05-24-2017, 08:05 AM
Officer Janie and Sergeant Estes sat in his cruiser, parked on the curb amongst the throngs of people meandering around the corner of Yelskin & Thurgood Ave. An elevated train stopped at a station forty yards north and it seemed like every storefront or parked car rattled as it passed overhead. In the interest of showing the new kid the ropes, Sleepy had decided to show her how real police work was done.
For six hours the pair had been parked here, breaking only for him to race across the street to a nearby convenience store and pick up hot dogs, beer and a pile of nudie books. Sleepy had taken the passenger seat and kicked the recline all the way back. Carefully, he licked his forefinger and turned a page of his dirty magazine and ogled a fine pair of breasts. Janie drummed her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently.
“Sergeant Estes!” she stammered with sudden frustration, “What are we waiting for? Shouldn't we be walking a beat… you know… making a difference?”
He licked his forefinger again and turned a page. “Call me Sleepy, kid. All my friends do.”
“Ok, Sergeant Sleepy! Why don't we get out there and catch some crooks?”
He lazily replied, “If you want to get your pretty little head blown off out there, be my guest. If you wanna be a cop, you gotta learn patience… and how to bilk that paycheck.”
She grinded her teeth and angrily looked out the cruiser window.
“Ah!” she cried, suddenly seeing something of interest. “Sleepy, look! Look! That guy looks suspicious, right?”
He looked up from his magazine and followed her frantically pointing finger. A filthy looking crust punk was twitching his way across the street and heading towards the train station. The 20-something wore a faded light green army jacket adorned with spiked chains threaded through the shoulders. His pathetic and gnarly blonde goatee looked more like a parasitic rash than a facial hair style.
Even though he was out of smelling distance, the punk reeked. He carried the stench of youthful failure that most young adults his age carried. This wretched scum would rather slime his way through life, sucking on the teet of society through larceny and drug dealing, than earn a living through the sweat on his brow. MAD BULL 34 hated scum like him and he could feel his itchy trigger finger ready to find an excuse. The burly sergeant took a closer look at the nervous tweaker and saw it: a foot long bundle wrapped in brown paper stashed in the crook of his arm, partially obscured by his ratty jacket.
“You see that Janie?” Mad Bull said as he gestured at the little package.
The rookie nodded. “Could be narcotics sir… but what kind of an idiot walks by a marked police cruiser with a laughably suspicious and cliche bundle of drugs?”
“A stupid tweaker, that's who!” he shouted. “Move ovah, will ya? I'm gonna take the wheel.”
“Ok, ok!” Officer Janie replied as she switched seats with the sergeant, ecstatic that she was about to make her first bust.
“Flip on the lights and call it in toots.”
She complied, and the cruiser's siren began to wail as she took the radio and spoke into the receiver, “Car 66 to Dispatch, we are moving in on a 966 at the Yelskin Elevated Station, over!”
“Copy that Car 66. Are you requesting back up? Over!”
MAD BULL switched the ignition and the cruiser roared to life. He placed his hand on the clutch and shouted at Janie, spittle and chewed hot dog flying in her face, “Fuck backup!!”
“Negative on that backup up, Dispatch….uuurphf!” Janie exclaimed as MAD BULL put the cruiser in gear and rolled over the curb and into the pedestrian sidewalk with a lurch. Dozens of denizens began to scatter as MAD BULL plowed through the crowd, taking a straight line towards the crust punk. With sirens blaring not far behind him, the punk raced down the block, pushing through throngs of people, sprinting to the stairwell leading up to the elevated train station.
A middle aged woman in a purple dress careened across the hood of the police cruiser and for half a second she could look through the windshield and see Officer Janie's startled face before the woman rolled over the roof and splatted back down to the tarmac below.
“Hit the brakes, Sleepy! We're going to hit the stairwell!”
“What of it Babs?!” MAD BULL shouted as he hit the throttle harder, bowling through another mess of pedestrians, before finally slamming into the back of the crust punk who went flying into the air, towards the stairwell and halfway up the stairs.
For six hours the pair had been parked here, breaking only for him to race across the street to a nearby convenience store and pick up hot dogs, beer and a pile of nudie books. Sleepy had taken the passenger seat and kicked the recline all the way back. Carefully, he licked his forefinger and turned a page of his dirty magazine and ogled a fine pair of breasts. Janie drummed her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently.
“Sergeant Estes!” she stammered with sudden frustration, “What are we waiting for? Shouldn't we be walking a beat… you know… making a difference?”
He licked his forefinger again and turned a page. “Call me Sleepy, kid. All my friends do.”
“Ok, Sergeant Sleepy! Why don't we get out there and catch some crooks?”
He lazily replied, “If you want to get your pretty little head blown off out there, be my guest. If you wanna be a cop, you gotta learn patience… and how to bilk that paycheck.”
She grinded her teeth and angrily looked out the cruiser window.
“Ah!” she cried, suddenly seeing something of interest. “Sleepy, look! Look! That guy looks suspicious, right?”
He looked up from his magazine and followed her frantically pointing finger. A filthy looking crust punk was twitching his way across the street and heading towards the train station. The 20-something wore a faded light green army jacket adorned with spiked chains threaded through the shoulders. His pathetic and gnarly blonde goatee looked more like a parasitic rash than a facial hair style.
Even though he was out of smelling distance, the punk reeked. He carried the stench of youthful failure that most young adults his age carried. This wretched scum would rather slime his way through life, sucking on the teet of society through larceny and drug dealing, than earn a living through the sweat on his brow. MAD BULL 34 hated scum like him and he could feel his itchy trigger finger ready to find an excuse. The burly sergeant took a closer look at the nervous tweaker and saw it: a foot long bundle wrapped in brown paper stashed in the crook of his arm, partially obscured by his ratty jacket.
“You see that Janie?” Mad Bull said as he gestured at the little package.
The rookie nodded. “Could be narcotics sir… but what kind of an idiot walks by a marked police cruiser with a laughably suspicious and cliche bundle of drugs?”
“A stupid tweaker, that's who!” he shouted. “Move ovah, will ya? I'm gonna take the wheel.”
“Ok, ok!” Officer Janie replied as she switched seats with the sergeant, ecstatic that she was about to make her first bust.
“Flip on the lights and call it in toots.”
She complied, and the cruiser's siren began to wail as she took the radio and spoke into the receiver, “Car 66 to Dispatch, we are moving in on a 966 at the Yelskin Elevated Station, over!”
“Copy that Car 66. Are you requesting back up? Over!”
MAD BULL switched the ignition and the cruiser roared to life. He placed his hand on the clutch and shouted at Janie, spittle and chewed hot dog flying in her face, “Fuck backup!!”
“Negative on that backup up, Dispatch….uuurphf!” Janie exclaimed as MAD BULL put the cruiser in gear and rolled over the curb and into the pedestrian sidewalk with a lurch. Dozens of denizens began to scatter as MAD BULL plowed through the crowd, taking a straight line towards the crust punk. With sirens blaring not far behind him, the punk raced down the block, pushing through throngs of people, sprinting to the stairwell leading up to the elevated train station.
A middle aged woman in a purple dress careened across the hood of the police cruiser and for half a second she could look through the windshield and see Officer Janie's startled face before the woman rolled over the roof and splatted back down to the tarmac below.
“Hit the brakes, Sleepy! We're going to hit the stairwell!”
“What of it Babs?!” MAD BULL shouted as he hit the throttle harder, bowling through another mess of pedestrians, before finally slamming into the back of the crust punk who went flying into the air, towards the stairwell and halfway up the stairs.