Tale of the Week 287: NYPD - Voting Thread!
NYPD
Submission 1 The Kona Kai Saloon, a 20th century tiki bar with a 22nd century local Hong Kong twist, was quipped with exotic faux-Polynesian decor, gaudy Hawaiian shirts and a plethora of tropical cocktails. One half expected some bikini clad silicone smile to burst through its doors. Instead it's usual clientele was the average Hong Konger wage slave, Corporate neo-colonialists and up-and-comers in the South Chinese criminal underworld.
The body fell to the floor some three feet from the bar, amidst surfer paraphernalia and spilled mojitos, the crack of a ferromagnetic slug echoing for what must have been miles.
“Is that how you greet all your friends Herr Richter?” Asked Hermann, the pistons in the bartender's old Bavarian auto-prosthetic shifting into overdrive as he reached for a dirty glass.
“Ha! Only those who don’t respect the badge and uniform.” Said Richter, gesturing to his casual attire and distinct lack of any formal identification. Placing his chrome firearm on the counter to cool from its recent use he ordered a vodka “make it a double.” He was in a celebratory mood.
“One double vodka coming up. Poor bastard, let me guess, he was late on some debtor's payments? Or perhaps he failed to submit his paper work in triplicate?” The bartender reached for a dusty bottle behind the counter and unscrewed its top, his arm jerking as though it were haunted as he placed the drink on the counter.
“Corporate espionage. Was a real slippery one too. Chased him from Mauritius to Macau.” Above, a vidscreen echoed under the slow spin of ceiling fans and the the crack-pop of pinball machines ringing outback.
“Uniformed officers from the Kowloon City Police Department stormed the headquarters of Japanese corporation Kobayashi Technologies earlier this afternoon. After a year long investigation the KCPD has released evidence linking the international conglomerate to numerous criminal syndicates” began the reporter.
“Kobayashi, that sounds familiar"
“Ganbei!” Richter raised his glass in salute to a job well done, drank finishing it in one gulp. Smiling from ear to ear, he revealed nicotine stained teeth and years of bad dental care "It should, I work for the bastards."
“Well then, I assume you won’t be paying the bill this month”
“Are you kidding? Have no fear barkeep, who do you think tipped off the KCPD in the first place?” With a look of satisfaction Richter slapped a credit chip on the counter “here’s everything, plus interest.”
“My, my Herr Richter, you are full of surprises! Will you be helping me clean up this mess as well?” the bartender gestured towards the body, the smell of cauterised flesh wafting under his nose.
“I’m a Corporate Investigator not a crime scene cleanup crew, you’re on your own pal!”
Submission 2 I must have been in there for hours – just combing through all the evidence over and over again.
I cursed when it finally hit me. All this time and the answer had been staring me in the face. The gun with no bullets, the exit wounds from the front…I couldn’t believe it. But I had to see for myself.
As I hailed a cab, the heavens opened up as if to compound my misery. “The corner of 48th and Chester, please.” The cabbie muttered something in reply, but the myriad of thoughts in my mind blocked out whatever he said.
When the cab pulled up at the destination, my heart sank faster than the rain pounding on the windows – my worst fear had just been realized. Even through the heavy precipitation, the man’s face was clear as day. “That’ll be twelve dollars, sir.” The cabbie extended his hand as I rummaged for my wallet.
“Here, take thirty.” I handed the confused man three tens. “And wait here for the next ten minutes.” The cabbie shrugged and nodded as I pulled out the standard issue radio. “Detective Frank to Precinct, got a possible lead on the drug case, requesting S.W.A.T. and a few black and whites. Location is the corner of 48th and Chester.”
This time it was the cabbie who drowned out the radio response. “Holy cow, man, you a cop? Thanks for your service man, but hey, if somethin’s going down, I’d hate to be here.”
That was understandable. “It’s okay, just wait another five minutes then I’ll get out.” I dug through my bag till I found DSLR. I zoomed in and snapped a few shots of Johnson shaking hands with the drug dealers in the cafe. Son of a...
A couple of minutes elapsed before I saw the black and whites creep around the corner slowly. I exited the cab and strode nonchalantly toward the café. Halfway across the street I saw the S.W.A.T. team pull up and pile out of their vehicle.
I stopped at the café entrance and took a deep breath. Damnit, Johnson. Then, I gave the signal.
It was over in a flash.
When the gunfire finally stopped, one policeman was wounded, and Johnson and five other gangsters were dead.
After that it was a simple matter of collecting the damning evidence Officer Johnson had on him. All the stuff missing from the evidence locker that could convict a local mob boss cum drug dealer. What a disgrace to the uniform and the badge.
**
“Detective Frank to see you, Inspector.”
“Send him in.”
I entered the office of Inspector Clayton, a big grin on my face. “I’ve done it, sir. I found the mole, cracked the case.”
Inspector Clayton, however, was anything but happy. I immediately knew that something was wrong, but it all came too fast for me to handle.
“Son, there’s no easy way to say this, but Officer Johnson Richards was undercover.”
Submission 3 Cake and Monet fell into a ditch so deep that not even the bodyguard could see them. Monet was staring at Cake. 'This was your fault.'
Cake protested. 'How is it my fault?'
'You're the one that wanted to go here because of some amazing discovery you made.'
'Oh yes...I forget about it now...'
'Guess we're going to have wait,' Monet said, grabbing out his phone. 'Oh wait, we have no signal!'
Monet moved around before noticing a rock with inscriptions. He picked it up. 'Sounds like some kids got hooked up on weed and did it for fun.'
Cake grabbed it. 'Let me read this.'
His eyes widened. 'It can't be...it can't!'
'What?'
'It's Viking ruins!'
'So you speak Ancient Viking? Why did no one tell me before about that! What does it say?'
Cake sighed deeply. 'This could tell the stories of how those warriors arrived in America. Don't you see, this could bridge the gap of those new world ancient revisionists and the mainstream academics, this could hold new discoveries, this could...change the world! Viking ruins in New York City. This could change the secrets the world has kept, the world as we know it.'
'Get on with it.'
Cake read the rock, biting it, eating it, smashing it before reading it.
'And that's what the history department has come too? Testing it before reading?'
'You have to know what's a fake and what isn't.'
Monet nodded. 'Fair point. Now what does it say?'
Cake read before his expression of excitement dropped from his face. Monet stared at him. 'What does it say?'
'I was here. Halfdan was here.'
Monet began to laugh. 'That's it? I was expecting some mighty lines like,' Monet exaggerated his voice. 'Thor has delivered me from the might of Asgard!!'
'Stop watching Marvel movies.'
'That was for research purposes! Besides I don’t come looking around in my glorious uniform everyday. That rock is evidence of the greatest meme in the universe!
'Really? Then what was Braveheart then? Were you on crack?’
'And this is my badge!'
'That was based on a real life story and it had too much of a man who didn't know fear, who knows this Halfdan must have been a great player...'
Cake sighed. 'Monet...'
'What you thought it would be so great, it held the secret to humanity's problems....'
'Shut up!!!!'
Submission 4 A differant NYPD
A different NYPD Blue
I work undercover in the Yonkers Special Task Force on Drugs. I carry a badge, sometimes. I never wear a uniform. No real fear of gangland style murders in this upscale residential community of seven hills. We may not have much evidence of crack, but the fear of the opioid epidemic is not limited to the slums of New York City. We have plenty of money here that is spent on the worst of reasons. Escape from pain is a path to opioid misuse. We have a lot of it here. It is quietly hidden away under the cover of doctors and prescriptions. Well meaning people can create problems unknowingly.
People who loath the heroine dealers think the respectable doctors and pharmacists are not a problem. They are the ones that are facilitating this epidemic of abuse. But the abusers are the people who just want to feel better. The price is too high. Addiction has its own faults and they are many.
The athlete just wants to not hurt so much to get back in the game. The woman with cramps just wants them to go away. The young man with a back injury just wants to feel better to get back to work They ll want to feel better just like the alcoholic wanting the next drink too feel better. Somebody needs to tell these people that feeling better is important but do not try to just feel better. Fix the problems that ail you. Get help from the people trained to help. And if you are trained to help, do not fall into the trap of facilitating drug abuse to make your own personal job easier.
Try living in my shoes for a few days and you will find little no difference between the drug pushers and the doctor writing a prescription to excess. You will find no difference between the wasted homeless person in the gutter and the middle class stock broker with an addiction brought on by too mush stress. In the end it destroys lives.
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