Sleepy rolled down the window with one hand while he reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a bulky service revolver with the trigger guard filed off. It looked somewhat like a toy, clutched in his meaty hamhock of a fist. He flicked off the safety, worked the hammer, leaned out the open window, and fired wildly at the escaping van's wheels, bullets pinging off asphalt and the vehicle's chassis. Sleepy swore as his revolver clicked over an empty cylinder.

"AY, YOU, WIT DA VAN!", he shouted, fumbling with his gun as he crammed a speedloader into it, "DIS IS DA POLICE. PULL OVER OR WE USE FORCE, CAPISCE?"