Definition
: to assail by words or arguments : oppose or attack as false or lacking integrity
When you impugn, you hazard repugnant pugnacity. More simply put, you risk insulting someone so greatly that they may punch you in response. The belligerent implications of impugn are to be expected in a word that derives from the Latin verb pugnare, which means "to fight." In its earliest known English uses in the 1300s, impugn could refer to a physical attack (as in, "the troops impugned the city") as well as to figurative assaults involving verbal contradiction or dispute. Over time, though, the sense of physical battling has become obsolete and the "calling into question" sense has predominated. As you might expect, pugnare also gave English other fighting words, including repugnant and pugnacity.
The pug stared back at me.
"Look." I said at its ridiculously bobbing head. "It's not like i'm doing this because i want to."
It continued to bob its head. Despite technically an inanimate object, a plastic, fake fur trimmed cheap freebie given away on an impulse insurance buy - it still managed to give off waves of condescending mockery and superiority.
After all, it was a beloved symbol of a prosperous and well respected insurance firm - not to mention its commercial advertising slogan was based on the deep roots of patriotism and (almost but not quite racist) nationalism this country was based on. Whereas I, I was a nobody. A person you could find anywhere you looked, in off brand leggings and an even more off brand hoodie. The only roots i had were the ones that were showing off how long it'd been since i had a proper dye job.
I twisted my hands on the steering wheel. I was beginning to sweat so hard my palms were sliding back and forth on the cheap pleather coated ring. God knows what it was doing to my foundation, but i was too anxious to even flip down the sunscreen visor and check it in the mirror.
I tried to calm myself by looking at my nails. I'd have to get them done soon too - the regrowth was so bad that the acrylics could easily snap off if I wasn't careful - I'd had that happen before.
The paint job itself still looked good though. I'd tried to go a bit seasonal with snowflake patterns and glitter.
(No glitter in prison - the thought flew across my mind and out the other side before I had the chance to crush it. It left skid marks in my brain though. Dark ones.)
I stopped looking at my nails.
I glanced up through the windscreen, towards the second story of the council flats i was currently parked outside.
Still no sign of movement.
I tapped my nails against the steering wheel anxiously.
Should I go up?
No, definitely not safe. I was told to wait in the car, in case they had to make a dash for it.
I really hope they didn't have to make a dash for it.
I could leave them here.
No, I couldn't. If I left them here, they'd left instructions that I was to be picked up by the next law enforcement official I came across. They were professionals and I had to trust they knew what they were doing.
(Even if, if this were a film, you'd be the dumb blonde girl that gets killed in the opening scene for being too dumb, too blond, too trusting and too female.)
Oh God.
That damn dog was still nodding at me.
In a fit of temper, I grabbed it by its wiggly neck and chucked it out my window. Too bad I'd forgotten that I'd wound the window up (in the vain hope it might slow down any bullets that could come my way - ha!) and so it bounced off, whacked me in the face and tumbled down to become stuck under the clutch. Panicked, in case they came screaming out of the door telling me to 'go, go,go' right that second, i scrambled for it desperately, trying to keep my eye on it and the front door of the building. I managed to grasp it between two of my fingernails and carefully draw it up to my lap. i then wound down the window and hastily threw it out.
I wound the window back up, my fingers trembling on the button. I grasped the steering wheel again and took deep, shuddering breaths.
The reason why I ended up behind the wheel of a getaway car for two undercover government agents who were about to try and infiltrate a drug ring that i had introduced them to and I was now, therefore, screwed six ways to Sunday whoever came out on top, could be put down to a few, simple, little things.
One, I had terrible taste in men.
Two, my bladder had the world's worst sense of timing.
Three, I had wanted to prove my mother wrong.
Four, I had a terrible sense of direction when drunk.
Five, and this was the main one, I had bad luck. Like, super bad luck. Like, the kind of luck that, once you have said yes to the bad boy only because your mother disapproves of him so badly and thinks he is a drug dealer and you're sure she's wrong, as well as being a judgmental bitch, and he's actually very sweet and only misunderstood. Then you go out with said bad boy boyfriend to a shady club that, actually, does look a bit like a drug den and you're sure it's fine but his friends are kind of scary so you drink a bit more than you normally do and so you're pretty drunk when your bladder goes 'emergency evacuation now!' so you stumble into the bathroom only to realise it's not the girl's bathroom but a weird storage room and you walk right into an interrogation between an undercover agent and his snitch.
And then the snitch points you out as the main squeeze of the leader of the gang.
And then you realise that a, your mother was right and he's not only a drug dealer but the ringleader of a drug ring and b, you are now royally screwed because now a law official thinks you're involved and the only way to get out of doing hard time as an accomplice (despite the fact you've never done drugs in your life!) is to help said undercover agent expose your now very scary boyfriend's crimes.
Which leads me to now. Sitting in a getaway car, waiting for shit to explode, knowing that i'll either get sent down by the law, or send under by my soon to be ex-boyfriend.
I made those agents promise that, whatever happens to me, mum will be looked after. They owed me that at least.
A sound from above made me look up. The curtains in the window were waving madly, looking like demented ghosts.
Dark shadows flickered wildly in front of it.
Thump. Thump.
An erratic heartbeat.
Smash
A body was thrown through the glass - falling through the air, hands reaching up to grasp at nothing but empty air, glass sparkling around him like hailstones. he slammed into the car behind me, metal roof buckling under his weight, blood streaming down his face. He groaned and tried to curl himself into a ball.
Without even realising what I was doing, my phone was to my ear, 999 already dialed and ringing.
'Emergency services.'
"Hi, I need police and ambulances for 376 Roebuck Drive. Someone's just been thrown from a second storey window, I can hear gunshots ('well, not yet but i'm sure I would soon'. Suddenly there was the breakfast snap, crackle and pop of gunshot sounds. 'See, there we go') he seems alive so far but he'd badly hurt, there's blood everywhere. Hurry."
I hung up the phone before they could ask more questions. Calling the police had definitely not been in the agents plans, but i was not going to sit here and watch people die just because someone had told me they were the bad guys - especially when i knew that sometimes all it took to be labelled 'the bad guy' was to have the extreme unluckiness of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The gunshot sounds were getting closer. I popped the locks on the doors and switched the engine on, putting the car into gear.
The agents came screaming out the front door, guns waving, shouting at me to go, go, go.
Arseholes.
They jumped into the car, still screaming.
"Would you shut your face!" I snapped at them. "With all your caterwauling you're just going to bring more attention to yourselves crouch down and i'll drive off."
They crouched down.
I drove away slowly, hoping that the gang members who had poured out the door moments after the agents had dashed into my car hadn't spotted them.
In my rear view mirror i saw them raise their guns at me.
"Shit." I spat. I switched gears and slammed on the accelerator, hoping against hope the police were nearly here.
If not.
Time to see if all those hours playing grand theft auto just to impress my now definitely ex-boyfriend were about to pay off.
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