Roger jogged from around the corner into the park and
stopped to take a swig from his water bottle. He looked around and noted the
civilians in sight. Two old geezers sitting on a bench on the curved walkway,
reading their papers. A lady in a suit walking with a coffee cup in one hand
and an iPad in the other. A 20-something walking his dog, who clearly wanted
more time to sniff everything.
“All clear at the southeast entrance,” he said into his
hidden mike.
Suddenly he spotted two men running flat out down the
sidewalk across the street. He tossed his water bottle into the nearby trashbin
and prepared for action. They cut across the road between yellow taxis blaring
and ran into the park. The guy in the lead wore low-riding jeans and the
ubiquitous hoodie. Roger’s partner, Jamie, was close on his heels. He didn’t
have his gun drawn, and he wasn’t shouting, so the civilians weren’t paying
them any attention. Roger watched closely to see which way the runner was
headed, so he could cut him off.
The dog started barking and lunged as they passed. His
walker tried to restrain him, but suddenly lost his grip on the leash. The dog
bounded after Jamie in pursuit. The runner pushed past the suit lady, and she
dropped her coffee with a loud curse. The dog caught up with Jamie and leaped up, grabbing hold of
his flak jacket and tumbling him to the ground.
Roger bolted towards the runner, then froze in astonishment as the two old men jumped up, dropped their papers, whipped their umbrellas around high and low, smashing the runner behind the knees and across his chest. He dropped like a sack of flour and lay moaning and rocking feebly on the ground.
Roger bolted towards the runner, then froze in astonishment as the two old men jumped up, dropped their papers, whipped their umbrellas around high and low, smashing the runner behind the knees and across his chest. He dropped like a sack of flour and lay moaning and rocking feebly on the ground.
Roger paused to check that the suit lady was okay, but she
brushed him off with a snarl. He headed for Jamie, fearing the dog had
attacked, but found Jamie sitting and rubbing the dog’s belly and handing the
leash back to its owner.
Roger helped Jamie stand, and they started toward the fallen
runner, the two old men standing guard on either side. Roger was nonplussed
when Jamie reached them and grinned broadly, holding out his hand to shake
theirs.
“Gus, Bill, how’s it going? Good to see you’re still keeping
the peace down here.”
“Well, obviously we can’t count on you young whippersnappers
to do it,” Bill shot back.
Roger bristled, but Jamie laughed as he bent down and cuffed the runner, hauling him to his feet. “Later, guys. Keep up the good work,” he said over his shoulder as they led the runner away.
Roger half-waved at the two old men, but they ignored him as they collected their papers and settled back on their park bench. He jogged a couple of steps to catch up with Jamie. “Who the hell are those guys?” he asked in confusion.
Roger bristled, but Jamie laughed as he bent down and cuffed the runner, hauling him to his feet. “Later, guys. Keep up the good work,” he said over his shoulder as they led the runner away.
Roger half-waved at the two old men, but they ignored him as they collected their papers and settled back on their park bench. He jogged a couple of steps to catch up with Jamie. “Who the hell are those guys?” he asked in confusion.
Jamie looked back at them briefly and turned back with another grin. “Them? Gus
taught third grade for 40 years at PS147, and Bill was career Army.” He jerked
the runner’s arms roughly. “Pay attention, son. Never underestimate the lives
of old men sitting on park benches. You mess with them, they will mess you up.”
Dogs in house:
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Houdini, Brindle
|
February word count:
|
7363
|
I confess, this is quick and dirty. Ordinarily, among my editing, I would look up a city park, use street names at the entrance, and find a school name to use. But I was under a self-imposed time crunch, so here it is.
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