08-14-2017, 03:11 PM
Reyes closed the metal accordion-like door of the service elevator while Mad Bull wedged himself in the tiny space not meant for men as tall as he. As the door audibly latched shut, the two cops could hear a cacophony of footsteps racing to the kitchen where they had laid waste three men. Carlos’ two gunshots had drawn in members of the angry riot to their position, and the only way out seemed to be up. The 34th Precinct had acknowledged the deadly situation surrounding the two cops and offered to evacuate the two via the building's roof. If the other floors were anything like the first, they'd have their work cut out for them in reaching the top.
“Which floor do we go to John?” Reyes asked while staring at the buttons on the elevator console.
Mad Bull pressed a meaty finger on the button marked "Ten." It glowed faintly and the gears began to groan and pull. “As high as it'll go.”
“Gah!” Reyes exclaimed.
“What?” Mad Bull asked.
The slim, sallow officer pointed a long finger at Estes’ forearm. A two foot long grilling fork was stuck into his musculature, it's tine a good inch deep.
“Yaagrhh!” Mad Bull bellowed. “Take it out, will ya!”
The fork handle fluttered and waved as the bulging policeman threw his arms around in panic within the phone booth-sized compartment. The rickety service elevator clanked laboriously, unhappy it's heavy load was rocking it's ancient servos.
“Stop! STOP! You're gonna kill us both with that shit,” Reyes snapped as he swam around the thickly piled flesh of the massive officer.
Ploop!
With a wet sound, Reyes plucked the fork out and dropped it to the platform’s floor with a clatter. The two men laughed at the gruesome weapon with relief, sharing the exhilaration of surviving a deadly encounter together. The two gradually settled and began to catch their breath, the rolling whirl of the elevator's cable pregnating the silence that formed like a cloud between them.
Reyes panted like a dying dog, “Hey John, look, back there …”
“Can it Reyes!” Mad Bull muttered with authority. “Now's not the time to get into it.”
The emotions of this terrible day had long since boiled over, leaving Reyes with the raw, open blisters of defeat, derision and depression. “You don't know what it's like John, to lose your hermano, your blood. You have no family, just yourself. How could you understand?”
“You think I don't get it?” Estes growled with teeth clenched.
“No! No. You can't feel it like I feel it. You think these people care 'bout you just ‘cause we all the same color? You are wrong my friend. So very wrong!”
The burly Sergeant shifted uncomfortably in the tiny elevator. “We know these folks, we live on these blocks. I ate at that restaurant last month for crying out loud! You're right, I got no family, but these civvies you're so quick to pull the trigger on are as close as I'll get to one.”
“Wrong again,” Reyes sneered. “You drew a line between us and them when you put on that badge. The only family you'll ever have now are your brothers in blue. I thought you of all men knew this? There are wolf and there are sheep John. Which are you?”
“I hear that old chestnut of a phrase thrown around every cop bar filled with stinkin’ drunk patrolmen. What about the shepherd, huh? You ever think about that?”
Reyes wheezed, the pain of his knife wound slowly enveloping him. He spat out a mouthful of crimson blood, “Shepherd, wolf… what's the difference? Both have the same purpose - at the end of the day, they both slaughter sheep.”
Caahclunk!
The steel platform came to a halt on the tenth floor, it's locking mechanism clacking noisily in place. After pushing aside the metal accordion door, the two cops stepped into a tenement hallway. The carpeting was soiled and tattered. The peeling green plaster of the hallway walls bulged along the ceiling where mold had crept beneath and above like a black squid spreading its tendrils towards hazy light fixtures.
With a knowing glance, the two cops looked at each other and withdrew their firearms, then began to creep along the hallway. Blank wooden doors faced the corridor, all of them shut tightly. The apartment numbers above each threshold were largely intact and numbered from 1031 to 1045, then ended as the hallway terminated in a T intersection. Faintly, around a turn of the path, the light sounds of music could be heard. The two officers laid their backs across the wall near the intersection, listening for voices or other potential dangers. Sergeant Estes felt a tap on his elbow; he turned and looked silently at Reyes who was pointing towards a sign hanging on the wall.
The two officers split apart, Mad Bull leaning against the east wall, Reyes resting against the west. Without a sound, the sergeant held up three fingers and silently counted down. On the signal, they both simultaneously peeked their eyes around the bends then resumed their position.
“Clear.” Reyes mouthed wordlessly.
“Two.” Estes motioned.
"Armed?" Reyes whispered.
Mad Bull nodded firmly.
Carlos lifted his service pistol. “¿Estar listo?”
The Mad Bull of the 34th considered the simple question. Was he? Could he truly be ready? In months past, he would have been the first to hoist his weapon and crack off a few shots, but something had changed in his mind. The blood-lust, that thirst for violence still remained, but it had become more tempered. The line between guilty and innocent was becoming thicker and bolder. He cracked open the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson revolver for a quick reminder - six shots. It gave him courage to see the slugs still sleeping in their chambers. He holstered his sidearm and instead unslung the shotgun strapped to his back. With one last shell still ready in the barrel he didn’t need the other three sitting uselessly in his pocket.
“Lure ‘em over here,” Mad Bull whispered. Reyes nodded.
The lean officer stuck two thin fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle then wheezed, “Los mijos! Venga, venga!”
A youthful male voice called back, “¿Que cuentas?”
“Necesito ayuda…” Reyes panted convincingly.
Sergeant Estes could hear the two men approaching. The AK-47 assault rifles tethered to their shoulders rattled faintly with the approach. The mammoth cop took to a knee, released the safety on the trigger of the shotgun and aimed the barrel in ambush.
“Espera un segundo!” one voice called out helpfully as the two trotted ahead towards the T intersection.
“Que es….” one of the men began as the reached the two cops waiting around the corner. Surprise cut his words mid sentence, and within half a second, they knew they had been caught dead-to-rights by the very same policeman they had been tasked with hunting down. Both men wore the green fatigues of wanna-be revolutionaries and sweat beaded along the hairline of their black berets. The two pairs of armed men stared each other down, the long barrel of the shotgun promising death, and Reyes’ murderous pistol ready to put the icing on the cake.
The revolutionaries held their hands up, trying to hold in their fear as Reyes snidely asked, “Well, what now Sergeant?”
“Get those rifles off them,” Mad Bull replied, holding the stock of his shotgun snugly against his arm, his eyes locked on the fatigue clad men. Carlos limped forward and took the AK-47 from the first man and slid the weapon back along the carpet towards the service elevator. As if on queue, the unarmed man thumped an elbow into Reyes chest, collapsing the injured officer to the ground, leaving him to howl in miserable pain. The second man reached for his rifle and turned to spray the hulking sergeant.
WAAKOOM!!
A red, pink and green splash of gore painted the wall of the T-intersection as the hundreds of tiny pellets within the shotgun shell collided with fatal fury into the guts of the armed man. The hunks of meat that had once floated between the ribs and hips had been transformed, as if by magic, into the streaming liquid flowing down the green plaster hallway. The man’s torso teetered before it folded like a tree half-hacked by a lumberjack. Except from some burnt powder marks on his exposed skin, the unarmed man remained intact, but had fallen to the floor, sitting aghast with his back to the wall.
WHAAP!
Mad Bull’s black heeled boot thudded against the man’s jaw. The blow knocked the man unconscious to the ground, but he landed strangely, with his head propping him up haphazardly.
“Tú que eres ¿Oveja o lobo?” Reyes rasped miserably.
FUKKK.
The black heeled boot stomped across the bridging bones of the man’s neck and it was done.
As the smoke of the shotgun blast and the ringing in their ears slowly dissipated, Mad Bull could hear the door of an apartment open down the West Hallway and a male voice cry out 30 yards distant.
“LOS TOMBOS!”
“Which floor do we go to John?” Reyes asked while staring at the buttons on the elevator console.
Mad Bull pressed a meaty finger on the button marked "Ten." It glowed faintly and the gears began to groan and pull. “As high as it'll go.”
“Gah!” Reyes exclaimed.
“What?” Mad Bull asked.
The slim, sallow officer pointed a long finger at Estes’ forearm. A two foot long grilling fork was stuck into his musculature, it's tine a good inch deep.
“Yaagrhh!” Mad Bull bellowed. “Take it out, will ya!”
The fork handle fluttered and waved as the bulging policeman threw his arms around in panic within the phone booth-sized compartment. The rickety service elevator clanked laboriously, unhappy it's heavy load was rocking it's ancient servos.
“Stop! STOP! You're gonna kill us both with that shit,” Reyes snapped as he swam around the thickly piled flesh of the massive officer.
Ploop!
With a wet sound, Reyes plucked the fork out and dropped it to the platform’s floor with a clatter. The two men laughed at the gruesome weapon with relief, sharing the exhilaration of surviving a deadly encounter together. The two gradually settled and began to catch their breath, the rolling whirl of the elevator's cable pregnating the silence that formed like a cloud between them.
Reyes panted like a dying dog, “Hey John, look, back there …”
“Can it Reyes!” Mad Bull muttered with authority. “Now's not the time to get into it.”
The emotions of this terrible day had long since boiled over, leaving Reyes with the raw, open blisters of defeat, derision and depression. “You don't know what it's like John, to lose your hermano, your blood. You have no family, just yourself. How could you understand?”
“You think I don't get it?” Estes growled with teeth clenched.
“No! No. You can't feel it like I feel it. You think these people care 'bout you just ‘cause we all the same color? You are wrong my friend. So very wrong!”
The burly Sergeant shifted uncomfortably in the tiny elevator. “We know these folks, we live on these blocks. I ate at that restaurant last month for crying out loud! You're right, I got no family, but these civvies you're so quick to pull the trigger on are as close as I'll get to one.”
“Wrong again,” Reyes sneered. “You drew a line between us and them when you put on that badge. The only family you'll ever have now are your brothers in blue. I thought you of all men knew this? There are wolf and there are sheep John. Which are you?”
“I hear that old chestnut of a phrase thrown around every cop bar filled with stinkin’ drunk patrolmen. What about the shepherd, huh? You ever think about that?”
Reyes wheezed, the pain of his knife wound slowly enveloping him. He spat out a mouthful of crimson blood, “Shepherd, wolf… what's the difference? Both have the same purpose - at the end of the day, they both slaughter sheep.”
Caahclunk!
The steel platform came to a halt on the tenth floor, it's locking mechanism clacking noisily in place. After pushing aside the metal accordion door, the two cops stepped into a tenement hallway. The carpeting was soiled and tattered. The peeling green plaster of the hallway walls bulged along the ceiling where mold had crept beneath and above like a black squid spreading its tendrils towards hazy light fixtures.
With a knowing glance, the two cops looked at each other and withdrew their firearms, then began to creep along the hallway. Blank wooden doors faced the corridor, all of them shut tightly. The apartment numbers above each threshold were largely intact and numbered from 1031 to 1045, then ended as the hallway terminated in a T intersection. Faintly, around a turn of the path, the light sounds of music could be heard. The two officers laid their backs across the wall near the intersection, listening for voices or other potential dangers. Sergeant Estes felt a tap on his elbow; he turned and looked silently at Reyes who was pointing towards a sign hanging on the wall.
10 FLOOR
→ EAST 1001 - 1015 & Lavatory
← WEST 1016 - 1030 & Stairwell
The two officers split apart, Mad Bull leaning against the east wall, Reyes resting against the west. Without a sound, the sergeant held up three fingers and silently counted down. On the signal, they both simultaneously peeked their eyes around the bends then resumed their position.
“Clear.” Reyes mouthed wordlessly.
“Two.” Estes motioned.
"Armed?" Reyes whispered.
Mad Bull nodded firmly.
Carlos lifted his service pistol. “¿Estar listo?”
The Mad Bull of the 34th considered the simple question. Was he? Could he truly be ready? In months past, he would have been the first to hoist his weapon and crack off a few shots, but something had changed in his mind. The blood-lust, that thirst for violence still remained, but it had become more tempered. The line between guilty and innocent was becoming thicker and bolder. He cracked open the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson revolver for a quick reminder - six shots. It gave him courage to see the slugs still sleeping in their chambers. He holstered his sidearm and instead unslung the shotgun strapped to his back. With one last shell still ready in the barrel he didn’t need the other three sitting uselessly in his pocket.
“Lure ‘em over here,” Mad Bull whispered. Reyes nodded.
The lean officer stuck two thin fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle then wheezed, “Los mijos! Venga, venga!”
A youthful male voice called back, “¿Que cuentas?”
“Necesito ayuda…” Reyes panted convincingly.
Sergeant Estes could hear the two men approaching. The AK-47 assault rifles tethered to their shoulders rattled faintly with the approach. The mammoth cop took to a knee, released the safety on the trigger of the shotgun and aimed the barrel in ambush.
“Espera un segundo!” one voice called out helpfully as the two trotted ahead towards the T intersection.
“Que es….” one of the men began as the reached the two cops waiting around the corner. Surprise cut his words mid sentence, and within half a second, they knew they had been caught dead-to-rights by the very same policeman they had been tasked with hunting down. Both men wore the green fatigues of wanna-be revolutionaries and sweat beaded along the hairline of their black berets. The two pairs of armed men stared each other down, the long barrel of the shotgun promising death, and Reyes’ murderous pistol ready to put the icing on the cake.
The revolutionaries held their hands up, trying to hold in their fear as Reyes snidely asked, “Well, what now Sergeant?”
“Get those rifles off them,” Mad Bull replied, holding the stock of his shotgun snugly against his arm, his eyes locked on the fatigue clad men. Carlos limped forward and took the AK-47 from the first man and slid the weapon back along the carpet towards the service elevator. As if on queue, the unarmed man thumped an elbow into Reyes chest, collapsing the injured officer to the ground, leaving him to howl in miserable pain. The second man reached for his rifle and turned to spray the hulking sergeant.
WAAKOOM!!
A red, pink and green splash of gore painted the wall of the T-intersection as the hundreds of tiny pellets within the shotgun shell collided with fatal fury into the guts of the armed man. The hunks of meat that had once floated between the ribs and hips had been transformed, as if by magic, into the streaming liquid flowing down the green plaster hallway. The man’s torso teetered before it folded like a tree half-hacked by a lumberjack. Except from some burnt powder marks on his exposed skin, the unarmed man remained intact, but had fallen to the floor, sitting aghast with his back to the wall.
WHAAP!
Mad Bull’s black heeled boot thudded against the man’s jaw. The blow knocked the man unconscious to the ground, but he landed strangely, with his head propping him up haphazardly.
“Tú que eres ¿Oveja o lobo?” Reyes rasped miserably.
FUKKK.
The black heeled boot stomped across the bridging bones of the man’s neck and it was done.
As the smoke of the shotgun blast and the ringing in their ears slowly dissipated, Mad Bull could hear the door of an apartment open down the West Hallway and a male voice cry out 30 yards distant.
“LOS TOMBOS!”
Quote:Hermano - Brother, literal or figurative
¿Estar listo? - You ready?
Los mijos! Venga, venga! - Hey boys, come here, come here!
¿Que cuentas? - Whats up? What's wrong?
Necesito ayuda… - I need help..."
Espera un segundo! - Just a second!
¿Que es…? - What the...?
Tú que eres ¿Oveja o lobo? - Well what are you - a wolf or a lamb?
LOS TOMBOS! - The cops!