07-26-2017, 09:25 AM
“Negative on that request Sergeant Estes, cruisers are unable to be deployed in your vicinity until the mob has dispersed. Over!”
Mad Bull gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to crush the walkie-talkie between his two bear paws. He had spent the past few minutes, precious time as the mob grew and began to fan out in search of the two murderous cops, trying to explain the situation.
“Copy that Dispatch, but I got a man down here, and if y'all don't do something soon, it'll be two. Over.”
“10-4 Sergeant. What is your current position? Over.”
“We're trapped in some scummy alley between 2600 Sendak Ave.”
“Roger on that address Estes. Stand by while I contact our extraction team.”
Officer Carlos Reyes coughed softly. The wounded police man sat on the dark concrete, leaning against one of the secluded alleyway dumpsters for support. He held a palm firmly against the hole in his chest, barely hearing the whispered obscenities that flew out of Mad Bull's mouth as he waited with the radio in hand. Grievous injuries are an interesting thing. For many that are wounded for the first time, they often do not feel the initial blow, stab or shot. Adrenaline takes control, pouring pain killing hormones and boosts of energy for several minutes. When this effect wears off however, the aching, itching agony sets in with exhaustion and you fall from feeling like Superman to obsessing on how you'll survive each minute.
Reyes rested his head against the brick wall; the exhaustion had arrived… along with all those other terrible symptoms of the coming shock. Finally, a static crackle from the radio snapped him from the haze.
“Dispatch to Sergeant Estes! Do you copy?”
“Mad Bull here. What's the word? You got good news for once?”
“Maybe so. The extraction team is willing to land a helicopter on the roof of the building you're outside, but that means you'll need to make your way to the roof. Their ETA is 20 minutes.”
“You mean FIGHT my way to the roof!” Mad Bull corrected.
“The commissioner has approved any and all usage of force…” the normally even and mechanical voice on the other end continued, but now with a soft feminine touch of concern. “You can make it John, I know you can.”
A pregnant pause elapsed between the two on opposite ends of the radio. The burly cop looked at Reyes, then at the several floors of building that loomed over them both. The metallic badge pinned to his chest rested heavy during that moment.
With grim determination, Mad Bull spoke into the receiver, “Copy that Dispatch. Over and out!”
As the sergeant firmly clipped the radio back to his belt the pair looked up startled as the door on the side of the building swung open with a springy creak. An obese man wearing an apron and greasy cook's hairnet carried two garbage bags in each fist. He tossed them both into a pile of other heaped trash alongside the dumpster. As he turned, he saw the two cops under the illumination from the door’s solitary overhanging light bulb.
“Cállate! Ensename las manos!” Reyes rasps at the fat dishwasher. The man complied and looked down at the seated cop. The policeman's pistol was barred and aimed. Reyes twirled the barrel of his gun in a little circle, signaling for the man to turn around.
Laboriously, Reyes rose to his feet. He planted a stout kick to the back of the man's knees, dropping the man with a meaty thud to the ground. The man quivered fearfully on the floor of the alleyway.
“Buenas noches.” Reyes snarled as he whipped the barrel of the Glock across the man's temple.
“You're a real asshole, you know it?” Mad Bull complained.
“We got authorization, Estes, so I'd say you're the one with the problem.”
“Yeah, well I’m the one always stuck picking up your trash.” Mad Bull replied with growing hatred.
The mighty cop hefted the limp dishwasher and shoved him into the dumpster. Just to be safe, he piled the trash bags on top, hiding the body. Sleepy wiped his hands on his pants legs then grasped the handle of the door.
“Let's get on with it then.”
Mad Bull gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to crush the walkie-talkie between his two bear paws. He had spent the past few minutes, precious time as the mob grew and began to fan out in search of the two murderous cops, trying to explain the situation.
“Copy that Dispatch, but I got a man down here, and if y'all don't do something soon, it'll be two. Over.”
“10-4 Sergeant. What is your current position? Over.”
“We're trapped in some scummy alley between 2600 Sendak Ave.”
“Roger on that address Estes. Stand by while I contact our extraction team.”
Officer Carlos Reyes coughed softly. The wounded police man sat on the dark concrete, leaning against one of the secluded alleyway dumpsters for support. He held a palm firmly against the hole in his chest, barely hearing the whispered obscenities that flew out of Mad Bull's mouth as he waited with the radio in hand. Grievous injuries are an interesting thing. For many that are wounded for the first time, they often do not feel the initial blow, stab or shot. Adrenaline takes control, pouring pain killing hormones and boosts of energy for several minutes. When this effect wears off however, the aching, itching agony sets in with exhaustion and you fall from feeling like Superman to obsessing on how you'll survive each minute.
Reyes rested his head against the brick wall; the exhaustion had arrived… along with all those other terrible symptoms of the coming shock. Finally, a static crackle from the radio snapped him from the haze.
“Dispatch to Sergeant Estes! Do you copy?”
“Mad Bull here. What's the word? You got good news for once?”
“Maybe so. The extraction team is willing to land a helicopter on the roof of the building you're outside, but that means you'll need to make your way to the roof. Their ETA is 20 minutes.”
“You mean FIGHT my way to the roof!” Mad Bull corrected.
“The commissioner has approved any and all usage of force…” the normally even and mechanical voice on the other end continued, but now with a soft feminine touch of concern. “You can make it John, I know you can.”
A pregnant pause elapsed between the two on opposite ends of the radio. The burly cop looked at Reyes, then at the several floors of building that loomed over them both. The metallic badge pinned to his chest rested heavy during that moment.
With grim determination, Mad Bull spoke into the receiver, “Copy that Dispatch. Over and out!”
As the sergeant firmly clipped the radio back to his belt the pair looked up startled as the door on the side of the building swung open with a springy creak. An obese man wearing an apron and greasy cook's hairnet carried two garbage bags in each fist. He tossed them both into a pile of other heaped trash alongside the dumpster. As he turned, he saw the two cops under the illumination from the door’s solitary overhanging light bulb.
“Cállate! Ensename las manos!” Reyes rasps at the fat dishwasher. The man complied and looked down at the seated cop. The policeman's pistol was barred and aimed. Reyes twirled the barrel of his gun in a little circle, signaling for the man to turn around.
Laboriously, Reyes rose to his feet. He planted a stout kick to the back of the man's knees, dropping the man with a meaty thud to the ground. The man quivered fearfully on the floor of the alleyway.
“Buenas noches.” Reyes snarled as he whipped the barrel of the Glock across the man's temple.
“You're a real asshole, you know it?” Mad Bull complained.
“We got authorization, Estes, so I'd say you're the one with the problem.”
“Yeah, well I’m the one always stuck picking up your trash.” Mad Bull replied with growing hatred.
The mighty cop hefted the limp dishwasher and shoved him into the dumpster. Just to be safe, he piled the trash bags on top, hiding the body. Sleepy wiped his hands on his pants legs then grasped the handle of the door.
“Let's get on with it then.”
Quote:“Cállate!" - Shut-up!
"Ensename las manos!” - Show me your hands!
“Buenas noches.” - Good night.