Detective Wayne and Detective ParkerMature

One cop's journey from fallible detective to legend.

         He was dirty, but not in the sense you might imagine, but he definitely felt dirty, every waking moment; his blood boiled, his heart thumped like a bass drum, his body raged with an infernal heat, and he was at times overcome with an intense concentration, one that was at the same time familiar, but not his own. He who had lost so much, but had made up for it. He who had endured the petty taunts of his classmates, friends, family... He who grew up knowing nothing but determination, was not himself today. He was, for lack of a better word, bloodthirsty...

            It was that damn cult again, the ones who had co-opted that abandoned church the week before. They seemed to be everywhere, even when we busted a whole room of them, we knew without a doubt, there were two rooms more of them out there, at least. They went away quietly, ready to face whatever meager punishment our justice system could cook up. When we slapped the irons on, they'd smile at us, always looking down on us, like whatever deity they prayed to was so powerful that blah, blah, blah... I don't have time to think about that crap right now, I remind myself. We, my partner and I, are on our way to bust some heroine dealers, mob guys, enforcers, pushers and all, and yeah, we have a warrant. I smell the salt air wafting through the cracked windows of our beaten cruiser, I taste the faint fishy aroma in the back of my throat, and I know we're close. I try to find the point, that black spot of concentration that makes me a fighter; I fail, so I reach down and feel the diamond stubble on my 1911's grip, that always made me feel in control, .45 ACP, enough to make any man feel in control... Some men need drugs, some men need drink, some men need smokes, just to get through a good day. Me? I didn't need shit; just my whits, my gun, and an excuse. And this time, I had all three. There it is, found you again. I smile; It's going to be a good day.

              We pull up a few units down from the one they're allegedly hiding in, 'Jimmy had better be fuckin' right about this...' whispers Parker, my part savior part pain in the ass. I say nothing, Parker sighs, it's a routine. As we crouch and walk silently along the storage units I imagine how stupid we must look, duck walking on a sidewalk, 5:30 in the AM, mist so thick you can't see your dick to aim... All it would take is for one of Oneil's guys to get to the corner before we do and we'd each be one accented obscenity away from being gunned down faster than a Rabbi holding a collection plate in a Nazi pool hall. Unsurprisingly we make it to, and then around the corner into the storage yard without issue. Life's just not that colorful most of the time. Parker seemed routinely quiet as we neared the unit currently in use by about 4 guys, 3 sounding like complete dumbasses, the last one sounding European. Put it together.

             Parker gets on one side, I get on the other, we both take hold of either side of the door ready to tear it up and either yell at, shoot at, or hide from whatever comes next. Again, I have three options, and as I unbutton the holster and pull out my gun, I know they're solid. My concentration bleeds into the moment, mingling with my adrenaline, my testosterone, my fear. A brutal cocktail my Captain keeps unknowingly warning me about... Each of us crouched, right hand Parker, Left hand me, we tear the door up off the ground, it was well oiled, slides up with ease, they barely have time to turn around. 'Freeze!' Parker says with a cold indignation. The three familiar bodies in the room do a predictable and all too familiar dance, so familiar Parker punches out one of the dancer's knee caps... I glare at him, but only out of the corner of my eye as I see the other two going for their pieces. The one Parker capped, at the far left of the unit, falls arms out, face down, almost as though he's praising this central, black figure; respect to the end I guess. I see who Parker is going for, I take aim at the other one, but mine spins around faster than I thought, but he doesn't aim at me... Parker takes two in the chest, above the heart. I pay the slime back in kind, but my aim's a lot better, two in the heart. Not that he had one. He falls like the sack of shit that he is. His buddy, the one Parker had dead to rights, doesn't have a gun, no, he has a big bag of heroine and he throws it, it hits me right in the face, dust flies everywhere, I can't breathe. I fire off four shots, three hit, one was pointless, one in his head, then another in the thigh, the other in the back. I recover and hear that Parker's alive, but I don't know how bad off he is because I still can't see with this shit in my eyes. I hear expensive shoes clambering, and I figure the boss has left, I stumble into the unit and grab hold of anything, first thing's the sharp corner of a hard wooden box, 'that hand's fucked...' I think, as I fall to the ground and cry out in pain. I feel like an idiot, but my vision starts to clear as I blink the dust out of my eyes. One eye's working now, and I glance around the room from the floor, no one. Seems I figured right, suddenly I hear wings flapping? Then I feel pain in my neck...

              I cry out, something biting my neck, maybe an attack dog we didn't see, maybe one of the guys is tougher than I thought, maybe... I just passed out... Then, suddenly the dream I was having about ice flows becomes a reality as ice cold fish-water is splashed up against my head and shoulders simultaneously almost as if I were a life size bust of some poor cleaning lady's employer. 'Wayne... Get up...' The first words I hear, at least Parker's alive. 'I can see men like trees walking' I stammer as I rub the money from my eyes, Parker disapproves of my semi-Biblical reference and kicks me. I get up. He hands me a flask and I inhale whatever is inside. He smirks as if to harken back to the good ol' days, but only for a moment. I hear Detective Rivers' voice and then I really open my eyes; cops have made a perimeter and the Dicks who aren't all shot to Hell are examining our crime scene. Thankfully before Rivers can ridicule me at all, or poor Parker any further, medics pull me and Parker away to the meat wagon so I can later lay in a hospital bed and be ridiculed there. Outstanding. On the way to the hospital I catch some conversation about a baseball game, and money won, money lost, then something about mermaids, I think... Then I pass out. All I can remember after that is a slew of broken images and distorted sounds. Once I came to, everything started to fall into place, I didn't get a transcript of what was said, but I may as well have had one; The Captain was here to making loud and obvious points, and Rivers was here to say I told you so to the point where he inevitably gets slapped down for trying to steal the Cap's thunder, and Parker was debating both sides, fence sitting, like always, then finally using the 'I was shot today!' clause to get out of trouble and even get a pat on the back. Thankfully none of them were here now, it was just me, in my cold, silent, dark room; white bed sheets, white curtains, white door, and white walls. As I moved in the bed, I felt something tugging at my arm, I knew what it was. A clear tube leading to my arm with a needle at the end, stuck in me. This only reminded me of pain, pain from the last time I ripped one of these out, and whaddya know, it hurt just as bad... 'Fuck...' I thought to myself as I got to my feet. 'Wait, that was easy, I actually feel, great... ok. I can handle this.' Now I just need to find my clothes so I can get the hell out of here, I like my own bed. I make my way to the door swiftly, and feel the hospital gown flowing around me, the kind that can't help but show your ass as you're paraded down the halls for testing, or whatever...  Still, I'd have the same amount of dignity if I was limping from the break room to my new desk back at the station, the kind of new desk you get after the captain shakes your hand and insincerely says 'good job' or whatever, you know it's your purple heart, the enemy's marksmanship badge... But thankfully I wasn't shot today, just got a bunch of heroine to the face, 'maybe that's what it is...' I think as I quietly open the well oiled door to my room and creep over to reception, where undoubtedly my personal effects are waiting for me. I look down the long hallway and catch a glimpse of the pitch black night sky through the cracked door of another patient's room's window and want my bed even more. I get manage to get down to the front desk without anyone noticing and search for my stuff. I find it, finally, hidden away in a cubby hole with my room number scrawled on it with a knife instead of the nice stickers all the other ones had. Everything but my badge and gun are here in a plastic bag, so I take it all out and get dressed there behind the counter. I crouch down and see two nurses walking towards the desk and I figure they are oblivious to me, but then I hear something, something I have never heard before; a high pitched whining noise and suddenly I remember being bitten by whatever it was, I put my hand on my wound and realize it's gone, as if it healed already, 'Must have been just superficial... Unexpected pain hurts. But cold makes it hurt worse.' I think as I listen to the hypnotic, intoxicating sound, and watch white snow falling against the black backdrop of night. The sound continues; pulsating, grating, but not enough to annoy, it's almost soothing, like white noise. The sound changes tone for a moment then stops. The spell is broken, I look up for a moment, and I see that mafioso from the storage unit, hanging from the ceiling, I see him, eyes burning with primal rage, but the nurses don't...

The End

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