Working foot patrol was bad enough, but foot patrol in Seattle sucked hard. Just exactly how he ended up here wasn't a mystery of course.
He'd been one of several highly talented children of an Irish catholic family that had moved to Seattle back in 90's, when the computer industry had experienced booming growth, and Boston hadn't. Two generations later here he was. Just good enough to be an all star athlete, lettering in Baseball, Football, and Track-but not good enough to earn a corporate or private scholarship. He had labored through two years at the University, waiting tables-whatever it had taken.
And none of it had been enough. Dropping out ahead of failing out, or running out of money was his only choice, and reluctantly he had taken it. His size, and good looks hadn't diminshed any, however, and he quickly found a series of new jobs. Each was, of course, worse than the last. Finally at a job fair he'd happened upon a Lone Star recruitment booth.
He'd sat through the trideo spiel, reluctant at first. Even doubtful-but what he had seen appealed to his (mistaken) sense of civic duty, and as much as he hated to admit it, his pride. He was big, and smart, or at least that's what he had thought. As he tromphed through the cold rain in the park he wondered if that had ever been really true?
He'd signed the paperwork (He wondered why they still called it that? All of it had been electronic, and through a simsense rig.) and had immediately been approved for an available slot. He'd spent eight long, hot weeks just outside of San Antonio at the Lone Star Security Services Training Academy,affectionately called the Ranch by those who had the (dis)pleasure of serving time there.
Still he had strutted just as hard as every other man, and they were all men, in his graduating class. He'd also been delighted to find he'd been posted to his hometown, the ever gray playground that was Seattle. He'd even managed to get a posting at a precinct closer to his parents home, and his girl friends apartment than he'd have thought a boot would rate.
His happiness quickly soured when he realized he'd been assigned to Division of Patrol, and not something...better damn it! Compounded by the knowledge that he would have at least a two year wait before he'd get off the streets, and out of uniform for something that was actually challenging. Something other than busting heads at closing time at the local saw dust mills, or scraping little old ladies off the streets after some thrill gang made pizza out of them.
He had another six months to go, and then he could put in for a transfer. He was thinking of Robbery or Homicide. The detectives in both departments liked him, and he thought of both assignments as infinitely more glorious than his current.
His poncho clung to his body, the light weight dark blue material barely protecting his lined jacket. His patrol cap was encased inside similar material, helping keep it and his head drry. He carried a Ruger Thunderbolt at his side, the big bore weapon felt like he was lugging bricks, but he never complained. It had saved his life more than once.
He swept the park visually one last time, he had three more areas left to check on his shift, then he could catch a ride back to the precinct. Suddenly his eyes fixed a dark lump in the middle of the park.
'What the frag?' he thought. 'I checked this place twice already, where this come from?'
Not taking any chances he thumbed the holsters catch, and pressed down. The cold steel felt like a lump in his hand until his smart gun rig went online. His vision overlaid with the weapons status and he flipped thermal and lowlight overlays into his visio field.
Whatever it was, it looked human, but its heat signature was way cooler than a living persons would be. A dead body he thought? What the hell...
As he approached the body he saw that it was covered in some sort of pancho, or maybe one of those disposable clothing things that they sold in the vending machines. Who or whatever it was, it lay motionless.
"Hey, you allright?" First rule in a situation like this was to keep your distance until you had asessed the scene. You never knew when you were walking into an ambush. "Hey you under there, you need help?"
The body didn't move.
'Drek,' he thought, 'just what I need, a dead body just before shift change.'
"Seven mike three to base, I have a possible 10-54d at the park on 57th avenue, and South St, requesting 11-41, and an available unit in the area." He'd reported the body, possiblely dead, and asked for an ambulance. Hopefully the bus or the nearest unit wasn't too far. He didn't want to wait too long in this damn rain.
"Base to seven mike three, copy. Five Charlie niner is enroute to your position, ETA is 5 mics. Out."
Holstering his weapon he knelt over the body. Pulling his gloves tighter he reached down and grasped the body-he was sure he wouldn't find any vitals, but he had to check. He couldn't feel the warmth of the body through his gloves, but he was sure the vic was dead.
Suddenly the would be corpse looked up, the face shadowed by the hood of the pancho. Daniel Kilburne didn't even have time to react as the Vic blew his brains out...
[Shadowrun] Tales from the Star:: Have Badge will travel.
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Serious Paul
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Serious Paul
- Devil
- Posts: 6644
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
"Five Charlie Niner to base we're 10-97." Officer Stan Kozlowski was a fifteen year veteran of the hard streets of Seattle, and in that time he had learned to trust his guts, no matter how abudant the rookies liked to point out that they were. As their Patrol One pulled up to the parks main entrance his stomach rumbled, and he could taste acidy bile in the back of his throat.
He could only remember a handful of times when he had felt this way. Each time he or another officer had been shot. Grunting he unlocked the riot gun they kept mounted between the seats. His partner, a snot nosed kid who was starting to trun out okay looked at him gravely. Without saying a word the kid nodded. In the last six months he'd learned to trust the older cops wisdom. Drawing his own side arm the two men stepped out of the vechile.
After arming the antitheft system-damn street kids would try and snatch and grab anything these days, even from a patrol vechile. The super shock system wouldn't kill them, but it could put a three hundred kilo troll on his back if it needed to.
As the two officers moved forward they unconsciously spread apart from each other, moving just out of the range that would allow a single hand grenade kill both of them. That lesson had originated with soldiers in the jungles of the pacific over a hundred years ago-and recently been reinforced by a shipment of fragmentation grenades that had hijacked by some go-gang looking to spice up Lone Stars day.
As Stan made his way into the park he almost wished he had opted to receive the eye implants the rookie had, maybe even the smart gun link package. But that machine crap was for the kids-he was just a broken down beat cop with five years until he retired to some place a hell of a lot warmer.
"Stan..." The rookies choked voice sounded near panic.
"Yeah Chuck?"
"We've got a n officer down...."
"Shit!" Grabbing his cordless mike he keyed the transmit." Five Charlie Niner to base we an 11-99, officer down at my location...."
He could only remember a handful of times when he had felt this way. Each time he or another officer had been shot. Grunting he unlocked the riot gun they kept mounted between the seats. His partner, a snot nosed kid who was starting to trun out okay looked at him gravely. Without saying a word the kid nodded. In the last six months he'd learned to trust the older cops wisdom. Drawing his own side arm the two men stepped out of the vechile.
After arming the antitheft system-damn street kids would try and snatch and grab anything these days, even from a patrol vechile. The super shock system wouldn't kill them, but it could put a three hundred kilo troll on his back if it needed to.
As the two officers moved forward they unconsciously spread apart from each other, moving just out of the range that would allow a single hand grenade kill both of them. That lesson had originated with soldiers in the jungles of the pacific over a hundred years ago-and recently been reinforced by a shipment of fragmentation grenades that had hijacked by some go-gang looking to spice up Lone Stars day.
As Stan made his way into the park he almost wished he had opted to receive the eye implants the rookie had, maybe even the smart gun link package. But that machine crap was for the kids-he was just a broken down beat cop with five years until he retired to some place a hell of a lot warmer.
"Stan..." The rookies choked voice sounded near panic.
"Yeah Chuck?"
"We've got a n officer down...."
"Shit!" Grabbing his cordless mike he keyed the transmit." Five Charlie Niner to base we an 11-99, officer down at my location...."
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Serious Paul
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He was too fucked up to care anymore. Sitting there in his underwear, stinking of vomit, nasty ass, and stale alcohol he briefly wondered if he fell towards the floor if he'd ever get back up. Once he'd been a good husband, a caring father, and a cop.
He was still a cop-if he hadn't been fired for missing work yet that is. He thought. Or had he already been fired, and simply drank so much he'd forgotten? These days it all ran into the next-one day blurring into the haze of the next. Chips and cheap synthahol, it was a slow way to commit suicide, but what else did he have but time? He was only thirty five after all.
Laughing at the absurdity of it all he stumbled from the chair, his feet tripping over the heaps of soiled clothes, discarded pizza boxes, and the occassionally half full bottle. Stopping in the middle of his small apartment, somewhere he'd made the decision he didn't need all that damn house and the memories that went with it. Trading the memories and space for the bottles and comfortablely numb nights he'd had since then. Since he wasn't wearing any pants pissing on the floor was all that much easier, although for a second he wondered why he didn't have a toilet, until he remembered he was in the living room, and not the bathroom. Cursing loudly he shuffled drunkenly towards the bathroom, still pissing-the acrid smell of the dark yellow fluid made him want to vomit.
As he reached the bathroom he finished urinating, and fell into the tub laughing hysterically. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought. Here I am half naked covered in my own piss, and vomit in my dinky old fashioned tub with no shower, in my rundown hovel!
His body racked with pain from the fall, and gasping from laughing so hard he flopped onto the floor.
"Now you know. This is what it feels like!" Sitting in his own luke warm piss he began to cry. The tears poured down his face like molten lava, stinging his cheeks.
"Damn it! Damn it all to hell!"
He was still a cop-if he hadn't been fired for missing work yet that is. He thought. Or had he already been fired, and simply drank so much he'd forgotten? These days it all ran into the next-one day blurring into the haze of the next. Chips and cheap synthahol, it was a slow way to commit suicide, but what else did he have but time? He was only thirty five after all.
Laughing at the absurdity of it all he stumbled from the chair, his feet tripping over the heaps of soiled clothes, discarded pizza boxes, and the occassionally half full bottle. Stopping in the middle of his small apartment, somewhere he'd made the decision he didn't need all that damn house and the memories that went with it. Trading the memories and space for the bottles and comfortablely numb nights he'd had since then. Since he wasn't wearing any pants pissing on the floor was all that much easier, although for a second he wondered why he didn't have a toilet, until he remembered he was in the living room, and not the bathroom. Cursing loudly he shuffled drunkenly towards the bathroom, still pissing-the acrid smell of the dark yellow fluid made him want to vomit.
As he reached the bathroom he finished urinating, and fell into the tub laughing hysterically. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought. Here I am half naked covered in my own piss, and vomit in my dinky old fashioned tub with no shower, in my rundown hovel!
His body racked with pain from the fall, and gasping from laughing so hard he flopped onto the floor.
"Now you know. This is what it feels like!" Sitting in his own luke warm piss he began to cry. The tears poured down his face like molten lava, stinging his cheeks.
"Damn it! Damn it all to hell!"
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Serious Paul
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"You sure this is the place Sarge?"
"Definitely." It bothered him that this was where Holden had ended up. It wasn't right. The man had been a damn good detective. Psychometric or not-the man had followed up all the leads, covered all the angles. He'd written it all down. That's what had made him good. he'd left nothing to chance. Not like so many of these new punk kids from the Academy.
Carver had lost his wife and child because of the job. A case he had been working got a little too hot. But holden hadn't backed off. That wasn't his style. That wasn't how he'd broken so many cases. He'd done it through persistance. Perserverance in the face of danger. And in the end it had cost him everything. Although he'd eventually been cleared of the charge, the brass at the star used it as an exscuse to offload him, firing him for not being on the ball enough after that.
Tony Rone had been a detective back then, and his respect for Holden Carver was seldom something he spoke about-that wasn't politically a smart move in his precinct. But it was there none the less.
Nodding to the two Patrolmen he had them jerry the door open. The old Craver would have had it dead bolted, and locked up six ways from Sunday-this new Carver simply relied on the gigantic pile of stinking trash to deflect intruders.
"Jesus Sarge, it smeels like something died in there."
"Yeah", said his companion, "You sure this guy didn't go and buy the farm on us?"
Shaking his head he kicked the door all the rest of the way open. "Can it wise asses. Wait outside."
Without waiting for a word in reply he stepped into the third story economy class room-a fancy way of saying just a step above a coffin hotel- and slammed the door behind him.
"Holden?"
"Hey man you in here?" For a second he might have started to agree with the beat cops when he heard crying from the batroom. "Holden that you?"
"Definitely." It bothered him that this was where Holden had ended up. It wasn't right. The man had been a damn good detective. Psychometric or not-the man had followed up all the leads, covered all the angles. He'd written it all down. That's what had made him good. he'd left nothing to chance. Not like so many of these new punk kids from the Academy.
Carver had lost his wife and child because of the job. A case he had been working got a little too hot. But holden hadn't backed off. That wasn't his style. That wasn't how he'd broken so many cases. He'd done it through persistance. Perserverance in the face of danger. And in the end it had cost him everything. Although he'd eventually been cleared of the charge, the brass at the star used it as an exscuse to offload him, firing him for not being on the ball enough after that.
Tony Rone had been a detective back then, and his respect for Holden Carver was seldom something he spoke about-that wasn't politically a smart move in his precinct. But it was there none the less.
Nodding to the two Patrolmen he had them jerry the door open. The old Craver would have had it dead bolted, and locked up six ways from Sunday-this new Carver simply relied on the gigantic pile of stinking trash to deflect intruders.
"Jesus Sarge, it smeels like something died in there."
"Yeah", said his companion, "You sure this guy didn't go and buy the farm on us?"
Shaking his head he kicked the door all the rest of the way open. "Can it wise asses. Wait outside."
Without waiting for a word in reply he stepped into the third story economy class room-a fancy way of saying just a step above a coffin hotel- and slammed the door behind him.
"Holden?"
"Hey man you in here?" For a second he might have started to agree with the beat cops when he heard crying from the batroom. "Holden that you?"
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Serious Paul
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Holden Carver was sure he hadn't drunk enough yet. He couldn't have. He heard Tony Rone's voice, and that could only mean Tony was dead. Or maybe Holden was dead? Or maybe just Tony's career too? he laughed aloud at that last thought.
"Jesus Holden! Look at you, you're a mess!"
Holden looked up and realized it really was Tony Rone. No ghost was that ugly. Nor did any ghost he'd ever come across smell so much like pastry as to remind Holden of a doughnut with legs. Giggling maniacly he spoke between sobs and chortles. "I...see...you..haven'...laid...off...the...krispy..." He couldn't continue. It was just too damn funny.
"Christ Holden pull yourself togehter man." Tony lifted Holden by his shirt, his augumented muscles pulling the smaller upright with a slight jerk. He jammed the detox patch on the back of Holdens neck, and then dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Holden simply grunted as he hit.
For a second Tony thought, then with a slight nod he kicked the cold water on full blast and jammed Carvers head under it. Holden kicked to life instantly, his body thrashing as Tony Rone held him under the water effortlessly. Finally deciding the man was ready Tony let him go, and Holden came up swinging.
"God damnit man! What the fuck was that about!" His blows might have been more effective if he wasn't so disorientated, and half drunk.Tony chuckled, and Holden sat on the edge of the tub.
"Good to see you in the land of the living man."
Holden simply hung his head, and asked. "What day is this?"
"Jesus Holden! Look at you, you're a mess!"
Holden looked up and realized it really was Tony Rone. No ghost was that ugly. Nor did any ghost he'd ever come across smell so much like pastry as to remind Holden of a doughnut with legs. Giggling maniacly he spoke between sobs and chortles. "I...see...you..haven'...laid...off...the...krispy..." He couldn't continue. It was just too damn funny.
"Christ Holden pull yourself togehter man." Tony lifted Holden by his shirt, his augumented muscles pulling the smaller upright with a slight jerk. He jammed the detox patch on the back of Holdens neck, and then dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Holden simply grunted as he hit.
For a second Tony thought, then with a slight nod he kicked the cold water on full blast and jammed Carvers head under it. Holden kicked to life instantly, his body thrashing as Tony Rone held him under the water effortlessly. Finally deciding the man was ready Tony let him go, and Holden came up swinging.
"God damnit man! What the fuck was that about!" His blows might have been more effective if he wasn't so disorientated, and half drunk.Tony chuckled, and Holden sat on the edge of the tub.
"Good to see you in the land of the living man."
Holden simply hung his head, and asked. "What day is this?"
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Serious Paul
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- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
"We've got a job for you Carver." Tony had helped Holden into his econo living room kitchenette. Clearing the debris from one of the chairs he deposited holden into it with all the care he might have afforded a sack ofpotatoes. Holden grunted as the air was pushed out of him. "Gaia you're a fraggin' mess Carver!"
Tony's words weren't with put concern though-what if the two drekwits outside the door had been right? What if Holden was washed up? What would happen if he'd managed to lose his "talent"? He'd heard of these magical types doing that-burning out. But Holden was more of a psychic right? He hoped that meant there was some sort of real difference. "What the hell were you thinking man?"
"Actually I was trying not to, if you really want to know..." Holdens voice was cracked, and dry-he rasped the words, not looking up at Tony Rone.
"Well I hope you're ready to knock this drek off," Tony forced a smile to his face. "Because as of right now your suspension is officially over."
For a few sconds it didn't register with Holden, and then he looked up at Tony. His eyes conveyed his confusion-Tony was sure Holden was wondering if he'd heard him right.
"I was fired you fat fuck." Holdens eyes glazed over in anger. What the frag was going on here?
"No my still intoxicated friend, your mind is playing tricks on you."Tony's eyes said it all. Everything Holden needed to know. Those bastards. "You were suspended for six months, remember? Now get some clean clothes on while I get some coffee going. You need a java infusion my friend."
Holden Carver stared at his hands, his eyes burning, seething in anger. After all he'd been through they had the nerve-the GOD DAMNED nerve to come to him?
Tony's words weren't with put concern though-what if the two drekwits outside the door had been right? What if Holden was washed up? What would happen if he'd managed to lose his "talent"? He'd heard of these magical types doing that-burning out. But Holden was more of a psychic right? He hoped that meant there was some sort of real difference. "What the hell were you thinking man?"
"Actually I was trying not to, if you really want to know..." Holdens voice was cracked, and dry-he rasped the words, not looking up at Tony Rone.
"Well I hope you're ready to knock this drek off," Tony forced a smile to his face. "Because as of right now your suspension is officially over."
For a few sconds it didn't register with Holden, and then he looked up at Tony. His eyes conveyed his confusion-Tony was sure Holden was wondering if he'd heard him right.
"I was fired you fat fuck." Holdens eyes glazed over in anger. What the frag was going on here?
"No my still intoxicated friend, your mind is playing tricks on you."Tony's eyes said it all. Everything Holden needed to know. Those bastards. "You were suspended for six months, remember? Now get some clean clothes on while I get some coffee going. You need a java infusion my friend."
Holden Carver stared at his hands, his eyes burning, seething in anger. After all he'd been through they had the nerve-the GOD DAMNED nerve to come to him?
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Serious Paul
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- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
The squad car just wasn't big enough for the four of them. Tony Rone was a big man to begin with, neither of the two patrol officers were all that small either-although Holden wasn't an overly large man he was still cramped. Not to mention that even after a shower, and finding some clean clothes (A miracle, all things considered.) he still didn’t smell all that great. He didn’t care-frag them! They found him, not the other way around.
Staring out the window at the rain he tried to gather his thoughts. He’d had a few cups of the black coffee Tony had whipped up, but that was no substitute for a few days sleep, and a lot of water. It was raining, a cold drizzle at the moment but he knew Seattle. It’d be a down pour sooner or later. It always did. As the vehicle stopped at a light he saw water swirling in the gutters, littered with trash, and discarded chips. He wondered if the rain could ever wash it all away. Could it ever wash the dirt away? Probably not. He realized that Tony was talking, and from the sounds of it for some time.
“…they thought you’d be happy to come back.” Tony’s eyes were carefully watching, he could tell Tony was afraid he might try something “funny”. Of course, Tony didn’t know what had really happened to him…
Staring out the window at the rain he tried to gather his thoughts. He’d had a few cups of the black coffee Tony had whipped up, but that was no substitute for a few days sleep, and a lot of water. It was raining, a cold drizzle at the moment but he knew Seattle. It’d be a down pour sooner or later. It always did. As the vehicle stopped at a light he saw water swirling in the gutters, littered with trash, and discarded chips. He wondered if the rain could ever wash it all away. Could it ever wash the dirt away? Probably not. He realized that Tony was talking, and from the sounds of it for some time.
“…they thought you’d be happy to come back.” Tony’s eyes were carefully watching, he could tell Tony was afraid he might try something “funny”. Of course, Tony didn’t know what had really happened to him…