Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Excerpt from Parts of Noah (6): Bumper's Theory

His nametag said Bumper. I didn’t ask what his name was, he didn’t ask mine. Even when I was standing right in front of him, his eyes remained on the gun at point our feet. He looked a day late. Once I realized his pose wasn’t going to change, I set my eyes on the house behind him, its police tape and a smashed window, the mystery of that bullet.

-How did you end up here? Tell me a story.

-Good men fall down and that's been proven to me more times than I can count, kid. I'm here the same way as anyone else, there was no where else for me. I was a rookie, okay?  Ten more years of training and I still wouldn't have been prepared. See, they put me with this waster, this down and out veteran cop who'd done some undercover but came out of it a lot worse than the targets did. Of course, nobody told me this, nobody told me anything. Just that he was a bit wild and they figured putting him beside some bright eyed world-changer might calm him down. His first day with me and I swear he had more drugs in his system than he ever busted anyone for. But you don't ask questions, don't wonder anything. You'll only be inviting trouble to come rushing in with the truth if you start to figure things out. This one night, a night that I still don't believe has ever passed, it's happening again and again until I'm gone, and I mean really gone, not the sort of gone you have to be to end up in this town. This one night, after I had blinded myself with the notion that I'd be able to change anyone, he lost it. This partner of mine, this cop by title but not nature, he was buzzing up and down looking for a target, looking for a reason to shoot. The town we had, back in those days, the people were good. Kind, even. It was an easy town for a rookie and an easier town for a tripped out cop on his way out. But this one goddamn night. These two boys, not even in their double digits yet, out in the street with fireworks. They weren't hurting nobody, all we had to do was take their fun away just in case, you know, you don't want to see some kid's hand blown off. But before I could deal with any of it, this partner of mine has his gun out, shouting at these kids, these little nose-pickers, little bed-wetters, to get on the ground. He didn't show a badge, hell, in those days I'd be damned if he even wore his uniform. He just showed the gun, but they ran. Just like they'd been taught in the face of danger, they ran off. But this trigger-horny son of a bitch, he treated them like bank robbers or something, fired two shots in their direction. Now there's no way of knowing who those boys were or where they ended up, but the bullets were out in the air for anyone to be a target. One landed in the tree, the other, to this day I'll never know, just a stray. Now I'd never fired my gun outside of practice, only had to touch it once when this homeless kid came at me with a broken bottle, but I tell you kid, I didn't hesitate when I saw this partner of mine shooting at kids. A man can only sit back for so long. So I fired two shots, both into his back. Those bullets dropped him, dropped his threat to this world, his addiction, all of his bullshit, just landed on the pavement in front of me. Now of course, by the time anyone else showed up, all they saw was a rookie cop standing and a veteran shot in the back. Turns out, in those days just like these, clean cops were a novelty and I stood alone. It was only a matter of time...and I'm here. Now, you want to know what happened in this house behind me, you'll have to go investigate that for yourself. I'm only still here because I found myself unable to stand any longer, unable to raise my eyes, unable to even breathe unless I remind myself. The ugly truth is in that house behind me and as soon as I have the strength again, I'll be walking away.  Is that enough of a story for ya?

(End of Excerpt)
This is original writing and copyright and all that fine print kind of stuff. Please credit this to Chessterr Hollowberry. Thanks!

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