign of sheepishness. “I mean, no-one died and the only person who got really hurt started everything by shooting at me.”
“Mr Chevick claims you stole his satchel.” The police officer wrote something in her notebook.
“Is that his name? I didn’t,” Sherda said without heat, “I never saw the thing and I didn’t know he was there until he started shooting at me.”
“He clains he cried thief and you ran away.” The police officer’s sentence had a gentle interrogative note.
“He shot at me. With a gun,” Sherda emphasised. “Of course I ran for cover and hid behind things. Why would I stop so he could get a better shot at me?”
“So, why did you take the car? A red Campari F12, which sustained considerable damage.”
“It was sitting empty at the kerb, with the engine running, and I was trying to get away from a crazy man with a gun.” The officer’s pen was poised over the page.
“Who then shot said car three times before reloading his handgun and commandeering a bus.” The officer made another notation.
“I’ll take your word for that, ma’am,” answered Sherda. “I didn’t know he was still after me until he rammed the back of the car with the bus.” She sighed. “I thought I’d left him behind when I got the car and I was looking for somewhere to park when he did that. Mind you,” she added brightly, “I didn’t hit anyone or anything else until after he rammed me the third time.”
“At which point you rolled sideways through the gates of the Hellenic Embassy, destroying said gates and their gatehouse.” The officer looked at Sherda expectantly.
“By then I wasn’t in control of the vehicle anymore,” that young lady pointed out, “and I’m truly grateful for the Campari’s safety features. I don’t know where the oil tanker came from though.”
“The bus hit it, before Mr Chevick got out and followed you into the Embassy, running through the fire started the tanker,” said the police officer prosaically. “After that, we have to rely on the Embassy’s report of events and it’s…sparse.”
Sherda guessed, “Except for the part where their security shot the man who was after me?”
“Except for that,” agreed the police officer. “Now, we’ll be charging you with car theft but the Hellenic government is insisting on extradition so they can prosecute you for trespassing on government property.”
“Oh.”
“So,” the policewoman leaned forward, smiling, “why do the Hellenes really want you?”
“You, young lady,” said the police officer, “are in a great deal of trouble.”
“It could’ve been worse,” Sherda offered without a sign of sheepishness. “I mean, no-one died and the only person who got really hurt started everything by shooting at me.”
“Mr Chevick claims you stole his satchel.” The police officer wrote something in her notebook.
“Is that his name? I didn’t,” Sherda said without heat, “I never saw the thing and I didn’t know he was there until he started shooting at me.”
“He clains he cried thief and you ran away.” The police officer’s sentence had a gentle interrogative note.
“He shot at me. With a gun,” Sherda emphasised. “Of course I ran for cover and hid behind things. Why would I stop so he could get a better shot at me?”
“So, why did you take the car? A red Campari F12, which sustained considerable damage.”
“It was sitting empty at the kerb, with the engine running, and I was trying to get away from a crazy man with a gun.” The officer’s pen was poised over the page.
“Who then shot said car three times before reloading his handgun and commandeering a bus.” The officer made another notation.
“I’ll take your word for that, ma’am,” answered Sherda. “I didn’t know he was still after me until he rammed the back of the car with the bus.” She sighed. “I thought I’d left him behind when I got the car and I was looking for somewhere to park when he did that. Mind you,” she added brightly, “I didn’t hit anyone or anything else until after he rammed me the third time.”
“At which point you rolled sideways through the gates of the Hellenic Embassy, destroying said gates and their gatehouse.” The officer looked at Sherda expectantly.
“By then I wasn’t in control of the vehicle anymore,” that young lady pointed out, “and I’m truly grateful for the Campari’s safety features. I don’t know where the oil tanker came from though.”
“The bus hit it, before Mr Chevick got out and followed you into the Embassy, running through the fire started the tanker,” said the police officer prosaically. “After that, we have to rely on the Embassy’s report of events and it’s…sparse.”
Sherda guessed, “Except for the part where their security shot the man who was after me?”
“Except for that,” agreed the police officer. “Now, we’ll be charging you with car theft but the Hellenic government is insisting on extradition so they can prosecute you for trespassing on government property.”
“Oh.”
“So,” the policewoman leaned forward, smiling, “why do the Hellenes really want you?”