Double Tap by Lani Lynn Vale

had morphed into an upper respiratory infection. Thanks, Nik. Really appreciate it. 
    Luckily, I had the type of insurance where all I had to do was call a number and describe my symptoms to a doctor, and they'd call me in a prescription if they felt it was needed. Therefore I never had to go to the doctor, which was good since I was constantly on call.
    I was also on shift.
    Dressed in the standard uniform that KPD SWAT wore while on patrol, I was highly visible.
    The man behind the counter called next, and a very disgruntled man stalked his way up to the front.
    He had about the same symptoms as me, now that I looked at him. He was rail thin with blonde messy hair. And if I had to guess, he was tweaking.
    His head shifted left and right on his shoulders as he looked around him nervously. 
    I probably would've never noticed if he hadn't started to raise his voice with the man behind the counter. 
    "You jipped me four pills!” The man yelled.
    For some reason, I highly doubted they'd 'jip' him pills. I'm sure it did happen every once in a while, but never short four . 
    "Um, sir," the young man said. "I understand your frustration in the matter, but unfortunately there's nothing..."
    "Don't you dare say there's nothing you can do. I want to speak to your boss,” the tweaker hissed.
    “Sir, I’m the manager. The pills are counted four times before they’re given to you. By three different people, including the pharmacist. You’ll need to make sure some didn’t spill or possibly recount the prescription. However, if you still feel that there is an error, there is a corporate number…”
    I saw it happening before the enraged customer even went for the small man.
    I stepped forward, two large, quick steps, just in time to catch the guy’s collar, halting his vault over the counter with quick efficiency.
    The guy choked, giving me enough time to wrap my cuffs around one hand, and then the other.
    The entire incident was over in seconds. Mostly even before anyone even noticed something was wrong.
    The few that had noticed were staring at me in awe, which annoyed me. I wasn’t a superhero. I was a cop. It was my duty to protect them.
    I sighed and reached for my mic. “Dispatch, this is unit three. I have a 10-17 at the Walgreen’s on Stone Road.”
    “10-4, unit three. Do you need assistance?” The dispatcher asked.
    She was new. Most experience dispatchers would’ve just used another code. Honestly, though, it was refreshing to just speak English for once. Sometimes all the codes got caught up in my head. Especially when they changed them on us. The Navy’s codes had been even more different, and at times I always wanted to revert to them. It took a conscious effort at times to keep myself from doing so.
    “Negative. Everything’s under control,” I reported, then turned my attention to the man behind the counter.
    “Nicolas Pena. 7-7-85,” I told him.
    His eyebrows rose, but he still typed my information in the computer, keeping a wary eye on the man still thrashing on the floor.
    I was drawing a crowd, but there was no way I was standing in line again. I felt like balls.
    “That’ll be f-fifteen thirty…”
    “It’s free,” the pharmacist came up to the counter.
    He stapled the receipt on the paper bag and handed it over. “Have a good day, and happy birthday.”
    I blinked and took the bag, surprised. “Thank you.”
    He nodded towards the floor. “No, thank you. Thank you for everything you do. You have no idea what you just prevented by not letting him in here. It could’ve been disastrous.”
    I nodded. Yes, it could have.
    “Thanks,” I said, shoving the bag into my back pocket.
    Then I bent down and hauled the still spitting man up to his feet and led him out of Walgreens.
    I had to practically drag him, but in the end he saw the error of his ways when he fell not once, but four times. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his shit. Or anyone’s shit.
    “Fucking cops.”
    I looked up at