The transition from the stagnant chaos of EDSA to the slightly more fluid, but still congested, flow of Quezon Avenue felt like shifting from a mosh pit to a very crowded escalator. Guided by the flashing lights and authoritative presence of Captain Reyes's MMDA motorcycle and the two PNP officers flanking the rear, the Panaderia de Manila truck lumbered down the exit ramp. Jun-Jun glanced back briefly; the monumental traffic jam he'd orchestrated on EDSA was still visible, a seemingly unmoving monument to his halo-halo craving. He thought he saw the news helicopter banking away, perhaps having captured enough footage of "Pandesal-geddon" for one evening broadcast. Good riddance; their refusal to drop money had been quite disappointing.
They hadn't gone far down Quezon Avenue, maybe just past the cluster of buildings near the MRT station, when Captain Reyes signaled for the convoy to pull over onto the wide shoulder. The late afternoon sun, beginning its descent, cast long shadows across the road. Streetlights flickered on, painting the scene in alternating patches of natural and artificial light. Vendors selling samalamig (sweetened drinks) and phone accessories eyed the sudden police presence warily.
Captain Reyes cut his engine and swung off his bike, stalking back towards the bread truck's window. PO1 Gomez and PO1 David parked behind the truck, effectively boxing it in. Jun-Jun watched Officer P. Santos pull his old sedan over a little further down, looking incredibly anxious.
"Alright, Dela Cruz," Captain Reyes began, removing his sunglasses to reveal eyes narrowed with exhaustion and sheer disbelief. "This is where your official escort ends. We have cleared you from EDSA as ordered." He pulled out a citation pad. "However, we now need to address the multiple violations committed before the escort began. Starting with the vehicle."
He eyed the bread truck. "License and registration for this vehicle? Proof of ownership? Considering you were seen apparently purchasing it mere hours ago..."
Jun-Jun sighed dramatically. "Paperwork! The bane of modern existence! Look, Captain, it's probably in the glove compartment? The previous owner was in a bit of a hurry. Lovely fellow, highly recommend his pandesal." He gestured vaguely. "But really, can't we expedite this? I still have a very important dessert appointment."
"We will expedite your trip to the precinct if you don't cooperate," Captain Reyes stated flatly, unmoved. "Now, step out of the vehicle."
Jun-Jun looked from the stern Captain to the two police officers standing ready, then down the road where Officer Santos was pretending to inspect his tire, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. Escape was necessary. Direct confrontation seemed tedious. Distraction and financial lubrication were usually his preferred methods.
"Okay, okay," Jun-Jun said, holding up his hands. "No need for precinct talk. Tell you what." He leaned closer conspiratorially. "My previous offer of... let's call it a 'logistical support stipend'... still stands. One million each? For your trouble? And maybe another million for the 'Very Important Person' fund back at HQ? Just as a thank you for their understanding?" He gave his most charming, harmless grin.
Captain Reyes actually laughed, a short, harsh sound devoid of humor. "Dela Cruz, you could offer me the Malacañang Palace, and I'd still book you for attempted bribery right now. Get. Out."
Jun-Jun frowned. This guy was annoyingly principled. Time for Plan B (or was it Plan D by now? He'd lost count). Distraction.
"Alright, Captain, you got me," Jun-Jun said, sounding resigned. He reached for the door handle. "But just one thing first..." His eyes darted around, spotting a group of teenagers skateboarding on the wide sidewalk nearby, weaving around pedestrians. An idea sparked.
He turned back towards the rear of the truck, where PO1 Gomez and PO1 David were positioned. "Officers!" he called out cheerfully. "Quick question! Are skateboards street legal on Quezon Avenue?"
Before they could answer, he reached into his backpack, pulled out a thick wad of cash – maybe P100,000 in thousands – and lobbed it expertly towards the skateboarders. "SKATEBOARD RACE!" he yelled through the open window. "FIRST ONE TO HIT THAT NEXT TRAFFIC LIGHT WINS THIS!"
Chaos erupted instantly. The teenagers, seeing the bundle of cash tumble onto the pavement, let out whoops of excitement and immediately took off, racing down the sidewalk at reckless speeds, scattering pedestrians and vendors in their wake. Several other bystanders, seeing the cash and the sudden race, started running after them, hoping to scoop up dropped bills or perhaps just witness the spectacle.
Captain Reyes and his officers instinctively turned towards the sudden commotion. "Hey! Stop! Public endangerment!" Reyes yelled, momentarily distracted.
That was all Jun-Jun needed.
He slammed the bread truck into gear. With a screech of tires that startled the nearby samalamig vendor into dropping a pitcher of gulaman, he swerved sharply away from the shoulder, cutting across two lanes of moderate Quezon Avenue traffic. Horns blared furiously. Cars braked hard. Jun-Jun didn't slow down.
"Sorry!" he yelled out the window to no one in particular, gripping the wheel. "Important halo-halo business!"
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Captain Reyes and the officers were momentarily stunned, caught between dealing with the fleeing skateboarders and the escaping bread truck. He saw Reyes shouting into his radio, likely ordering a pursuit.
Jun-Jun needed to disappear, and fast. The large, brightly labeled bread truck wasn't exactly inconspicuous. He scanned the chaotic street. Taxis were stuck in the traffic he was worsening. Jeepneys were packed. Then he saw it – parked haphazardly near a side street entrance, a garishly decorated "party bus," the kind often rented for birthdays or corporate events, currently empty, engine idling, driver smoking nearby.
Perfect.
Ignoring the stream of angry honks, Jun-Jun maneuvered the bread truck towards the party bus, effectively blocking the narrow side street. He jumped out, leaving the bread truck door open and the engine running, causing even more traffic mayhem.
He jogged over to the party bus driver, who looked utterly bewildered by the approaching lunatic who had just abandoned a bread truck in the middle of the road.
"Boss!" Jun-Jun beamed, already pulling out his backpack. "Love the bus! The flashing lights, the questionable paint job, very festive! How much?"
The driver stared, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Ano daw?" (What did he say?)
"The bus! I need to buy it! Right now!" Jun-Jun clarified, already pulling out stacks of cash. "Let's say... five million pesos? Cash on the spot?"
The driver choked on smoke. "Five... million? For... this?" He gestured at the slightly dilapidated party bus. "It's just a rental!"
"Not anymore!" Jun-Jun declared, pressing bundles of money into the driver's stunned hands. "Consider your rental business massively upgraded! Now, hop out! I have places to be!"
Before the driver could fully process the transaction or the legality of it, Jun-Jun was clambering into the driver's seat of the party bus. He fumbled with the controls, finding buttons for strobe lights, a fog machine, and an extremely loud sound system currently playing novelty dance music.
He looked back. The police motorcycles were navigating the traffic jam caused by the abandoned bread truck, heading his way, but slowly. Captain Reyes looked absolutely livid.
Jun-Jun flicked on the party bus's external strobe lights, activated the fog machine (which started billowing smoke out the back), and cranked up the cheesy dance music. Then, he jammed the bus into gear and lurched down the narrow side street, hoping it led somewhere – anywhere – that wasn't back towards the police.
He had ditched his escort, abandoned one purchased vehicle for another, caused several traffic violations and a minor public disturbance (again), but he was free. Sort of. He was now driving a highly conspicuous party bus, filled with fog, blasting terrible music, down an unfamiliar side street somewhere in Quezon City.
He fumbled for his phone, needing GPS and maybe an update for Migs. The halo-halo mission was back on track, albeit via the most ridiculous detour imaginable.