Written by Public Safety Officer Brian Powers
Agent Powers crept down the filthy hallway of the decrepit commune. Shifty eyes gleamed menacingly from behind crooked doors. It was a dangerous place. But, in Powers’ line of work, danger was just a part of the job description. As he moved slowly down the passage, the Public Safety badge resting on his broad chest glinted gently, the motto To Protect from Themselves flashing briefly in the faint light.
The sound of voices drifted through the muffled silence from further down the hallway, laughing and shouting at odds with the oppressive atmosphere. Powers narrowed his eyes, his sharp features piercing the swirling dust. His hand was already on his Glock, his lean, muscular, not-at-all overweight body tensed like a spring under his stylish jet-black suit. Slowly, Powers raised his high-tech, yet classy, wrist-mounted communication device.
“Base, this is Dragon-Eagle. I’ve got multiple perps at my location. Requesting backup”.
“Acknowledged Dragon-Eagle,” calmly replied the staticky, yet oddly sensual, female voice from the communicator. “Agents converging on your location. ETA eleven minutes.”
“Not fast enough,” muttered Powers, lowering his communicator. “Looks like I’m going at it alone.”
He crept forward cautiously, his polished shoes making hardly a sound on the smooth concrete floor. As he slowly moved down the hall, the voices grew louder, and the faint thumping of dance music could be heard. The sounds seemed to be coming from a door at the far end of the hallway. Powers continued moving silently forward, one powerful hand resting on the badge in his pocket, the other on his weapon. He reached the door. The voices were very loud now, as was the music, which seemed to reverberate through Power’s chest.
“They want loud, I’ll give them loud,” growled Powers. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black square and an assortment of wires. Carefully, he attached the plastic explosives to the doorframe, expertly wiring the fuse and detonation device. He crept to the other side of the door and raised the clacker.
“Party’s over,” he grunted, chuckling to himself as he hit the detonation button. He’d have to tell that one to Margret later.
The door exploded off its hinges, crashing through the room with a deafening bang. Before the occupants could react, Powers strode through the demolished entrance, badge and gun in each hand. “PSafe! Get the fuck down on the ground!” he roared. His powerful voice was all the weapon he needed. All the suspects dropped straight to the floor and cowered with their hands over their heads. “Gig’s up,” Powers spat, as he roughly handcuffed each criminal. “You motherfuckers got a noise complaint”.
“But we weren’t even that loud,” whined one hardened thug plaintively.
“Shut up, slimeball,” growled Powers, “unless you want to have a little advising session with me one-on-one. Now where are the drugs?”
“No drugs,” the hulking gangster sobbed helplessly. “We were just drinking some beers, man”.
“Heroin?”
“No.”
“Meth?”
“No.”
“Marijuana?”
“Nope.”
“Hard alcohol?”
“Nah.”
“Drinking games?”
“No. Wait, why would you even care?”
“Never mind that. So, you were really just drinking beers?”
“Yeah man, we would have turned down the music if they had just asked.”
“Hmmm” mused Powers softly, stroking his fashionable goatee. “Looks like I’ll have to let you perps walk this time. Take it to the Street. And don’t let me catch you again.”
“Yessir,” whimpered the hardened gangsters as they walked out the blasted doorway “Good night!”
“Goodnight,” growled Powers softly, as the assorted thugs, crime bosses, and serial murderers disappeared into the gathering darkness.
Powers turned around, finally letting his hand slip from the end of his weapon. He breathed in the cool night and placed a cigarette in his pursed lips. His chiseled jaw seemed to cut into the night air as he lit the cigarette in a single, fluid motion. He slowly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, staring sexily into the darkening sky.
A thought crossed his mind. There was a missing piece, a forgotten detail. His eyes widened and his body tensed as he whirled around, the forgotten cigarette dropping to the ground.
“And don’t forget to stay safe, kids!” he bellowed into the night.
– ASG ’18. Illustrated by AKS ’15 using the Pulp-O-Mizer pulp magazine cover generator.
