TM: If you could change one aspect of your society, what would it be?
Jack pulled the government issued vehicle to a stop at the red light, several cars back. His cell phone had been quiet for hours regardless of the civil threat CTU had received earlier. Maybe Tony had put a different agent on it? He could only wonder. He idly drummed a rhythm on the steering wheel with his thumb while he allowed his eyes to wander to the vehicle to his left.
Inside he was able to see a blonde female. She was well dressed in a casual business attire. With a cell phone to her ear, she randomly worked on a laptop mounted on one of those expensive platforms available by catalog. Just by this visual aide Jack could detail that she was a single, hard-headed woman with a taste for the expensive and a sucker for a margarita on the rocks beside a chicken sandwich. The luxury combined with the convenience, he knew. It could be from his training or his experience, but these minor details told him everything he wished to know about her. She was a powerful, independent woman struggling to make best what she could out of life so long as it had a dollar sign attached to it. Expressionless, he allowed his eyes to shift through the passenger window.
Outside the passenger window was a direct contrast to everything he'd just detailed. A man in what seemed to be an expensive car to the untrained eye, but Jack could tell it was simply a Hyundai Accent with an elongated body kit and low-profile tires complete with chrome spinner rims. The package was pasted together with what he could judge were probably twelves in the back, thumping out the bass of a hip-hop song all too familiar to the denizens of Los Angeles. The windows were tinted, but not so much that Jack couldn't see the man bobbing his head, mouthing the words to the rap song while puffing on what was most likely a joint.
Experience told the CTU agent that he was most likely staring at a jobless man who relied on the streets to provide what legitimate work could not: a quick financial outlet to pay for both family and luxury, even if feigned. He could only imagine how many pounds of drugs could be in that vehicle, most likely en route to a rally point for a sale. Jack shook his head.
Society, to him, seemed to revolve around the almighty dollar. What is it about the green slip of paper that made the woman to his left work under the demanding conditions that would most likely get her in a fatal accident if she doesn't pay attention to the road instead of her laptop after the light turns green, or the man to his right who has no clue that there's an unmarked LAPD car behind him, would tie both of their drives together to sacrifice everything life had to offer in order to attain it? On a greater scale, what about the same would supply him with his own job; a deterrent to those who would go far beyond a street side drug deal and murder millions for the cause of a roll of Jeffersons?
Speaking of which...
Once the light turned green, Jack spotted a silver Monte Carlo with a familiar license plate that belonged to what Division had briefed as a possible civil cell informant. He was quick to flip open his cell phone and dial Tony's number.
"Tony, it's Jack. I located the informant. I'm going to find out where he's headed and see what I can get off him," he informed the agent in charge.
"All right, Jack," Tony responded on the other end, "but be careful. We got word that he's rolling deeper in the cell than we thought."
Jack idly smirked to himself, pushing his foot to the gas pedal to lurch the car forward. "Yeah, that's the funny thing about money, Tony," he replied. "It'll make you do all sorts of crazy things."
Inside he was able to see a blonde female. She was well dressed in a casual business attire. With a cell phone to her ear, she randomly worked on a laptop mounted on one of those expensive platforms available by catalog. Just by this visual aide Jack could detail that she was a single, hard-headed woman with a taste for the expensive and a sucker for a margarita on the rocks beside a chicken sandwich. The luxury combined with the convenience, he knew. It could be from his training or his experience, but these minor details told him everything he wished to know about her. She was a powerful, independent woman struggling to make best what she could out of life so long as it had a dollar sign attached to it. Expressionless, he allowed his eyes to shift through the passenger window.
Outside the passenger window was a direct contrast to everything he'd just detailed. A man in what seemed to be an expensive car to the untrained eye, but Jack could tell it was simply a Hyundai Accent with an elongated body kit and low-profile tires complete with chrome spinner rims. The package was pasted together with what he could judge were probably twelves in the back, thumping out the bass of a hip-hop song all too familiar to the denizens of Los Angeles. The windows were tinted, but not so much that Jack couldn't see the man bobbing his head, mouthing the words to the rap song while puffing on what was most likely a joint.
Experience told the CTU agent that he was most likely staring at a jobless man who relied on the streets to provide what legitimate work could not: a quick financial outlet to pay for both family and luxury, even if feigned. He could only imagine how many pounds of drugs could be in that vehicle, most likely en route to a rally point for a sale. Jack shook his head.
Society, to him, seemed to revolve around the almighty dollar. What is it about the green slip of paper that made the woman to his left work under the demanding conditions that would most likely get her in a fatal accident if she doesn't pay attention to the road instead of her laptop after the light turns green, or the man to his right who has no clue that there's an unmarked LAPD car behind him, would tie both of their drives together to sacrifice everything life had to offer in order to attain it? On a greater scale, what about the same would supply him with his own job; a deterrent to those who would go far beyond a street side drug deal and murder millions for the cause of a roll of Jeffersons?
Speaking of which...
Once the light turned green, Jack spotted a silver Monte Carlo with a familiar license plate that belonged to what Division had briefed as a possible civil cell informant. He was quick to flip open his cell phone and dial Tony's number.
"Tony, it's Jack. I located the informant. I'm going to find out where he's headed and see what I can get off him," he informed the agent in charge.
"All right, Jack," Tony responded on the other end, "but be careful. We got word that he's rolling deeper in the cell than we thought."
Jack idly smirked to himself, pushing his foot to the gas pedal to lurch the car forward. "Yeah, that's the funny thing about money, Tony," he replied. "It'll make you do all sorts of crazy things."