BRICK! Angel Feathers

De: P.C. McCubbin

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

Name’s Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don’t mess with me. You won’t like the result.
I‘m a cop.
For me, being a cop ain’t easy. I’ve had a couple of minor problems. Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kind of got blown out of proportion. You get my drift?
To start, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never did a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand?
Anyway, cops are supposed to do things by this Book. No exceptions.
My thoughts on this cop Book?
Boring! Restrictive! One-sided!
Book says a bad guy has got rights.
One right is for bad guy to remain silent and all that crap. Book doesn’t want the bad guy to incriminate himself in a crime. Bull. I say, slip a sharp knife underneath bad guy’s groin, add a strong upwards pull for attention getting; bad guy is going to tell you all you want to know and a lot more.
Book says bad guy has right to lawyer. Sure. Just as soon as my fists explain to bad guy how him not having teeth and his jaw wired shut won’t effect his talking to his lawyer.
Book says cop has got to warn bad guy first and shoot second. Nope. Not happening. Too dangerous for cop and by-standers. Book got that one backwards.
Book says cop got to be nice and polite to bad guy. Got to say “sir” and “ma’am” and all that nice crap. Even when dealing with a bad guy that murdered somebody or beat the shit out of a little old lady for five bucks. Screw it.
Well, that’s a few of the rules I had a hard time with. But I did do pretty good at that enforcement stuff. Aced that hand-to-hand or whatever it was called…except for not stopping when the referee blew his whistle. Heck, I thought he was constantly blowing that silly whistle to applaud my aggression.
Only one little bitty accident. Really minor. See, one time when we were doing practicing with batons, I cracked another cadet’s ribs. But only four of them. Not my fault. My baton was slightly longer than I thought.
Hey, I said I was sorry!
My shooting was no problem. Rifle, revolver, automatic, shotgun, canon. All the same to me. Really pretty simple.
Ready! Aim! Fire! BOOM! Thud!
Okay, so maybe I accidentally shot a popup target I probably shouldn’t have. Not a big deal. This target popped up to my right. I took a quick glance. I swear it looked like a fat midget Mafia shithead with a short bazooka.
BOOM!
Right between his eyes! One dead shithead!
But the Range Captain said the target was a girl with a doll. Bull. No girl has angry red eyes like this target had. Definitely a Mafia shithead!
So, like I said, for a guy like me, being a cop ain’t easy.