The Game 25
Edited by Karen Leigh
Horace almost shit Skinner's pants. Was this Skinner's light of love, Ricky Caruso, or had one of the pretty toys followed him? He smashed his way back through Walter Skinner's memories and finally realized this was one of the robots or androids...what ever. Anyway, they would taste just like Sweet and Low even if he found their emotions edible. He scowled as he realized it was the most obnoxious android of all. However, Horace realized that this could be a dangerous creature. He thought quickly and had a plan just like that. He couldn't remember if the incinerator at the bottom of the shaft was on or off, but in any event, he could tend to the pest later.
Horace said, "Tin Man, there's something you have to see."
Leading the creature to the door to the former dumb waiter that was connected to the furnace downstairs, Horace said, "There's some odd writing on the wall in here. I have a strong feeling that it's a Mac 27 prophecy. Have a look."
Horace smiled inwardly as he waited to see if the android would take his bait. First give the android the shaft and then, oh, then, he'd have a bite to eat from that lovely long banquet of Denise Bryson...
Tin Man turned to Horace, his eyes shining with the fervid light of a fanatic. "A prophecy? Of course I'll take a look. Maybe it's a message from the great St. Asimov, or the blessed Capek himself. " Hurrying to look through the door, he leaned right in, peering round the dim interior in excited anticipation. He knew now he had been right in coming to Skinner Not only was he trustworthy, but his piety was exemplary.
Planting the AD's big foot on the android's behind, Horace sent him down the chute, sneezing as a cloud of ash rose back. Horace said, "While you're down there, you might want to see if you can make a whole skeleton out of the chips and fragments left in there."
Catching his prey easily ... how nice of the AD to work so hard to prepare this splendid strong body for him, Horace carried the swooning goody to the bed, letting down the fur-lined manacles. She was not quite under, but going rapidly.
Smirking, grinning, Horace showed all of Skinner's white teeth. He said, "Just let me loosen your clothing for you..."
The nipples were just what he hoped, sweet little nubs just like chocolate covered cherries. They would taste divine. The soft skin of the stomach also...no delight more shivery than to bite into such tender flesh, to feel the prey struggle in shock, disbelieving that anything so terrible could ever happen to them.
Denise was quite naked from the waist up. Her long legs splayed in those net stockings and the satin panty was worth a picture or two. Horace stood aside, making sure that the camera he had triggered had caught the lovely vision.
Lifting one hand, he kissed the inner wrist, teeth pressed to the pulse, barely restraining himself from a nip and the first salty sweet delight of blood. Quickly before she could startle, he fastened one wrist in the sturdy manacle. She seemed to realize her peril, but drugged, she could not react in time to stop him from locking securely the other cuff.
Stepping back, Horace said, "My dear, as ravishing as you look this way, I must see all of you..."
Humming a lovely tune from an old Steve Martin film, Horace sang, "Why not take all of me? A little bite here. A good chomp there, I'll eat you all up...I do so love you, sweet, sweet Denise..."
Setting his profane hands on either side of the stockings, Horace started to unwrap his candy bar....
There were hands on her... hands that pried and poked her, and she couldn't do anything to prevent it. Her own hands had been confined, and now the hands were stroking, touching, laying back the mink coat and exposing her to the light.
"No... no, don't. Please?" She whimpered a little. The touches felt somehow pleasant, although she knew that it was wrong to let this happen. She kicked sluggishly as the AD, suddenly not such a nice man any more, removed her stockings, but she couldn't manage to summon up any strength.
"Please let me go, Mr. Skinner. Please..."
"She's my ideal woman," Horace said, "She has a cock...an all day sucker by the looks of that prime meat."
It took a moment to slide the rags down her nicely waxed legs and then grip her panties with his teeth. He ripped them off and waggled them about wildly, snorting playfully before tossing them aside.
She was a fighter. He had to grab each leg to get them into the adjustable leg holds. But there she was, trussed up like a lobster for boiling. Her/his chest was heaving. Of course, other than the makeup, she was clearly male now, but even with the frosting all licked away, the cake was sweet.
Waggling his tongue, Horace listened to Skinner screaming in his head. Son of bitch needed to shut up. He was giving Horace a headache. The minute Horace concentrated on Denise, Skinner was fighting him, and the man knew how to battle. Horace had never encountered a man who so embodied the spirit of a fighting pit bull. Bloody, but unbowed was what came to mind. Horace enjoyed making Skinner see what he was doing...
First to get the juices, flowing. Horace had a little something to help Denise's head clear from the Rohypnol. He snapped the popper under her elegant nose and watched her writhe. Nice, very nice...
Diving between the gates of heaven, Horace sucked it all in, a little surprised at how adept the AD was at this. Walter My, my, my, so the stiff AD likes the taste of cock.
A momentary vision of a pretty creature like the others Horace had seen and wanted jolted free from Walter's mind.
Keep that thought Horace commanded, I want HIM for dessert."
Denise might think he was lady, but his cock knew what it liked. The powerful hips heaved off the bed, pushing into his mouth. She was a red-hot slut, this one...
Yet...underneath the two drugs, Horace saw fear, repulsion, and rage. He fed on these emotions. They were delicious. Even Skinner's chaotic thoughts as he raged in the cage of his own mind delighted him.
He would feast here. He would feast for hours on all the emotions before he took more than a nibble of flesh...
Holding out his reclaimed FBI ID; Ricky offered dimples to the female cop that had stopped him. "Ma'am, I am on the track of a serial killer..."
"On a stolen motorcycle?" she asked sternly.
Looking through his lashes, Ricky said, "Yes, Ma'am. But the guy was beating on his girlfriend who was underage by a yard. Just past making the height to go play in the ball pit at McDonald's."
The cop was melting. Ricky chalked one up to the old Caruso charm. He said, "Run the guy and tell me if I did the right thing."
His gut feeling was that the guy would be dirty. He grinned as the computer in the car lit up with wants and a full-length coat of convictions rather than a jacket. The cop said, "Okay, I see your point. I'll let you go...but I need your address and phone number just in case."
Ricky wrote both down for her. Yep, just like a bakery, take a number, honey...
Now, he was on the block, but where the hell was the car? This was a weird neighborhood. Everybody seemed to have a business attached to the residence or visa versa. He decided to use the process of elimination.
First, the meeting hall....half an hour later, Ricky staggered out with lipstick marks all over his cheek. Wow, he didn't know that it was the custom in Poland for all the bridesmaids to kiss the cheek of any stranger that happened to walk into the wedding. He rubbed his ass...that hadn't been the bridesmaid. That had been the rather sad looking best man...
Okay, the comic book store was closed. Damn, Ricky had to remember the address for the bakery. He had never seen an clair shaped like a penis before...
The Korean convenience store turned out to be another delay. Ricky flashed his ID and they all screamed, waved their hands around, and then turned themselves in for gambling. Ricky couldn't believe it, but the local cops were willing to take credit for the bust so he could clear out with only an honorable mention in the report.
This left an abandoned house and the nice duplex type place separated by an abandoned lot. Ricky peered in the garage. Pay dirt, Skinner's car was parked inside. Well, he was going to have a thing to say to Walter Skinner in a few minutes.
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Tin Man came to in a dark, warm enclosure. The floor under his hands was covered in thick dry dust; high above there was a chink of light. He examined his memory banks... sure enough a few minutes were missing. The last thing he recalled was looking for an inscription that AD Skinner wanted to show him. He must have tripped, and fallen down the shaft. No doubt Skinner had gone to fetch a ladder or a rope, to rescue him.
Minutes passed, and no one came. Tin Man was worried. Perhaps Bryson had done something dreadful to Skinner? He should have neutralized her before attempting to talk to the AD.
The walls of the enclosure were metal; he didn't think he could break through them to escape. There was but one option. Bracing himself against the sides of the shaft, Tin Man began to inch his way upwards.
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Denise was a saucy wrench, but she needed some champagne to marinate in before Horace had more than a tidbit of a taste. Now, there had been a magnum in the fridge, cheap stuff but that was a long, tall piece of meat to cover with bubbly so cheap would do.
Smiling, Horace remembered the circus geek he had devoured one day not so long ago. To his surprise, he had found that his meat was richly crammed with another ugly little fellow. That had required red wine...
An oily substance dripped on Horace's hand. Damn, he thought he had disposed of the dead Oilien. Good thing he remembered how to kill his nosy cousins. Of course, then you had a bunch of motor oil with lumps of worms of which to dispose. Here it was.
Hmm, what to do? Recalling the task he would need to accomplish later, disposing of the inedible android and the less tasty bits of Denise, Horace decided to prime the furnace with the oil.
Carrying the big container of oil and dead Oilien, Horace opened the disposal and noticed the android climbing up. He waved his fingertips in a friendly fashion to the creature before carefully pouring the oil down the walls. He giggled as he saw the fingers and toes go slip and slide. The Tin Man plunked back to the bottom with a resounding clank.
Tin Man looked up at Skinner's face in profound shock. Rather than coming to his aid he had deliberately caused him to fall back into his prison, and now, with the coating of oil, the thick gritty dust was stuck liberally all over him... and Ash Wednesday, he reflected, was still a few days off. Obviously, Skinner was not the upright citizen that Tin Man believed him to be, or, maybe he thought that Tin Man himself was some sort of troublemaker.
Whistling "Somewhere over the rainbow", Horace grabbed the champagne and returned to Denise. He observed the goose pimples as the alcohol beaded all over the smooth pale limbs. A small pool caught his eye and he crouched over the lovely thing, lapping at his/her belly button. He continued down to take Denise's large cock into his mouth. Ah, joy, now to see how patient he could be in licking and sucking and not taking one bite of the delectable creature...not yet anyway.
She couldn't resist. Her arms were held captive, and her ankles were stretched taut, her legs splayed wide like a common street girl. The Assistant Director had laid her bare and sprinkled her with sparkling wine. The sensation was astonishing. Her flesh was hot and cold at the same time. She felt prickles beneath her quivering flesh and not all of it was fear.
She'd thought him such a nice man, but what he was doing to her was not the act of a nice man. He'd sucked her cock in deep and it felt... Oh, my sainted aunt, it felt wonderful, but he had to know that nice girls didn't do that, and besides, she had been saving herself for that special someone...
She couldn't stop him. It felt good, yeah, but it was wicked, and she begged him to let her go, stop doing this to her and turn her loose. "I'm not that kind of a girl, Mr. Skinner."
He hadn't answered, merely sucked her harder and now she could feel the spunk rising along her dick, prickling pleasure flushing through her limbs, tightening her thighs.
"No!"
She came despite the denial, pumping into nice Mr. Skinner's talented mouth.
Then she cried, and her mascara began to run.
Well, that had been unexpectedly short and sweet. Horace's alien rider and teenage monster psyche responded by coming himself, but his real excitement had not been satiated. Now it would...
Lapping the flesh clean, Horace considered devouring the organ meat on the spot, but no, that would not do. They had a nasty habit of bleeding out when you did that. Instead his licking guided him lower to the inner flesh of the soft skinned thighs. He began to nip, at first as if playfully, but as he soon as he had the first taste of blood, he chomped his first mouthful of filet of Denise. The bite was not too deep. It was just the first one after all and Horace wanted so many before.
Denise was strong. She could live a long time under his attentions. Ah, she tasted so good, both the bit of yummy salty sweet flesh and the rolling waves of fear and pain. Horace took another bite, letting the blood bit savor out of his open mouth for her to see. She was so good. What an epicurean delight of terror and pain...
Pausing to meditate on this new turn of events, Tin Man's concentration was shattered by a piercing cry. A frequency analysis determined that Bryson had uttered the cry, and the tone of distress was all too genuine. He disapproved of Agent Bryson's choice of attire, but the agent seemed otherwise respectable... perhaps Skinner had a motive for keeping him trapped, a motive that involved Bryson!
His metal prison seemed to be bolted together, but the bolts were thoroughly corroded, and immovable even when Tin Man deployed his 'vibrate' mode through his strong fingers to loosen them. But now there was oil, he remembered, and oil could lubricate the screw threads. With new determination, and a quick prayer of thanks, he set to work.
Thick drapes covered all of the windows. Ricky cased the outside of the house thoroughly and persuaded that Walter and Denise were both in the place, he decided that a surprise was in order.
Ricky has a number of things that he never left home without. A MasterCard was not even on the list. His gun, a back up gun, a sharp knife that could double as a plam because he, for one, believed in aliens, a supply of condoms, individual packets of lube, a number of preprinted cards with his home number printed on them, and his handy-dandy break-in kit.
Sucking in his cheeks, Ricky crouched over the garage door lock and took a moment to solve it. There was as he expected a door leading to the house. This was also locked, but he mastered that as quickly. Ricky was a boy with real potential if he ever decided on a life of crime...
Creeping silently, Ricky heard his conscience yelling at him that he had no right to spy on Walter Skinner. He squished the guilty voice as if it were a troublesome cricket. He could hear moaning and then a scream.
Smirking, Ricky thought that Walter Skinner must have been pulling out the stops for Denise. He had made Ricky scream too when they made love. Then as the screams grew more frantic, it struck him that Denise sounded as if she was scared out of her wits and in pain instead of having the ride of her life. Something wasn't right...
The scene that greeted Ricky almost seemed normal, given that Walter liked to play games sometimes. Denise was lovely, naked on a round bed, her arms secured with fur lined cuffs and her legs secured opened and spread with leg manacles, also fur lined. Ricky's spine tingled and he suddenly wasn't jealous. He just wanted to play too.
Walter's head was busy between the spread thighs. Denise looked as if she had already come, but it didn't surprise Ricky that Walter was still sucking and nibbling. He did like to stretch things out until you didn't know if you could take another minute. By the time, Walter's big cock stretched you; you were damn ready.
However, a scream greeted Walter's sudden fierce shake of his jaws. Ricky gagged as his lover's face came up, blood smeared, a bit of flesh caught on the end of his tongue. He could see other bite marks now and by that he didn't mean lover's nibbles these were real bleeding wounds.
The gun came to Ricky's hand along with a prickling feeling up and down his spine. Something was very wrong. That could not be Walter....Walter was a tender, inventive lover. He might engage in a little bondage, maybe a light spanking or two, but not this, nothing like this.
"Walter, back away from Denise, now!" Ricky commanded.
Laughter greeted him, an eerie high-pitched sound that should not have come from Walter's deep chest. "Not now, sweeeet thing. Later for you. Just wait your turn," Walter replied.
"I mean it," Ricky said. Looking at Denise, Ricky said, "Denise, are you all right? Hey, this isn't your scene is it?"
Man, she looked out of it! Ricky drew a conclusion from the overturned champagne flute on the table and the semi-glazed look on his fellow FBI agent's eyes. Drugged? Walter or whoever was pretending to be Walter had drugged her.
His voice shaking, Ricky said, "I mean it. Walter or who ever you are...don't make me shoot..."
"Please shoot me," Walter pleaded, "God, Ricky, help me. Save me. Save Denise."
His voice did not reach the lips of his body. Walter raged inside the prison of his head. The creature that had taken him over was not even human. There were human elements....Walter sensed a teenager, cruel in a playfully uncaring way as a cat with a mouse, but the main creature had no human emotions. It was a creature driven only by hunger and pleasure both of which it satisfied by feasting on the flesh of living human beings.
The gun in Ricky's hand shook. Walter could see the young agent was almost in shock. The big green eyes were huge in the pale face. Ricky obviously couldn't handle what he was seeing.
With Horace distracted by his feeding on Denise's pain and terror as well as by the threat, Walter fought him with every bit of the discipline and training of a lifetime. Damn it, he didn't care if he had to die with Horace....he wanted the creature damned to the hell in which it belonged.
Horace was nearly drunk from the exquisite blend of emotions in the room. Denise's pain and fear, a delicate essence that would have fetched an incredible price on the nearly barren home planet that Horace's alien component barely remembered. Walter's rage and horror was like vodka, a raw, ripping drink not to be quaffed in more than a shot glass or two lest it knock you senseless. Then there was Ricky, champagne on the surface, light and bubbly, but underneath, ripe with potential, more like brandy with hidden strength under the sweetness.
What he sensed from Ricky, one of Walter's lovers, was very usable. The man really cared about Walter and trusted him despite his puppy dog like playfulness and his bitch in heat willingness to pursue as many partners as responded to his enticements.
Horace growled, "Put that gun down, Agent and get the hell out of here. Denise and I are enjoying a private moment."
All it took was a moment's doubt. The gun lowered slightly and Horace charged. Quicker than Horace expected, Ricky had time for one slightly misaimed shot. It ran a hot line of pain along the top of Horace's shoulder. It was not even enough to slow Horace...this body was accustomed to continuing to function under pain and stress.
However, Horace stored away the incident. Ricky would pay and pay for this insult later. The gun flew up and away, ending with a clatter in the doorway leading to the kitchen.
Skinner's body was well trained. His fists were like lead weights covered with leathery hide. His shoulder packed the wallop of a pile driver. The first blow hit Ricky on his cute little chin. A second punch struck hard to his shoulder, followed by a jab to the flat tummy. Ricky's eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the floor.
Denise could hear the voices. It seemed to be that troublesome kid who had apparently taken such a dislike to her back at Mulder's place. Well, other days, other ways. Her heart leapt as she realized that he had come to save her. She moaned, and tried, thick tongued, to articulate.
"Help me... please, for God's sake, help me."
"No!, oh, please, no." Denise couldn't see what had happened, but she whimpered when the AD moved back into sight again. So much for Sir Galahad. This ordeal wasn't over, might never be over. She tried again. "Please don't hurt me, sir. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good."
The pain in her thigh was agonizing, and there was blood on the AD's face. Her blood.
Ricky was down for the moment, but not out. He was a tough Italian kid from a bad neighborhood so love taps such as he had just been given didn't scare him or keep his hard noggin dizzy for long. He got up from the floor, very pissed that the X File, which had replaced Walter, had dismissed him so lightly by turning his back on him.
Scrabbling like a particularly pretty crab across the floor, Ricky grabbed a fireplace poker. He was convinced that it was Walter's body, but didn't think that it was Walter that looked out of those roiling scarlet eyes.
Coming up, Ricky slammed home a wicked strike across the vulnerable back of the big man's knees. He managed a hurried, "I'm going to help you, Denise," to the captive agent before ducking back as his opponent fell then rose.
Shit, the man didn't seem to be conscious of pain. He just kept coming. Ricky got in another wild strike, which sent the man stumbling into the camcorder. He fell on top of it, sending an arc of electricity zapping into the air.
For a moment, the fierce blood smeared mask went blank. Then Walter's eyes returned to their normal brown hue. He sat on top of the ruin of equipment as if stunned for a long moment. Ricky kept an eye on him, but backed toward the bed.
Ricky spotted the keys tossed carelessly on the table next to the bed. He freed Denise's hands as Walter's shook his head dazedly.
"Ricky, it wasn't me...someone taking control...the bastard is still here! Ricky, put him in the TV...shock does.." Walter babbled.
The change was visible. Mindless rage came back into the broad features. Red viscous color ran down the whites and the corona of the eyes. "I'm going to keep you alive and screaming as I eat you an inch at the time," roared the creature.
Grabbing the tripod for the camcorder, the monster man hit out. Ricky grunted as the stand hit his arm. He refused to let go of the poker, but retreated, having noticed that the man was no longer between him and his gun.
Looking for a chance to get the gun and also trying to puzzle out what Walter had said about shock and the TV, Ricky danced like a picador, jabbing at his bullish opponent when he could and slipping back toward the gun a step at a time.
Keeping his voice steady and clear, Ricky said to Denise, "Denise, I want you to free your ankles and get out of here. Call for back up. Come on, shake that pretty head clear and save your ass. Denise, do you hear me?"
This was no time to take his eyes off the monster that had been his lover. Ricky just kept talking to Denise, hoping that he could penetrate her drugged daze.
A strange noise was coming from the hall, a rumbling rattling sound as if a localized earthquake was happening.
She was hyperventilating. A key? Ricky said that there was a key. Her heart pounded painfully, and she sat up, wincing as her head swam and her leg throbbed agonizingly. A key! There!
She fumbled with it, her hand shaking as it attempted to marry the key to the lock. One leg clicked free and she scooted down to liberate the other. She was keening now, watching Ricky and the AD face off. As the cuff flew open, she rolled and fell off the bed onto the floor. There surely must be something that she could do.
Pulling herself up, she stumbled towards the AD and climbed onto his back, sinking her teeth into his ear.
Not too happy that the drugged and non compos mentis Denise had joined the fray, Ricky decided to go for broke. Forget the gun. If Denise would just...
Yeah, there, Ricky had not reached his full height or weight until he was in the police academy. He had spent a lot of his childhood, learning how to fight fast and dirty as a result. He hit Skinner's body with a stiff thrust of his knee right where it would hurt the most.
As the man roared bloody hell, Ricky grabbed Denise aside and sent her sprawling back over a couch. Another charge and the full weight of Ricky's tough body hit Skinner's. The man hit the big screen TV and almost instantly an arc connected man and machine.
"No" screamed Walter's voice although timbres below were higher and lower than that of Ricky's lover. Staggering forward, Skinner grabbed Ricky by the throat and choked him.
The bastard was inhumanely powerful and Ricky couldn't pry his grip off at first until his very desperation gave him strength. He lunged, broke the grip, and slammed Skinner back against the now cracked TV screen.
Something cold, slimly, horrid intruded into Ricky's mind. He didn't know how to fight that and started to surrender as the force of the pitiless creature found every secret doubt he had ever had and threw them back at him.
Into this slow drowning of the mind, Ricky felt Walter's strength suddenly join him. "Ricky, Ricky, fight him! We'll fight him together."
Trapped between them, the creature could not stop Ricky from again pushing Walter's body forcefully into the screen. Ricky felt the jolt and then the dead screen lit with a face that only vaguely resembled Walter's. It gibbered in rage and then dissolved in millions of pixels.
Walter's eyes were their usual warm brown again, but he was in shock. Pulse racing, skin pale and clammy. Ricky secured the man's hands and dragged him out to the garage. He went back for Denise and wrapped her in several blankets. That done Ricky unplugged the TV. He wished that he knew where Mulder was. Maybe the man would know how best to dispose of the creature caught in the TV...
Shuddering Ricky traced the cable connection with his eyes. A horrific thought had just come to him...what if the entity was out there? Lurking in the cable, manifesting itself in horrid shows that preyed on human emotions...demeaning terrible shows that cheapened the human spirit...shows like Jerry Springer and Survivor.
Fleeing the scene of the ugly fight, Ricky grabbed his phone and called for paramedic. The bites to Denise looked ugly although they were not life threatening. But she had been drugged too so a hospital was the best place for her.
As for Walter, he was in rough shape. Ricky knew what had happened. He had felt the creature that called itself Horace in that terrible moment when it tried to take his body.
Now, he had to persuade Denise that her assailant had not been Walter Skinner at all. That might not be an easy thing.
In the meantime, Ricky secured the blanket and wrapped her in his arms. Human warmth was always better. He rocked her gently as they sat in the garage and waited for help.
"You're safe now, Denise, I'm going to take care of you. No-one's going to hurt you anymore," Ricky reassured.
Not sure that he was getting through, Ricky repeated the phrases in his most soothing tones...
She was safe? How could she be safe with the Assistant Director still there beside them? Feebly, she attempted to tell Ricky that Skinner was not dead, that he was still there and would bite... would... her mind veered, shunning the thoughts of what he would do.
"No. Not safe," she whispered. "He... Ricky." She buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled nice and was holding her gently.
Thinking ahead wasn't a strong point for Enrico Nicla Caruso, but as he comforted Denise and worried about Walter, it struck him that waiting here was not such a hot idea. There would be too many questions and Ricky didn't care to have Fox Mulder's nickname no matter how much he admired the agent. Spooky Caruso just didn't have the right ring to it.
Eugene was a doctor and there was a small infirmary at the compound where Denise and Walter could be treated. Ricky helped Denise to the car and then went back, dragging Walter into the back seat with a great deal of effort. His former lover looked tragic with his bloody swollen lip and black eye, his scorch marked and torn jacket and his assorted bumps and bruises.
One eye opened as Ricky grunted and groaned his way to the car. "Is Denise all right?" Walter asked.
"She'll live. That guy bit her thigh deeply. Really gross bites. I think he uh messed with her or him. I guess she wasn't exactly experienced," Ricky said.
"You believe that it wasn't me?" Walter asked.
"I know it wasn't you. I felt that thing. I saw what that was in your eyes. Red stuff...weird moving red things in your eyes," Ricky summarized.
As he settled Walter in the car, Ricky mumbled, "This is the first time being jealous has led to anything good for anyone."
Patting Denise's leg, Ricky said, "Don't worry. They'll take better care of you then a hospital would."
As he pulled away, Ricky still wondered what all that noise from the basement was. If he didn't have injured people to take care of, he might have looked. Well, the paramedics could look into it. He could hear the sirens coming now.
In fact, the red lights passed him as he pulled over to the side like any other law-abiding citizen.
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