07-28-2017, 11:59 AM
The two cops cautiously approached through the alleyway entrance, wary of what may lie within the large building. The pair had been tasked with making their way to the roof for helicopter extraction, but they both knew with the riot in full swing outside and hundreds of local citizens hungry for their blood, they were in for the fight of their lives.
The doorway led into a brightly lit commercial sized kitchen. Gleaming stainless steel counter tops, implements and cooking appliances were scattered throughout. Two empty trash cans sat alongside the door, their plastic bags not yet replenished by the unconscious dishwasher. Spotless plates and utensils were piled onto a steel table right in front of the policemen, obscuring the remainder of the sizeable kitchen.
The kitchen stank of oily fried tortilla chips, beans and cheap steak. A sizzling grill could be heard further inward and the muffled voices of three men chatting was further overlaid by the faint melodies of a mariachi song played on a tape recorder. John Estes sidled up against the steel table and crouched low, then motioned for Reyes to take position alongside him. The beefy officer glanced around the edge of the table and spied a fat cook turning over flanks of meat with a long pointed fork tine on an open griddle. His long-hair was bound in a hairnet and a cigarette dangled from his lips. Alongside him another man stood next to the vat of oil and dough used to make fresh chips; his face was pock-marked from years of tending to the splattering pot of burning oil, but he leaned idly against the wall, listening to the other two men converse. The third man was young and handsome, like a modern day Lothario, and tossed a head of lettuce from one hand to the next as he remarked to the griller, “¡Escucha güey! If I didn't have to work a shift, you better believe it'd be me choppin’ up those puerco before anyone else!”
The griller stabbed his forked tine into the meat and turned it to sear the other side. The older man gave a stern look to the younger. “Lengua larga! If you know what's good for you, you'd chop that lettuce first! The boss don't pay you to kill cops!”
The pock-marked man scoffed and flicked a booger into the fry oil. It bubbled and consumed the gob in a quick sizzle. “What's it we pay you to do anyways, Carlito?” he asked the young man with a mocking smile.
click!
Officer Reyes stepped out from the hidden spot behind the table, released the safety on his pistol and leveled the gun at the tough talking Carlito.
“Shut up and don't move,” he commanded, his voice slithering out his lips like the hiss of a snake. The heat from the oil and open griddle made the kitchen sweltering hot and beads of sweat were forming above Reyes' pencil-thin mustache on his upper lip.
The young man dropped the head of lettuce fearfully and could only gape in surprise at the gun pointed at his chest. The pock-marked man only stood and stared, while the griller turned his head briefly, still intent on tending to the meat. Mad Bull lumbered up behind Reyes and placed his hand on the other cop's pistol, lowering its path safely to the floor. With shotgun in hand, he calmly addressed everyone, “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Whatcho got in mind, policia?” the griller asked, his back still turned as he flipped and turned the steaks.
The Sergeant pointed his gun at a nearby walk-in freezer room, separated from the rest of the kitchen by a huge metal door. A padlock kept the door shut and the cold air locked within.
“You three go take a break and we'll be on our way, deal?”
The pock-marked man shrugged noncommittally, but Carlito was shaking with indignation and fear.
“These...these are those matatombos! The killer cops! We can't just… We can't just…” he stammered.
“Stay cool kid, we don't want no more trouble,” John Estes warned with the palm of one hand raised complacently.
In a sudden display of panic, the young man turned and groped for a cleaver sitting on the nearby cutting board. He heaved it at the two policeman.
KAPAHH!
Reyes’ Glock snapped like a viper and stung Carlito in the right pectoral. The wannabe tough crumbled to the floor, alive but unconscious from the shock
KAPAHH!
Reyes fired another shot, this one aimed at the young man's head as he fell, but the bullet only splattered raw tomatoes and lettuce in a bright green and red spray of vegetable confetti. The cleaver had traveled uselessly past both cops, yet once again the lean officer had taken things too far. Sergeant Estes knew it, the two cooks knew it… and Reyes didn't care. Like the corrupted and broken officer, the people of the 34th Precinct were prideful and couldn't bear insults lightly; for someone, ANYONE to come in the kitchen and hurt, to murder one of their own, well that's the sort of thing that couldn't stand. There was only one recourse.
With a flick of the wrist, the griller flipped a broiling piece of meat at Reyes’ face and the cop screamed amidst the lingering echoes of gunfire as it blistered his head. The sizzling length of flank steak covered his eyes, leaving him easy prey as the griller lunged forward to stab with his forked tine. Mad Bull moved in for the assist, but the sullen, pock-marked man interceded
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
The oily man threw his fists in a quick combo at Estes’ gut. The massive cop grunted slightly, unphased by the blows. Taking guard, Mad Bull tossed aside the shotgun and raised his dukes, his gorilla-like paws bobbing just below his chin.
Thump!
Thump!
The man landed two more quick jabs into the cop’s left ribs, then readied a third strike with his other hand.
FWWHACK!
A foot-wide row of knuckles collided straight across the man’s chin and cheek as the sergeant launched a cross-punch. The burly cop had stepped forward, throwing all his weight and ample torso musculature into the blow. The oily man wasn’t short, but the 12 inches difference in height between the two combatants made the shot devastating to the extreme. Sergeant Estes let out a bull-like snort, glowering at the man who now lied on the floor, shakily trying to rise to his feet. With his two bear paws, the cop grasped the prone man by the neck and the groin, lifted him overhead, and tossed him towards the open griddle.
FSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!
The oily man’s clothes caught fire and sizzled. With yelps of pain and panic, he kicked his feet manically, knocking aside several browned steaks. The exposed skin on the man quickly darkened from his naturally light tan, to pink, to red, then a bubbling orange.
“¡AYUDAAA! AYUDAAA!” the man screamed out.
Meanwhile, the griller and Reyes continued to spar. A trickle of blood dotted the officer’s right arm, presumably from where the cook had stuck him with the tine. The two had rolled onto the greasy tiled floor, the griller sitting atop Reyes, attempting to throttle his neck.
SWAAP!
Mad Bull left a wide handprint across the griller’s face after giving him a meaty backhand slap. The griller teetered off Reyes’ chest and scrambled to his feet, the forked cooking utensil brandished like a knife.
“Caa-ff-ofufff!” Reyes coughed, trying to catch his breath once again.
The griller twirled the long, thin fork with practiced dexterity, facing off one-on-one versus the gargantuan cop. The two paced around each other within the cramped kitchen. Sergeant Estes’ blue police slacks and the chef’s aproned butt jutted against the cramped aisles of tables that formed a maze through the kitchen. Plates and dinnerware clattered as the two danced in circles, each vying for the right spot.
“¡Morir perro!” the long-haired cook suddenly cried, shoving the fork into the thick muscle of Mad Bull’s arm. The metal bladed tine sunk an inch into the cop’s meat.
“RAAAARGH!!” the burly office roared. With the utensil still stuck into his forearm, Mad Bull planted the palm of his other hand against the griller’s cheeks, gripped his skull and slammed his face into the stainless steel countertop with a resounding clang. The stunned and dazed cook teetered on his feet, but the massive cop’s grip remained tight on the man’s skull.
CLANGGG!
In a fury, Mad Bull slammed the man’s head against the table again, but this time held his skull firmly against the countertop. The man’s legs kicked out futilely as the raging cop grabbed at whatever he could.
“PFfffftttttmpt!” the griller spluttered and splattered as tomatoes, raw meat and a shower of raw onions were ground into his ears and nose. The fork fluttered, still stuck in the officer’s arm, as he thundered blow after blow into the kidneys of the griller. Mad Bull let go of the man’s skull and flipped him over, gripped his shoulders with his two massive hands and looked the cook directly in the face.
“WHAT KINDA JAG-OFF STICKS ANOTHER MAN WITH A GODDAMN FORK!?” he bellowed, shaking the poor cook by his shoulders, thumping his hair-netted head against the table with each syllable.
“¡Por favor!” the man meekly pleaded.
“TOO LATE FOR THAT!” the incensed Sergeant spat. Mad Bull continued to rummage around the chef’s table and snagged a bowl full of hot cayenne pepper. He dumped the red powder on top of the cook’s head.
“¡No, no!” the man coughed through the cloud of irritating spice.
Mad Bull grabbed another plastic bowl, this one full of the batter the chefs used for the fried fish. With a wet plop, the furious cop slopped the concoction on the griller’s head. The beleaguered man attempted to open his eyes through the gummy yellow mess, but soon found himself thrown back on his feet and marching through the kitchen, Mad Bull’s angry fist tugging him along by the collar the whole way.
Though he could see nothing, the man could smell, could hear the oil vat as they approached.
“¡Te lo ruego, no!” the man beseeched.
The griller could feel the heat of the oil inches from his face and the blistering sizzle as gobs of batter fell from his hair into the vat. He tried, desperately, to fight from Mad Bull’s inescapable grip, but he was to beaten, to dazed.
The sound of the sizzle filled the kitchen as the maniac cop dipped the cantaloupe sized head into the hot oil. The victim’s legs kicked for seconds then turned limp and still as the cauldron swiftly cooked whatever lay within the battered shell. After thirty seconds, the ogrish sergeant lifted the corpse out of the vat, and plopped the golden-fried head on the greasy tile floor. Reyes panted, finally at his feet and the two cops gazed out at the incredible damage they had wrought in the kitchen. Shouts and footsteps could be heard coming from the other direction in what looked like a restaurant. No doubt many had heard Reyes’ gunfire and sought for help from the rioting mob outside. With the quivering strength of a dying man, Carlos pointed towards a service elevator wedged alongside the freezer door.
“Let's get the fuck outta here John,” the lean officer panted.
“Yeah…” Estes muttered.
The doorway led into a brightly lit commercial sized kitchen. Gleaming stainless steel counter tops, implements and cooking appliances were scattered throughout. Two empty trash cans sat alongside the door, their plastic bags not yet replenished by the unconscious dishwasher. Spotless plates and utensils were piled onto a steel table right in front of the policemen, obscuring the remainder of the sizeable kitchen.
The kitchen stank of oily fried tortilla chips, beans and cheap steak. A sizzling grill could be heard further inward and the muffled voices of three men chatting was further overlaid by the faint melodies of a mariachi song played on a tape recorder. John Estes sidled up against the steel table and crouched low, then motioned for Reyes to take position alongside him. The beefy officer glanced around the edge of the table and spied a fat cook turning over flanks of meat with a long pointed fork tine on an open griddle. His long-hair was bound in a hairnet and a cigarette dangled from his lips. Alongside him another man stood next to the vat of oil and dough used to make fresh chips; his face was pock-marked from years of tending to the splattering pot of burning oil, but he leaned idly against the wall, listening to the other two men converse. The third man was young and handsome, like a modern day Lothario, and tossed a head of lettuce from one hand to the next as he remarked to the griller, “¡Escucha güey! If I didn't have to work a shift, you better believe it'd be me choppin’ up those puerco before anyone else!”
The griller stabbed his forked tine into the meat and turned it to sear the other side. The older man gave a stern look to the younger. “Lengua larga! If you know what's good for you, you'd chop that lettuce first! The boss don't pay you to kill cops!”
The pock-marked man scoffed and flicked a booger into the fry oil. It bubbled and consumed the gob in a quick sizzle. “What's it we pay you to do anyways, Carlito?” he asked the young man with a mocking smile.
click!
Officer Reyes stepped out from the hidden spot behind the table, released the safety on his pistol and leveled the gun at the tough talking Carlito.
“Shut up and don't move,” he commanded, his voice slithering out his lips like the hiss of a snake. The heat from the oil and open griddle made the kitchen sweltering hot and beads of sweat were forming above Reyes' pencil-thin mustache on his upper lip.
The young man dropped the head of lettuce fearfully and could only gape in surprise at the gun pointed at his chest. The pock-marked man only stood and stared, while the griller turned his head briefly, still intent on tending to the meat. Mad Bull lumbered up behind Reyes and placed his hand on the other cop's pistol, lowering its path safely to the floor. With shotgun in hand, he calmly addressed everyone, “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Whatcho got in mind, policia?” the griller asked, his back still turned as he flipped and turned the steaks.
The Sergeant pointed his gun at a nearby walk-in freezer room, separated from the rest of the kitchen by a huge metal door. A padlock kept the door shut and the cold air locked within.
“You three go take a break and we'll be on our way, deal?”
The pock-marked man shrugged noncommittally, but Carlito was shaking with indignation and fear.
“These...these are those matatombos! The killer cops! We can't just… We can't just…” he stammered.
“Stay cool kid, we don't want no more trouble,” John Estes warned with the palm of one hand raised complacently.
In a sudden display of panic, the young man turned and groped for a cleaver sitting on the nearby cutting board. He heaved it at the two policeman.
KAPAHH!
Reyes’ Glock snapped like a viper and stung Carlito in the right pectoral. The wannabe tough crumbled to the floor, alive but unconscious from the shock
KAPAHH!
Reyes fired another shot, this one aimed at the young man's head as he fell, but the bullet only splattered raw tomatoes and lettuce in a bright green and red spray of vegetable confetti. The cleaver had traveled uselessly past both cops, yet once again the lean officer had taken things too far. Sergeant Estes knew it, the two cooks knew it… and Reyes didn't care. Like the corrupted and broken officer, the people of the 34th Precinct were prideful and couldn't bear insults lightly; for someone, ANYONE to come in the kitchen and hurt, to murder one of their own, well that's the sort of thing that couldn't stand. There was only one recourse.
With a flick of the wrist, the griller flipped a broiling piece of meat at Reyes’ face and the cop screamed amidst the lingering echoes of gunfire as it blistered his head. The sizzling length of flank steak covered his eyes, leaving him easy prey as the griller lunged forward to stab with his forked tine. Mad Bull moved in for the assist, but the sullen, pock-marked man interceded
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
The oily man threw his fists in a quick combo at Estes’ gut. The massive cop grunted slightly, unphased by the blows. Taking guard, Mad Bull tossed aside the shotgun and raised his dukes, his gorilla-like paws bobbing just below his chin.
Thump!
Thump!
The man landed two more quick jabs into the cop’s left ribs, then readied a third strike with his other hand.
FWWHACK!
A foot-wide row of knuckles collided straight across the man’s chin and cheek as the sergeant launched a cross-punch. The burly cop had stepped forward, throwing all his weight and ample torso musculature into the blow. The oily man wasn’t short, but the 12 inches difference in height between the two combatants made the shot devastating to the extreme. Sergeant Estes let out a bull-like snort, glowering at the man who now lied on the floor, shakily trying to rise to his feet. With his two bear paws, the cop grasped the prone man by the neck and the groin, lifted him overhead, and tossed him towards the open griddle.
FSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!
The oily man’s clothes caught fire and sizzled. With yelps of pain and panic, he kicked his feet manically, knocking aside several browned steaks. The exposed skin on the man quickly darkened from his naturally light tan, to pink, to red, then a bubbling orange.
“¡AYUDAAA! AYUDAAA!” the man screamed out.
Meanwhile, the griller and Reyes continued to spar. A trickle of blood dotted the officer’s right arm, presumably from where the cook had stuck him with the tine. The two had rolled onto the greasy tiled floor, the griller sitting atop Reyes, attempting to throttle his neck.
SWAAP!
Mad Bull left a wide handprint across the griller’s face after giving him a meaty backhand slap. The griller teetered off Reyes’ chest and scrambled to his feet, the forked cooking utensil brandished like a knife.
“Caa-ff-ofufff!” Reyes coughed, trying to catch his breath once again.
The griller twirled the long, thin fork with practiced dexterity, facing off one-on-one versus the gargantuan cop. The two paced around each other within the cramped kitchen. Sergeant Estes’ blue police slacks and the chef’s aproned butt jutted against the cramped aisles of tables that formed a maze through the kitchen. Plates and dinnerware clattered as the two danced in circles, each vying for the right spot.
“¡Morir perro!” the long-haired cook suddenly cried, shoving the fork into the thick muscle of Mad Bull’s arm. The metal bladed tine sunk an inch into the cop’s meat.
“RAAAARGH!!” the burly office roared. With the utensil still stuck into his forearm, Mad Bull planted the palm of his other hand against the griller’s cheeks, gripped his skull and slammed his face into the stainless steel countertop with a resounding clang. The stunned and dazed cook teetered on his feet, but the massive cop’s grip remained tight on the man’s skull.
CLANGGG!
In a fury, Mad Bull slammed the man’s head against the table again, but this time held his skull firmly against the countertop. The man’s legs kicked out futilely as the raging cop grabbed at whatever he could.
“PFfffftttttmpt!” the griller spluttered and splattered as tomatoes, raw meat and a shower of raw onions were ground into his ears and nose. The fork fluttered, still stuck in the officer’s arm, as he thundered blow after blow into the kidneys of the griller. Mad Bull let go of the man’s skull and flipped him over, gripped his shoulders with his two massive hands and looked the cook directly in the face.
“WHAT KINDA JAG-OFF STICKS ANOTHER MAN WITH A GODDAMN FORK!?” he bellowed, shaking the poor cook by his shoulders, thumping his hair-netted head against the table with each syllable.
“¡Por favor!” the man meekly pleaded.
“TOO LATE FOR THAT!” the incensed Sergeant spat. Mad Bull continued to rummage around the chef’s table and snagged a bowl full of hot cayenne pepper. He dumped the red powder on top of the cook’s head.
“¡No, no!” the man coughed through the cloud of irritating spice.
Mad Bull grabbed another plastic bowl, this one full of the batter the chefs used for the fried fish. With a wet plop, the furious cop slopped the concoction on the griller’s head. The beleaguered man attempted to open his eyes through the gummy yellow mess, but soon found himself thrown back on his feet and marching through the kitchen, Mad Bull’s angry fist tugging him along by the collar the whole way.
Though he could see nothing, the man could smell, could hear the oil vat as they approached.
“¡Te lo ruego, no!” the man beseeched.
The griller could feel the heat of the oil inches from his face and the blistering sizzle as gobs of batter fell from his hair into the vat. He tried, desperately, to fight from Mad Bull’s inescapable grip, but he was to beaten, to dazed.
The sound of the sizzle filled the kitchen as the maniac cop dipped the cantaloupe sized head into the hot oil. The victim’s legs kicked for seconds then turned limp and still as the cauldron swiftly cooked whatever lay within the battered shell. After thirty seconds, the ogrish sergeant lifted the corpse out of the vat, and plopped the golden-fried head on the greasy tile floor. Reyes panted, finally at his feet and the two cops gazed out at the incredible damage they had wrought in the kitchen. Shouts and footsteps could be heard coming from the other direction in what looked like a restaurant. No doubt many had heard Reyes’ gunfire and sought for help from the rioting mob outside. With the quivering strength of a dying man, Carlos pointed towards a service elevator wedged alongside the freezer door.
“Let's get the fuck outta here John,” the lean officer panted.
“Yeah…” Estes muttered.
Quote:¡Escucha güey! - Listen dude!
Puerco - Pork/Pigs, slang for cops
Lengua larga - Big mouth
Policia - Police, relatively polite
¡AYUDAAA! AYUDAAA! - Help me! Help me!
¡Morir perro! - Die bitch!
¡Por favor! - Please!!
¡Te lo ruego, no! - I beg you, no!