A Police Officer's Story - part 5
by Ben Nettleship

Afternoon, the next day

"How is he? Is he going to be all right?" Officer Conner asked the doctor.

"He was badly injured in the crash," the doctor replied. "And he's in a coma. We don't know when he'll come out of it, it could be three weeks, it could be three months. However, his condition is slowly improving, and we're certain that he will make a full recovery in time. Out of curiosity, why hasn't his family come to see him?"

Patrick shook his head. "He doesn't have a family. He never married, he was an only child and his parents died in a fire when he was twenty-two."

"Oh."

"He poured his entire life into his job. He worked more nightshifts than any other officer on the force. I don't think he had much of a personnel life outside of the force. Hated crime more than anything."

"Sounds like a good man."

"Oh, he is. One of the finest men I know. He was a pessimist, and didn't think he could make a difference, but he never gave up."

As the two men chatted, a nurse exited a room just up ahead.

"Nurse Proudmoore, nice to see you. How's Mr. Vanyard today?" asked the doctor.

"He's feeling much better today, Doctor Banks."

"That's good," Banks said, then changed the subject. "This is Officer Conner. He's here to visit Officer Armstrong."

"Really? Another visitor so soon?"

"What do you mean?" Patrick asked stepping forward.

"It's just that another man just went into his room, right now. I thought it was odd that there wasn't a doctor with him, but I guess he was just a family member."

Conner and Banks looked at each other, and then broke into a run.

"Doctor Banks, what's wrong?" the nurse asked, but the two men weren't paying attention.

"So, you thought you could just upset Pinstripe and get away without any consequences?" the man asked, rhetorically. He was six feet tall and wearing a black trench coat. His purple eyes had a faint glow to them, something strange and inhuman.

Jack didn't reply, being unconscious and all. The man leveled a small, automatic pistol with a silencer at him. "It's time to pay the price. Don't worry, your partner's going to get the same thing."

The man's finger slowly tightened on the trigger. He was an instant away from firing when the door crashed open.

"Freeze, you son of a bitch!" Patrick yelled leveling his .38 at the assassin.

The man involuntarily jumped, his gun going off. The bullet plowed into the bed, barely missing Armstrong's body.

As the gun fired, Patrick pulled down on the trigger three times, sending the bullets flying into the man's chest. He grunted, and then, oddly, grinned. "Bullets can't stop me," he said, tossing aside the pistol and stepped forward. Then he paused, as the doctor stepped inside, carrying a syringe. The man wasn't completely confident in his new abilities yet, not to take on two people at once. "Be glad, for you are the first to meet the Assassin and live. But treasure your time, for you will die.

Patrick watched in astonishment, as the Assassin turned jumped out the window, smashing through the glass. He ran to the opening, and looked down just in time to see the man land on the ground after a two-story fall, landing as if he'd only fallen a single foot. He gaped for a second, then let loose with another three shots, all of which missed. The man looked up, waved, and then ran out of sight.

Patrick was itching to go after the man, but glanced back at the doctor at the doctor first. "He's all right," Banks replied. "Nothing you can do here. Go after him."

Patrick nodded, and climbed out the window onto the ledge. Grabbing the edge, he dropped down to the ledge below, and made his way to the ground from there, to pick up the pursuit.

Unfortunately, it was too late, and the Assassin had gone. That bastard sure can run, Patrick thought, as he headed towards a nearby police callbox.

Fifteen minutes later

Patrick had called Captain Murphy and reported the situation. Several police officers had been sent to the hospital to guard Armstrong until he recovered.

"And that's what he looked like," Patrick said, finishing his description of the Assassin. "Weird guy, he called himself the Assassin. Sounds like he's going to be trouble."

"I'll pass the word," Murphy replied. "We're going to catch this bastard, and Pinstripe too. We're working with the FBI on these super criminal cases. They've got a new division to handle it."

"Normally I wouldn't want their interference, but my gut tells me that we're going to need all the help we can get."

"My thoughts exactly. Patrick, you look like hell. Go home and take the rest of the day off."

"Are you sure? There still quite a few other cops in the hospital-"

"In the condition you're in, you're not going to be any help. Go home and get some sleep. There's nothing you can do here."

Patrick nodded in agreement. "Fine, I'll get some sleep. See you tomorrow."

"Oh, by the way, I've found a new partner for you. Drop by my office when you report in tomorrow."

The next day

"I'm here, sir," Patrick reported, walking into Murphy's office.

"Good to see you, Officer Conner," Captain Murphy replied. "Meet your new partner. Officer Pamela Brown."

"Hello, looks like we're going to be partners," she said

Patrick looked at her. She was female; it was the first thing that he noticed. About mid-twenties, black hair and blue eyes. And she was female. "Pleasure to meet you. Captain, can I speak with you in private for a minute?" he asked, in an even voice.

"Certainly, Officer Brown, please wait outside?" the Captain said to her.

She nodded and stepped out.

"What the hell are you trying to pull on me?" Patrick demanded, in an angry voice, waving his hands around.

"Why, whatever is the problem with her?" he responded.

"The her part. You said a partner, not somebody I'd have to baby-sit. It's hard enough out on the streets these days with a partner. And now you're sending me out with a partner who isn't going to be able to look out for me?"

"Look, this isn't my idea," Murphy replied. "Word has come down from the top, we need to hire female officers. It's this new equal rights movement, and the mayor wants to show Patriot City as taking the first steps into a bold new era."

"So? Put her on dispatch! Give me a partner that I can look out for."

"I pull something like that, and mayor will throw a fit and I'll lose my job. Deal with it. Besides, she got incredible marks at the academy. She's physically fit and knows the job. And we've still got twenty officers in the hospital, after that battle royal with Pinstripe's thugs."

"Marks aren't everything, and only experience can teach you this job, not a class at the academy. I'd be willing to go out alone, if I had to."

"Well, it's your job to make sure she gets that experience properly, right? And you're the only one in need of a partner at the moment."

Patrick quickly realized that there was no point in arguing. "I'll do it, but don't expect me to be happy about it. When Jack gets back on active duty, somebody else can look after her."

"Fine, I owe you that much. You'll be back with Jack when he gets out of the hospital. Anyway, you're on traffic duty today. Teach her the basics."

"Right, sir. See you later."

"Oh, by the way. The detectives exam is in three days, I understand you've been studying for it."

"Yeah, I have, why?"

"Nothing. Good luck."

"Thanks," Patrick replied, heading out.

"Come on, Pam," he said. "The car's out front, we're on traffic duty. That means we look for people in violation of traffic laws and give them tickets."

"I know what it means," she replied, angrily, falling in step with him. "You don't have to patronize me. I'm just as much of a cop as you are."

"No, you're not, rookie," he said, walking towards the door. "You don't have any experience whatsoever. Patriot City is hell on rookies. That's why we're constantly understaffed, and why we have hardly any honest officers on the force."

"What are you talking about?" she said.

"Let me put it this way, if you're not badly injured, dead, or on the take after two weeks, you're lucky and honest. And trust me, people like that are rare."

"You'd better not be implying anything about me."

"Nope, I like to think the best of people, despite the fact that this job doesn't give me much contact with people like that. It doesn't matter whether you like it or not, my partner Jack was right. There ain't much you can do in this job but survive." The last few days hadn't been good for Patrick's psyche. Jack's coma had affected him more than he would have liked to admit, aging him a few years mentally.

"Talk around the station is that you're an optimist and an idealist," Pam replied quizzically. The sexism she had expected, she had already dealt with it in her class and with several of the other officers, but Patrick wasn't behaving like the other officers said he would.

"Look at it this way. I though I could make a difference when I joined the force, and what's changed? My partner's in a coma, Pinstripe's running loose in the city, we've got twenty officers in the hospital, and some more in their graves and the only thing I've ever really accomplished was a week ago when I help kill several of Nuclear Winter's soldiers," Patrick stated, as they reached their car.

"What about Freedom Force? They've helped make a difference. I'd say they're going to help save this city from itself," she retorted angrily, not truly understanding his reasons.

"They may have saved the city from Nuclear Winter, but they're still a pack of vigilantes that the Mayor has seen fit to legitimize. Hell, if they hadn't interfered with that bank job, we wouldn't have so many injured officers, and my partner wouldn't be in the hospital. They break every rule in the book."

"That's why you don't like me, isn't it?" she asked. "Because you think I'm trying to replace your partner."

"No, it's because I need someone who can cover my back properly, and you haven't given me the impression that you can yet. Got your gun?" he said, changing the subject abruptly.

"Does it matter, we're just on traffic duty," Pam asked.

Patrick gave a short laugh. "Pinstripe's goons have been running wild ever since he changed. Keep your gun handy; the streets of Patriot City are hell these days. Not that it matters, you can't shoot, right?"

He suddenly broke off as she leveled a M1911 Colt .45 at his forehead. "My father was a US Army Ranger, he taught me how to shoot straight when I was five."

There was silence for a minute, and then Patrick finally said, with grudging respect. "That's not a standard issue weapon."

"I'll take .45 over a .38 any day of the week," she shot back. "Better knockdown power than that pea shooter you use. Besides, department regulations don't say anything against using our own guns."

"Pea-shooter? I could shoot a guy with a Colt .45, or my .38 wheelgun, and it wouldn't make a difference, he'd be just as dead."

"Not if you hit in the chest."

"I aim for the head."

"Smaller target."

"It doesn't matter how big it is, as long as you can hit it."

"If you miss on the head, you'll miss altogether. Aiming for the chest, a few inches to the left or right will probably still be a fatal shot."

"Just get in the car, we can't stay here all day," Patrick finally said, ending the argument.

"So, you admit I'm right?"

"I said nothing like that, get in the car," Patrick finished, climbing into the driver's seat of car fifty-seven, since car fifty-six was still being repaired.

Pam got in the car, whistling cheerfully. The day was looking better and better.

"Okay, see that speed limit sign there, rookie," Patrick said to Pam, pointing it out. They were parked at the edge of a main road going into town, behind a large billboard.

"Will you quit calling me rookie, I have a name, you know."

"Everybody gets this. I did, Jack did, and Captain Murphy did. Do you see the sign?"

"Yes, fifty-five miles an hour," she replied, looking at the sign.

"Exactly, see that telephone pole over there. It's two hundred feet away from the sign. I know, because I measured it a while ago. When a car passes the sign, turn on the stopwatch and stop it when it passes the pole. If he takes less than two and a half seconds, he's speeding and we go after him."

"Clever."

"Yes, very. Jack though of it. We've got dozens of stretches of road around the town where we've recorded distances. He was really clever when it came to outwitting other drivers."

"One point three seconds," Pam suddenly said, as a red convertible sped by. Patrick flipped on the lights and pulled out into the street after him.

Over the course of the next hour, the two officers ticketed four speeders. It wasn't as exciting as engaging in gun battles with Soviet terrorists, but Patrick was now aware of the true meaning of excitement, and despite the fact that he wasn't on the best of terms with his new partner, he hoped she never found out for herself.

He had finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be spending the next few weeks with a female partner, and decided that there would be no sense in making it any harder than it would be. Spending three weeks in a car with someone you didn't really like for hours on end wouldn't go any quicker if she hated your guts.

"Look, I'd like to, uh, apologize for the way I reacted," Patrick finally said, as he put the car back behind the billboard.

"Really? I guess I misjudged you, I thought you were on of those sexist assholes who believed that the only place for a woman was in the kitchen," Pam said, slightly surprised. After spending a while with Patrick, she had figured that the people who thought he was an optimistic idealist were mistaken.

"I've been under a hell of a lot of pressure lately. Frozen in ice, shot at and my partner's in the hospital. Pinstripe's still on the loose and some dude called the Assassin tried to kill Jack."

"I accept your apology. Truce?"

"Truce," Patrick said, extending his hand. She grasped it and they shook.

"I didn't hear about that Assassin guy?"

"Another one of these super-jerks. Only happened yesterday and we're trying to keep it quiet."

"Why?"

"Don't want to let anyone know that we're even more understaffed now that we've got eight men guarding Jack in hospital."

"Sounds like a bad situation- one point eight seconds!"

Patrick pulled out again, behind a gray van, with flipping on the red light again.

The van sped up for a second, then slowed down and pulled over. "Look, you can do this one," Patrick said, handing over the ticket book, figuring it would help make peace. Besides, it wasn't as if you could screw up much.

"Thanks," Pam said, and got out of their car and walked up to the driver's side of the van. As she talked to the driver, Patrick picked up the radio.

"Gray van, license number GKD 212."

"Got that. Doesn't look like there's anything on it, car fifty-seven," the dispatcher replied, after checking his list of stolen cars.

"Thanks, radio."

"Don't call me radio."

"Don't call me car fifty-seven, radio," Patrick replied, and hung up the radio.

"Are you aware why I pulled you over, sir?" Pam said to the driver of the car, using the police officer voice for sir that makes it sound like something small, insignificant and endangered.

"Because I was speeding?"

"Correct. License and registration, please."

"Certainly, ma'am," he replied, handing over his license and motioning for the man in the passenger's seat to hand over the registration from the glove compartment.

"Officer, you mean."

"What?"

"You call police officers officer, not ma'am."

"But-"

"Do you want to be in any more trouble?"

"No, officer," he said, capitulating and handing over the registration.

"Much better," Pam said, examining them both and handing them back, then filling out the ticket and handing it over. "You know what to do with this. Good-bye."

She walked back to the car, whistling. "I handled that pretty well," she said, as she got in.

"Yes, you did," Patrick admitted. "You're not as bad as I thought."

"You're regressing," she pointed out.

"Sorry," he said, pulling the car back into the road, past the van. "Force of habit. Won't happen again."

"Car fifty-seven, we just got a call from the state police. A van with the same license and matching the description as the one you pulled over is suspected of being a heroin smuggler. They shot two state patrol officers who were searching it. One just came conscious and informed them of what happened. Arrest them immediately. Dispatch out."

"Like I said," the driver was saying to his companion as the police car pulled away. "Just keep calm, don't panic and do what they say. They're not looking for us, we've got no problems."

"Yeah, let's get this stuff to Pinstripe now. And stay under the speed limit this time. Let's not take any more chances."

"You got it," the driver said, and was about to start the car when car fifty-seven screeched to a halt ahead of them, and its lights and sirens came on and they backed up and pulled to a stop in front of the van.

"Get out of the van, hands in the air, now!" Patrick screamed, after he got out and was advancing towards the van, his gun in his hands.

"You heard the man! Do it now!" Pam yelled as well, holding her .45 in both hands and aiming it at the driver.

"What's going on-" the driver started to say, leaning out of the window

"Shut the hell up and get out. Just give me an excuse to use this," Pam shouted at him, her finger on the trigger.

The driver sighed and got out of the can, putting his hands against the side of the van. The passenger wasn't as smart; he started to reach down to grab a gun. There were two shots and a pair of bullet holes appeared in the glass, the bullets passing an inch above his head. His face white, he came back up empty handed, and climbed out of the car as well.

"Cover me while I pat ‘em down," Patrick said, moving towards the driver.

Three hours later

The new partners had moved towards the center of city, near the park. "A drug bust on your first day, congratulations," he said to Pam, as the car rounded a corner. "There certainly was a lot of heroin in that van. Pinstripe must be seething."

"And you said we couldn't make a difference," she said, a grin on her face.

"It's only a small amount compared to what Pinstripe sells."

"Don't be negative. It's still a lot."

"Fine. We're making a difference in fighting crime. That means Pinstripe will have us both killed."

"I can shoot better than any of the punks he can hire."

"Point."

"Hey, take a look at that car," Patrick noted, as they cruised by. "It's right up on the sidewalk."

"Want me to write the ticket?" Pam volunteered.

"Naw, I'll do this one. You can ticket the next one," Patrick answered, pulling to a stop further down the road.

He got out, walked back down the road and pulled out his ticket book. As he stuck the ticket under the windshield wiper, a woman came up behind him.

"You can't give me a ticket," she complained. "I was only here a second," then her face paled.

"Behind you!" she shouted. "Look!"

"You ain't getting by that easily," he said, disgusted that she would try to pull a trick like this. "I ain't just gonna look the other way." Then there was a roar from behind him as a creature thought extinct for sixty-five million years finished illegally crossing the street.

To be continued...