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More Interesting Than Armageddon
You can find evidence of paranormal activity almost anywhere, if you know what to look for. Bobby Singer's personal favorite place to do research is the Jerry Springer show. When his schedule permits, he makes it a point to scrutinize its participants for signs of demonic influence. He's come to the conclusion that, in addition to possession, sheer stupidity and fuck-upedness are on the rise.
On this particular afternoon, Jerry's got a couple of what Bobby knows damn well are harpies, and he's waiting with gleeful fascination to see whether the claws come out for real. They're identical twin sisters, and there's already been some chair-tossing, on account of one of 'em stole the money the other one was saving for a boob job, because---the picture goes to blue screen, and a "Breaking News" announcement appears.
Bobby's vexed. There's no news short of Armageddon that's more interesting than Jerry.
A nervous-sounding young man announces over the wail of a police siren that he was on a ride-along with the county sheriff when they sighted a known criminal, and now they're in high-speed pursuit. Ahead of them is the black Impala belonging to fugitive Dean Winchester, who's wanted by the FBI, and they're gonna get him, and he, Eddie Idell from Your News Channel 6, is going to give you minute-by-minute coverage as he's taken down.
Oh, hell. He stares at the screen in consternation. The wobbly picture being shot through the front windshield of the cruiser shows the rear deck of the Impala, and he can make out the back of two heads in the vehicle. Then he catches sight of a familiar landmark, and common sense kicks in---this is a local station, the boys were probably on their way to his place when Sheriff Carter crossed their path.
Bobby's out the door with his keys in hand. The fancy mailbox with lattice and morning glories on it belongs to the Pinkowskis up the road; calculating the distance, he figures if he guns it, he may be able to intercept the car chase and maybe cause a diversion.
The shrill siren and whining tires on the highway can be heard over the chugging of the old wrecker's engine. Through the trees, sunlight glints off chrome and black enamel. Bobby calculates trajectory, stomps hard on the gas. The Impala flashes past as he gets to the end of the driveway without slowing down, and he catches a glimpse of a pale face in the passenger seat. Sam is probably hanging on for dear life.
This is the craziest thing he's done in at least thirty years, hunting included, Bobby thinks in the handful of heartbeats between launching from his driveway and turning across the path of the patrol car. He's skidding into the turn, the sheriff's car is trying to brake, swerving, the nose just barely tagging Bobby's back end---at that speed, the impact spins them both around.
Good thing there was no oncoming traffic, Bobby realizes as he fetches up on the far side of the road, close enough to reach out and touch the cluster of mailboxes there. Carter's patrol car is snout-down in the drainage ditch on Bobby's side of the road, wheels still spinning. Looks like he's stuck there; Bobby takes a couple deep breaths, congratulating himself for stopping the pursuit and not getting himself killed in the process. 'Course, now he has to make nice to Carter, and be mindful of the fact that everything he says is being broadcast.
"Goddamn it, Singer!" the sheriff snaps when he strolls across the road to the struggling chase car. "Are you out of your mind? Couldn't you see I was chasing that car?"
"I saw that other car go zippin' past as I was coming down my driveway," Bobby nods. "Nice looking Impala. They don't make 'em like that anymore."
"Didn't you hear my siren, you jackass?" Tim Carter must've forgotten the camera is going---Eddie Idell is pointing it toward the conversation, his mouth still hanging open. If his daddy didn't own the station, he'd probably be wearing an apron and frying burgers for minimum wage. "I was in hot pursuit!"
"Glad to hear it! They were going at least twenty over the limit. Maybe thirty."
"Speeding? That was a federal fugitive in that car! Man's wanted for murder and bank robbery and all kinds of heinous crimes, speeding's the least of it."
"Damn!" says Bobby, sounding properly impressed. "I'm real sorry about that, Tim. I was watching that car go by and I didn't even see you coming. Here, let me get you out of that ditch...good thing I've got a tow truck, huh?" And he hooks up the winch, taking his time about it, making a show of recognizing Idell and gawking at the camera and in general being a genial buffoon.
Naturally, because the sheriff is pissed that his quarry's gotten away, Bobby has to take a sobriety test, and the news reporter is there every step of the way. Sure enough, he's gonna be on channel 6 tonight. What the hell, knowing that station the way he does, Old Man Idell will sell off the footage, and he'll wind up on some Fox special about high-speed police chases gone bad. But that's okay; by the time he concludes his performance, the boys could be halfway to Denver.
When the patrol car finally heads back toward town, Carter is still wrathful. Bobby waits until he's sure he's out of camera range before a broad grin spreads across his weathered face. He climbs back into the cab of the truck---he's pretty sure he can salvage a replacement bumper from the yard, this one is bent around like a hairpin---and fishes his phone from his pocket.
Selecting an entry labeled "S. Wesson", he coaxes the old truck back up the driveway. Gonna have to realign the front end, too, damn it.
"Are you okay, Bobby?" an anxious voice asks before he has a chance to open his mouth. "It looked like he clipped you pretty good."
"It still runs," he replies. "All caught on tape, too, since one of the local news reporters was doing a ride-along. Guess I'm gonna be a celebrity. Should I be expecting the pleasure of your company, or are you two gonna get while the getting's good?"
"We were just going to drop in and say hi on the way to Littleton. Dean thinks we'd better keep going." He hears 'Thanks, Bobby!' bellowed in the background as he steers the old truck back into its accustomed spot.
"You boys take care," he says, and disconnects.
The TV is still on; in his haste to intercept the drama on the road, he didn't turn it off, and the sound of applause greets him as he enters the house.
Damn, he's missing Oprah.