Long Arm of the Law

[MADBULL34]

The stifling heat in the apartment made the yellowed wall paper of the stuffy room seem even more piss stained than normal. Summer was fast approaching and with the broiling heat and humidity came the fucking. There seems to be some odd flaw in the human mind's programming that just compels ‘em to press sweating flesh against sweating flesh, forcing every rat-bastard and bitch to wetly flop around on top of each other like a couple of stinkin’ cod dying in some fish monger's stall.

Of course, that wasn't the only kind of fucking mankind loved. Every greased gooser and pussy punter looking for a score, cheap hit or even cheaper thrill knew the way the world turned… it revolved on crime, and the dirtier the deed, the better the pay. Sure, there's plenty of triggermen out there looking to pop something off for a quick buck or fuck, but the cesspool of society had just as many dames looking to take your wad, rather it be cash or cum.

Just because Sergeant John Estes, also known as MAD BULL 34 to his enemies and “Sleepy” to his friends, was a cop didn't mean he wasn't down for a little bit of both. The giant bear of a man rested languidly on the queen-sized bed of some two-bit hooker, the flimsy aluminum legs wobbling under his immense girth as his body dominated the entire sex-stained mattress. Somewhere within the vast ocean of bulging muscles of MAD BULL 34, Joesy Ann Jones swam amidst the man's encompassing biceps and triceps.

With a static crackle from the walkie-talkie dangling from his gun belt that was draped across a chair, a meek little voice squawked out, “Calling Mad Bull, calling Mad Bull! Do you copy!? Over!”

The cop hurmpted loudly and turned over in the bed, his mass tangling and tugging all the sheets, launching Joesy to the floor.

“Hey!! What's the big idea, eh?!” She squealed in an irritatingly nasal voice. A mouse, frightened by the sound, scampered from under the bed and seemed to squeak it's agreement.

“Answer the phone, will ya bitch?” Mad Bull huffed.

Gingerly picking up the walkie-talkie, she squeezed the button and asked, “Hellooo? Who's der?”

The radio statically replied, "Who's there?" It continued, incredulously, "Who the hell is this! This is a police frequency for official police business...Over!”

Joesy held the device as if it was a dead rat -it's antennae the tail- and crinkled her below average face at it. “Sleepy!” her nasally voice whined, “they said it's official police…”

“Shattup!” he barked. “I got ears don't I?”

“Wells, I guess ya do Sleepy…” she muttered with some thought.

Mad Bull groaned as he rose to a sitting position in the bed, but the strained legs of the bed groaned louder under his massive weight.

“Tell 'em I'm busy…” he grumbled underneath his thick Burt Reynolds style mustache.

Joesy looked at Mad Bull, then at the radio still dangling in her fingers.

“He's busy he says!”

After a few quiet moments passed, the walkie-talkie squawked back, “You have to say 'Over!’ when you're done talking, it's police protocol! Over!” the little voice on the other end complained.

“But I ain't a cop!” she complained.

Expecting a harsh response from the man in the radio, she preemptively winced… but there was no reply.

“Oh! Tehehe!” she exclaimed with realization. “Over!”

MAD BULL 34 decided he'd rather kill himself than listen to anymore of this useless shit, and began to put forth an effort to dress back into his uniform. First the pants, with no underwear. He couldn't understand how any self-respecting man could agree to confine his loins to the boundaries of some tight little white panties. In his mind, it was simply to unnatural to comprehend.

Next, he snatched his blue police shirt, adorned with the many badges for death and valor for which he had earned. Even though it was the biggest size the department carried, it fit his swelling pectorals snugly. The top two buttons couldn't stretch across, so his voluminous chest hair bristled out.

Walking past the whore that was still crouching on the filthy floor, he lumbered towards a battered old nightstand and picked up his hat. The shield emblem on the front read “34,” indicating the precinct he was assigned to. MAD BULL was a legend in the 34th, renown for his violence, sadism and willingness to shoot and not bother asking questions later.

Also atop the nightstand was his unholstered gun. The piece was a masterpiece of brutality. The steel forged revolver was engraved with the words “SMITH & WESSON NY-1” down the barrel and it was likely the last thing dozens of criminal scum had ever read before he pulled the trigger. Six .38 special rounds slept in the chamber, waiting for an excuse to fly out and embody MAD BULL 34’s unquenchable wrath. Sleepy buckled the belt to his waist and slid the thunderous weapon into its leather hip-holster.

His bear-like paw took the walk-talkie from Joesy and the radio seemed like a child’s toy in his massive palm.

Depressing the talk button, Mad Bull spoke into the receiver, “That’s a 10-9 dispatch, can you run that by me again? Over!”

“Copy that, Sergeant Estes! We got a 10-31 in progress in the vicinity of Alpine Alley. Two assailants wearing  Floral Gang colors. Officer Diego is presumed down and requiring back-up, over!”

MAD BULL swung open the cylinder of his revolver and gave his rounds a quick look.

“10-4 on that Dispatch. I’ll be in-route shortly. Over and out!”

Clipping the radio to his belt, the swarthy cop looked down on Joesy who was making a pouty face.

She fussed, “Why ya gotta go so soon, huh?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt and brushed at the long hairs of his mustache. With a single meaty hand he reached into the nightstand drawer and withdrew a fist-full of paper currency.

“HEY!” Joesy protested, her nasally voice reaching an ear-splitting tone. “That wad took me over a week to get!”

Paying no heed, MAD BULL shoved the dirty bills into his front pocket and began to meander towards the door.

“You ain’t takin’ my scratch again! Common bully-baby! Momma’s gotta eat too!”

“Shattup!” he chided.

“I ain’t shattin’ up, I need that bread!” she cried as she leapt onto his back and dug her nails into the blue cloth of his police shirt.

“Look here you rat!” he exclaimed before he tossed her into the nightstand, sending cosmetics, splinters and condoms flying. With finality he stopped in the threshold of the doorway and commanded, “I’ll be back next Tuesday, and don’t you forget it!”


<CONTINUED IN NEXT POST>

[MADBULL34]

MAD BULL cut the engine on his cruiser and stepped out onto the streets of Alpine Alley.  Like any other side-street in the 6th Tier, it was full of punks, pushers and punters all trying to make a living at the expense of their neighbor.  As always, the air had a soiled and sickly color that never seemed to go away from the ever-present fluorescent lights that couldn’t seem to properly work in tandem with an actual night-day cycle.

“It's like livin’ under a french-fry lamp in this shit-hole. No wonder everybody’s gone batty,” he thought to himself.

The corridor ahead of him typically housed all manner of cut-rate shops and vendors, their bright neon signs cutting through the yellow-haze of the myriad street lamps, but today it looked like a war-zone. Twenty yards ahead another cop cruiser was already in shambles, its battered blue paint alit from a molotov cocktail. Officer Diego sat propped up behind his smoking cruiser, a blank stare in his eyes and his weapon lying limply in one hand.

“Yeaahahaha!” a laughing voice twittered through the din of explosions and sprays of sub-machine gun fire.

MAD BULL hoofed it over to the prone officer and gave the man a look over. His front chest was peppered with holes oozing out reddish-black blood.

“Thats what ya get for bein’ a cheap bastard,” Mad Bull thought aloud. “If your tight ass woulda sprung for a vest, maybe you wouldn’t be headin’ to the morgue.”

MAD BULL drew his revolver from its hip holster and held it firm in his right hand, cocking the hammer. With his other he grabbed Officer Diego, a big tuft of the man’s uniform captured in the sergeant's gorilla-sized fist. With his powerful forearms, Mad Bull lifted the officer up and held him aloft like a shield. Cautiously, he began to walk towards the maniacal laughing.

As he walked passed the wrecked police cruiser, he saw a thug swiftly shoving handfuls of glowing battery cells into the saddlebags of a hover-bike. Smoke billowed from the shop windows of an electronic boutique. Another thug stood cackling within the broken pane of glass that once displayed the shop’s name.  Like his fellow gang-member, the maniac wore an ankle length trench coat that was covered in colorful airbrushed images of peonies, roses and chrysanthemums. The thug was further garbed in a madcap mix of unmatching boots, leather pants and a mesh vest. The cacophony of colors was eye-blinding, and finished with a neon green mohawk. His pal by the bike sported a brilliantly red dyed mullet himself.

“Get a move on you stupid cows!” the green mohawked man exclaimed as two women dressed like store attendants scurried out of the smoking shop, a crate full of unopened power cells between them both.  A middle aged man wearing a suit, perhaps the store’s manager, followed not far behind, his arms cradling more looted cells for the bandits. “Dump ‘em by the bikes or you’ll be eatin’ lead, capisce?”

One of the ladies screamed in reply, caught a heel on a piece of rubble and tumbled to the pavement, scraping her knees and bringing a tear to her eye. As she fell, she took with her the crate she was helping the other carry, and its contents spilt all across the ground.

“What’d I tell ya, ya dumb bitch!” the green mohawked bandit bellowed.

TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP!

To punctuate his point, he let out a spray from his uzi in the vicinity of the woman, her body dancing with the impact of dozens of small rounds splashing across her chest. The other woman covered her eyes and began to wail, infuriating the mohawked bandit.  In a fury, he lept down from his perch on the shop window and began to race over to the remaining woman, his hand raised for a heavy slap...until he saw the giant lumbering body of MAD BULL 34, Officer Diego still held aloft like a human shield.

“I thought we iced you!” the thug exclaimed after seeing Officer Diego floating towards him, held by Mad Bull’s grip.

“EAT LEAD COPPER!” the thug shouted out as he let loose another spray of bullets that wetly plopped against Diego’s limp torso.

“Unngghh…” Diego whispered.

“Ah shit, he wasn’t dead yet…” the sergeant mused before he tossed away the lifeless corpse and raised his piece shoulder high, gripped it with two hands and squeezed off two rounds.

KAPOW

KAPOW

MAD BULL 34’s Smith & Wesson NY-1 rang out like a thunderclap, and in the blink of an eye the first round widely missed, but the second splattered in the green mohawked thug’s left orbital socket, smearing bone, brain and gooey eye across the cowering woman.

“Nyyyyyyyahhhhhhh!” the thug cried out as he careened to the ground. Instinctively, his finger depressed the trigger of the uzi, letting loose another spray of bullets that eviscerated the store manager. The old man’s arms drooped limply and all the power cells he was carrying spilled across the road.

The second thug looked up from his work at the sound of the revolver’s crack, and was stunned to see the enormous body of MAD BULL 34 stalking towards him like a bear reaching for its prey.  He quickly glanced at his dead partner. The green mohawk was ruined once the Smith & Wesson cracked his skull open like a dropped cantaloupe.

“WHOA there!” the red-mulleted thug cautioned as he held up his empty hands. “You’re a cop, you wouldn’t shoot an unarm…”

KAPOW.

A third shot rang out as the revolver’s hammer snapped against another .38 special round. The thug’s jaw was obliterated, teeth splintering as if a bomb had gone off in his mouth. Blood poured down his neck and chest while his hands miserably felt around where his face should have been. He gurgled, unable to make human sounds any longer.

KAPOW.

A fourth shot rang out and traveled in and out the space where his heart normally would stay. With a clomp, the man fell dead across his still idling hover bike.

MAD BULL 34 unclipped his radio from his belt and growled into the receiver, “Sergeant Estes to Dispatch. 10-24, both assailants neutralized. Over!”

“Copy that Sleepy, return to precinct HQ; the captain wants you to meet your new partner. Over and out!”

[MADBULL34]

Officer Janie Phanili sat nervously in a swivel chair in the 34th Precinct Chief's office. Growing up as a kid in the fearsome 34th hadn't been easy, especially for the daughter of a couple seventh tier immigrants looking for a better life. While most of her peers had graduated to petty theft or dancing in the thousands of erotic clubs found in innumerable red light districts, she was among a revolutionary new wave in her generation that believed in building a better community free of crime and poverty.

She tossed back her long ebony black hair and glanced at the immaculately clean badge pinned to her chest. Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, she shined it again for good measure. She was proud to a fault of her recent graduation from the police academy and hoped to hide her trepidation in walking the beat for the first time. Today was the day she'd finally get a chance to prove to her parents that she could serve her community… that she could make a difference! First things first though... she needed a partner.

Sergeant John Estes, the “Mad Bull,” was legendary in the 34th. Growing up she had personally seen that hulk of a man beat a purse snatcher to death, and it had inspired her, shaped her… and no doubt affected her later choices in college boyfriends. She wanted him…  as her first partner... because he was known to see all the action and get all the results. If she was going to learn how to clean up the streets and do her parents proud, she had to start with the best. The chief was hesitant at first to make the assignment, but in the end, her charms prevailed.

MAD BULL lumbered into the station, past the swinging doors of the watch commander’s desk, past the detective's bullpen, and towards the Chief's office. “Oh! Sleepy, hold on a sec,” the Chief's secretary called. The mousy older woman sprang up from her chair and clattered up to the bulging man-beast waiting outside her boss’s office. She spat into a little rag and started brushing at a fresh red stain on his collar.

“Good gracious, Sleepy! You gotta go easy on those ketchup covered hot dogs!” It seems like every time I see ya here, you're a mess!”

Sergeant Estes grinned at her innocently. “So what's the scoop on my new partner, Dolores. He a puff or a punter?”

“Why neither, Sleepy! She's a dame!”

He chortled as he walked into the Chief's office.

[MADBULL34]

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.

[MADBULL34]

With a sickening crash and a dying whine, the cruiser came to a halt, it's front half wedged into the street level entrance of the station's stairwell. A little puff of smoke plumed from the engine as the punk twitched, groped to his feet and dusted off the sleeve of his jacket. While patting himself down, with his right arm, he pricked the palm of his hand on a gleaming white bone shard jutting out of his left bicep.

“Yeaaargahh!” he bellowed, awoken from the shell shock of getting rammed by a cruiser. Frantically he searched all around the rubble filled stairwell for the bundle. Finding it, he flashed a quick grin and middle finger at the stunned police officers still in the car.

“Nyah! So long coppers!” he taunted before limping up the stairs, his left arm swinging uselessly.

A digital bell rang out and a mechanical voice intoned from a loudspeaker, “Bing, Bong! This is a Sixth Tier Transit from Yelskin Station. Next stop, Karachi Plaza! Doors open on the left!”

MAD BULL shook himself awake and gave Janie a meaty open-handed slap across the face.

WHAP!

“Wake up, he’s gettin’ away ya dumb broad!”

“Unnh? What?” she replied in a daze. With her head quickly clearing, her hand reached for the cruiser’s door and she rattled the handle. “We can’t! It's no good! The doors are wedged between the walls of the stairwell! We’re trapped in here Sleepy!”

“The hell we are!” MAD BULL roared. The sergeant pulled the car’s 10 gauge breaching shotgun from its holster in the center console, pumped the slide on the stock, advanced the shell into the chamber and fired a blast into the windshield, spraying the two cops in a shower of plexiglass.

KRAKAKOOOM!

“Common already!” he demanded as he yanked Officer Janie through the broken windshield, across the hood of the cruiser and down to the rubble strewn stairs. A full 20 yards away the punk could be seen triumphantly limping up the stairs to the waiting platform.

Janie and Sleepy looked at each other and nodded firmly. Both unholstered their pieces - Janie a Glock 9mm, MAD BULL his Smith & Wesson NY-1 revolver. Six .38 special rounds rattled in the chamber as the pair sprinted up the stairs after the punk.

As they reached the platform, they spotted the punk shouldering his way into a crowded train car.

“No!” Janie exclaimed as she dashed forward, shoving her arm into the automatically closing doors. The doors harmlessly bounced off her, allowing the two fearless cops to board the train one car behind the punk. With a hiss the train began to rattle and gain speed, darting from the station.  The buildings below soon became a blur as the train cars rocked back and forth, sliding along the elevated tracks that stood above the crowded streets. Commuters began to murmur with apprehension as the two openly armed cops began to push through towards the back exit where the next car was linked.

The train cars were box shaped and the upper halves were walled with plexiglass so that tourists could enjoy the spectacular view overlooking the city below.  Benches were arranged in rows, like in a bus, for passengers to sit or sleep in, but who could possibly rest when a massive man-beast like MAD BULL 34 was around with an equally emasculating gun.

The sergeant and his partner looked through the back window, spying into the adjoining car, searching for the crust punk. The train was almost completely filled with commuters, day laborers and a few bums who rode the rails day and night. The two cops gazed into the adjoining car with tense eyes, scanning past the overalls, business suits and nylon hose, both searching for that lucky punk in the green jacket. Through the rocking crowd of passengers, in the back of the next car, they found him, meekly handing his brown-paper wrapped package to a male figure.



The man was perfection personified. He stood at the back of the train car, his body statuesque and unmoving while all the passengers rocked to and fro with the rumble of the tracks. His black leather motorcycle boots were immaculately clean and its epony sheen stood out amongst the teeming unwashed masses of rabble that surrounded him. His equally black leather pants hugged his flesh, like a new skin, openly contouring to every nook, cranny and bulge it contained. His chest was bare, the abs so defined they almost looked like pink scales on a mythic dragon. He wore a black leather motorcycle jacket, its collar popped upwards. Although the man was still, the collar rocked and swayed with the movement of the train car.  His yellow bouffanted mullet was perfectly coiffed, like a golden shell encapsulating the crown of this majestic man. He wore a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, not letting a hint of the emotion in his eyes shine through.

There was a thick gold chain around his neck, with futuristic dog tags attached.  MAD BULL’s eyes focused and read the stenciled characters on the tags:



MD GEIST.

[MADBULL34]

“Let me take point sergeant.”

MAD BULL grunted his assent as Officer Janie held her Glock 9mm erect with one hand, and swung open the back exit door with the other. She squeezed into the space between the train cars. The rattle and clang of the train against the tracks and the swaying of the cars tethered to each other by cables was deafening.  One wrong step between the cars could find someone crushed between the towering, rocking train cars, or even thrown down to the ground 100 feet below. Gripping the emergency escape handle on the neighboring train car, she rammed her shoulder into the front door and barged into the next car. Janie pushed through the herds of startled people at the front of this car, making room for herself and Sergeant John Estes as he squeezed himself through the tiny passage. While he maneuvered through the space, Janie took stock of the situation and measured the amount of potential causalities. The crust punk drug dealer and his customer remained at the back of the car some 30 feet distant. “To many civilians…” she thought to herself. “I’ll have to get them to scatter.”

Officer Janie Phanili held her gun high and flashed her badge to the crowd. With an authoritative voice she commanded, “Everyone down, this is the police!”

Screams peeled through the train car from panicking passengers, but she stood firmly with her legs spread, shoulders high, both arms locked and pointing her Glock 9mm down the length of the train car straight at the crust punk.  The injured criminal made eye contact with the brazen policewoman and froze in place. Disbelief contorted his hideous face, but the yellow mulleted man seemed to show no emotion behind his mirrored glasses. Officer Janie held her position with a steely gaze, waiting for the crowd to thin and part enough for her to safely take her shot.

With a sudden lurch on the tracks, the train car shuddered, off-balancing Janie for a moment. As she flailed and tried to regain her footing, the crust punk turned and reached into his ratty green fatigue jacket, withdrawing a long-barrel pistol.


KAPOW!


The end of MAD BULL 34’s Smith & Wesson smoked as the first .38 special round catapulted out the barrel and splattered just off the center of the crust punk’s nose. In the span of milliseconds, flesh knotted and tore in the merciless spin and impact of the bullet, twisting skin, splintering bone and exploding through the back of his skull in a messy shower of bloody and gore. For a moment the punk’s eviscerated head seemed pinned to the back wall of the train car, but his legs soon went limp, dragging the shattered mass of his head downward, leaving a slimy red trail dripping with viscous goo. His face looked like a peeled banana, the only perceptible human feature remaining - his disgusting blonde goatee.

TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP!

Just as fast, a second gun whispered out a shot, then another, then another, and another. The sound was muted and belched out swiftly from the silenced TEC-9 automatic pistol held at the end of the yellow bouffanted man’s fist. A pattern of red studded holes were etched down Officer Janie’s face, neck and torso. Black-ish red beads of blood began to well within each hole. Her eyes glazed over and she fell face first and dead to the floor of the train car.

“That’s the twelfth partner this year...” MAD BULL mused.

He stepped dispassionately over her corpse and advanced, his revolver hammering with each step.


KAPOW!


The shot was on target, but skimmed past the yellow haired man’s ear, crashing into the train car’s safety glass window. It would take the acute senses of a fierce jungle cat to anticipated the bullet's exit from its chamber and deadly path towards his head. Even moving the scant few inches needed could only be done by someone with inhuman reflexes. The windowpane shattered on impact, spraying passengers with tiny cubes of glass. Like a depressurizing plane, wind and air began to howl through the open window. Although unharmed, the passengers shrieked and rushed everywhere for cover.


KAPOW!


MAD BULL continued to advance, but the next shot from the Smith & Wesson went off mark and burst through the elbow of a skateboarder trying to find cover under one of the benches; he moaned with pain and clutched the torn limb in agony. Three .38 special rounds remained ready and waiting in the cylinder. Ducking slightly, MD GEIST squeezed his trigger, ejecting another spurt from the instrument of wrath in his warm hands.


TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP!


A clump of fleeing passengers immediately fell to the ground after making contact with the TEC-9’s sub-machine gun bullets. MAD BULL rushed against the crowd, careful to keep his head below the surging mass of people.  Man and woman were pushed against their will, carried backwards by MAD BULL’s ferocious push.


TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP!


More screeches cried out in the train as the human shield in front of Sergeant John Estes was thinned by MD GEIST’s death-bringing fire.

[MADBULL34]

“Shit!” Mad Bull thought to himself, “”I gotta get a shot on that rat-bastard!” Groping through the crazed crowd, MAD BULL shoved his arm over the shoulder of a man wearing a scrubby business suit and fired another shot aimed at the blonde man’s bare, waxed chest.
 
KAPOW!
 
TINK!
 
The business men winced and cried out in pain, the explosion of the .38 special round in its chamber deafened his ears. The train lurched again as it rounded the corner to Karachi Plaza, throwing the shot wide, arcing it to instead punch into the assailant’s TEC-9. The heavy caliber bullet mangled the weapon, bending the barrel into a twist of warped steel.
 
MD GEIST leered a wolf-like grin at MAD BULL and tossed his now useless sub-machine pistol aside. He tucked the brown paper package into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and from the inside folds of it, withdrew a single hand grenade.



MAD BULL, still trying to push through the dozens of terror-stricken passengers suddenly froze in place, the crowd pushing against him and trying to flee towards the front emergency exit he and Janie had originally come through. His eyes became wide in surprise, then narrowed in grim acceptance of the danger before him. His thick black mustache bristled as he gritted his teeth. The sergeant dove backwards to the floor of the train car, scores of people tripping on him and each other until their was a dog-pile of bodies on top of the him, pinning even his giant body firm against the rattling car.
 
MD GEIST scoffed and pulled the pin from the grenade.  He held the release firmly in his hands until he had pulled himself up to the shattered back window of the train car. He took a look downward, gauged the 100 foot fall, and casually dropped the primed grenade before he himself took the dive from the train, over the tracks and down to the city far below.
 
Four seconds passed until the bomb ignited, melting the plastic seats and warping the steel beams of the train car. Shrapnel engulfed the horde of crazed people atop MAD BULL 34 and he could feel a drowning flood of their blood and guts spilling down to him, safe and insulated at the bottom of the pile.  With a sudden final lurch, the train car careened off its tracks, derailing the cars tethered behind it as it spun, turning around and around tossing shards of metal and the limbs of passengers into the streets far below. The car spun again, and again, screeching steel sliding angularly across the exposed rail. It continued to pitch side over side until it finally reached its final deadly stop, still miraculously resting perpendicular atop the elevated tracks.  A wide gash at the rear of the train car was blown out from the impact of the grenade, but its maker was nowhere to be seen.

Many moments passed before the smoke began to clear and the wounded managed to rouse themselves among the many dead. MAD BULL groaned and groped through the piles of corpses, clawing his way to the shattered windows and sweet freedom and safety of nearby Karachi Plaza.


CASE CLOSED!