Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 07: Part 09: Audi Kill Zone

Audi Kill Zone

The upcoming drug bust had taken on a life of its own. As the word spread, an entire ecosystem of State, Federal, and Local agencies arrived like scavengers at a prime carcass. They jostled for position in the parking lot. Everyone wanted a good view of the Audi, which had been identified by the most reliable source ever; an anonymous tip.

The municipal police got there first and took all the good parking spots. Everyone on the entire force had already signed up for overtime. The County Sheriff’s office arrived next. They’d dusted off and arrived in their Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected military light tactical vehicle. They’d gotten it through some long forgotten anti-terrorism grant. The only hazard the MRAP had faced were the many cups coffee that had been spilled on the dashboard over the years. The Sheriffs had already requested overtime and hazard pay. The nearest Border Patrol office declared the parking lot within a certain number of miles of the Canadian border; and thus arrived en masse with three SUV’s bristling with antennae. They’d already requested overtime, hazard pay, and per diem. They were busily working the phones trying to find an open hotel room. Most of the good rooms were booked up by a veritable army of bureaucrats from the National Park Service (which declared the University Campus a “green space”), the FCC (which sited the nearby FM antenna tower), the BLM (which was there to insure against slumpage in a nearby hillside), and the Army Corps Of Engineers (which noted the nearby river was “Navigable Waters”). A US Postal Service truck arrived, nobody knew why. A gaggle from the State’s National Guard showed up. They’d gotten lost looking for the rendezvous point some Sergeant had pinned to a map and figured a University was more fun than camping in the mountains. They weren’t getting overtime, hazard pay, or per diem. Losers!

A group of Boy Scouts (which was about 1/3 girls) passed by on their way to the Arena. This much firepower virtually guaranteed something cool would happen! They texted a Girl Scout troop (which was about 1/3 boys) which was also on the way to the Arena. Would they like to hang out at the parking lot watching the cops beat the hell out of some stupid college students? Predictably, they were rejected. It was cold out! While the Boy Scouts started a warming fire in a trash can, the Girl Scouts stuck with the plan and bought every t-shirt for sale at the Arena. Two girls were the sole exception to this admirable focus. Suzanne and Kathy slunk off from their group and eventually watched the situation while doing bong hits in the Chemistry lab; it was heated and had a much better view. Virtually nobody on the liberal arts side of campus (which meant 7/8ths of the campus) noticed a damn thing but the Chemistry lab was packed with the diminishing portion of the community that actually noticed things. They’d sought out the best view and were starting a party.

A few of them wondered if someone should call the authorities before the growing mass of heavily armed meatheads hurt someone. Then someone pointed out the heavily armed meatheads were the authorities. Everyone, freed of responsibility, relaxed and settled in for the show.

At the back of the lab, a cluster of students fired up old Bunsen burners to make popcorn. Another group was sniffing about the airwaves with various scanners. Virtually every frequency was vibrating with law enforcement chatter. This was all supposedly encrypted. It took a cluster of programming students half an hour to decrypt some of the messages. A furtive group of HAM radio fans, older than dirt and definitely not of the campus, intercepted most of the rest. Together, the two groups shared the news with everyone else in the lab. Apparently, the biggest Columbian narco-trafficer since Pablo Escobar had crammed several tons of cocaine into the Audi. Nobody thought to ask how many tons can fit in a single car.

A handful of guys from the local 4×4 club had been scouting the Arena for an upcoming “Monster Truck Pruis Disembowelment Extravaganza”. They saw the MRAP and gathered around it like groupies. The cops tried to shoo them away but the gearheads were practically hugging the machine. In the end, the local police let them stay.

An aspiring poet with a Che Guavara hoodie saw the gathering and scampered away down an alley. He might have been the only intelligent person in the vicinity.