My Little Trix

Explosions, more explosions, and even more explosions.  Boom goes the bomb, bang goes the gun, and an outrageous scream the wife who complains about me being gone too long and how I have no time for her, and she cheats on me.

Heh, that’s what you expect to hear from a cop story, huh? How my life is so troubled and my mortgage is troubling my financial situation?

Not even close, partner, so let me tell explain to you why being a cop isn’t all about solving crimes and chasing down bad guys or anything that you were promised about doing in VAPD.

  (That’s Virginia Police Department, if you didn’t know.)

   So first year out of training, you know what you’re doing for the most part? Pulling over speeding idiots who either can’t speak proper English, or pulling over young adults in their early twenties for driving under the influence.

That’s it.

   None of these high speed chases across the city that’s just nonsense, no shootouts between rival gangs (not anymore, at least in the state of Virginia. Thank God for that.), there’s a whole another branch of controversy if you want talk about racial profiling.

   If I say I’m going nowhere near that, you can bet your entire life on it and come out one rich man, or woman, or something like that, I don’t discriminate.

So why am I even telling you this? What does this have to do with anything in your current situation, no matter how crappy it is right now?

   Well, the thing I might say next either won’t matter to you, or it just might make you look at the wonders in life and just think to yourself ‘man, I take life for granted’

   So let’s begin this story right, and I definitely want the story to be right, not left, and great.  Oh shoot, I can already feel my mind slipping from my head already.

   Heh, sorry ‘bout that. I’m not in the correct form of my mindset, well, I don’t think anyone will after this amount of bull-crock that I had to deal with while on the Force.

Welcome to Brooklyn, or as I like to call it: “So Much as look like a Cop you Get Shot-ville.”  It’s amazing how this city has so much prejudice to us police personal, you’d think it’s going to be a Cop vs. Hood thing.   The funny thing about that, is that the entire nation now hates us police because of the actions of a few shady people.

   When, if you look on our side of the dance floor, we were trained to protect and uphold the law. We can’t do that if we’re constantly getting stabbed or shot in the stomach or just simply being the bad guy politically because the entire nation hates our guts.

What can I say?

   Today’s just another day.

   There I sat, in the middle of a devastating car crash.   My entire chest felt like Jell-O, I didn’t even know if my legs can work anymore, heck, I’m not even sure if anyone of us survived that crash. I coughed, my chest still feeling like Jell-O

I looked over to my left, pulling the handle of the car door, and shot outside. My hand already focused on drawing my pistol, I was done playing Awkward Dork Cop, time to be Big Bad Cop with a nasty bark but a possible lethal bite.

Meaning my gun.

I literally skipped carefully towards the car, my last wish is to catch a bullet in the chest; Traffic Cops, like me, don’t really get body armor unless I decide to take a ride-along with someone higher than a Private, unlike me, and have the option of having armor and a shotgun in the trunk.

I looked over the carnage and silently felt my career as a cop slip further and further away from my chest, like a butterfly flying away from a destroyed spider web.

It was a silver-grey van with shaded windows, it was smoking at the hood of the vehicle; I came closer to inspect the interior of the vehicle before quietly opening it, snapping my Glock-8 upwards, and getting ready to squeeze the trigger.

There wasn’t anyone there, the other side of the van showed two figures turning the corner. I’ll never catch them, and I can bet my life on that (actually scratch that, I enjoy living)

I flipped the safety of the Glock-8 and holstered it, I hugged my chest painfully, my heart fluttering like absolutely crazy.

I don’t exactly enjoy high intense situation, especially when it revolves me ready to get shot by an actual revolver. I don’t know what it means, if I have either a heart defect or an anxiety problem. I honestly hope it’s not either.

I kind of like being on the Police Force, it pays the rent, and McDonalds have that value menu to keep me fed I guess.

The interior of the van was packed full of animals, all of them in wire cages, a couple of them were big, snarling dogs in cages too small, a couple of chickens, a few birds I’ve never seen in my life, I think a dead sullen cat…

What the…

In the far back, hidden by some other cages of livid animal snapping at me, each other, and mostly me, was a plastic doggie cage.

Now, I’d normally call nonsense, but there was something ‘bout this cage that just… drew me towards it.

I grabbed the handle of the grey doggie crate and lifted it up, then I pulled it outside of the van. I peered inside of it, to see a greyish tail quickly flee to furthest corner of the cage. The cage floor, as I can see it, was covered in blankets (I assumed).

I couldn’t see inside.

My suspicion is, is that this, whatever this thing is, is worth something for a pretty penny; Now I may not be the smartest person in town, but I’m definitely not an idiot when something like this is shoved in my face.

Or in this case, trying to back itself in the deepest corners of reality to get away from me. Whatever flows off of my mind right now, I guess.

There were already sirens behind me, all of them the identical wailings, and I don’t mean the cop cars. There was swarms of firefighters shouting orders to each other, Policemen trying to get the citizens to go away, and the Paramedics trying to keep everyone here to be looked at.

Sounds like a pretty decent First Responders Unit.

I didn’t want to go to the hospital, not because of whatever, but because of this little valued bugger in the cage. I wanted to know what made it so special, it was worth a couple of smuggler’s time and money on some cheap blankets that could be sold as counterfeit.

So I didn’t stay for long, because I was way too curious about this thing in the crate/cage-thing. It was a doggy crate.

I talked my way out of it the Paramedics and the Police Officers, gladly letting them use my only method of transportation in an investigation.

Who knows how long that’ll take?!