THUGLIT Issue Two by Justin Porter, Buster Willoughby, Katherine Tomlinson, Mike MacLean, Patrick J. Lambe, Mark E. Fitch, Nik Korpon, Jen Conley
Authors: Justin Porter, Buster Willoughby, Katherine Tomlinson, Mike MacLean, Patrick J. Lambe, Mark E. Fitch, Nik Korpon, Jen Conley
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y Patrick J . Lambe
I’m asking you to bear with me on this one, because I’m in a bad way, and there is a good chance I’m going to have to fire a gun in the general direction of a police officer in the next couple of minutes.
And that is not going to be an easy thing for me to do.
*****
I should have handed the uniform back to the sergeant the second after he gave it to me, thanked him for his time, and gone back to my job at the Home Depot. Another opening had to come up. It was just a matter of stacking lumber until the phone rang. I’d taken enough tests, one in practically every town in New Jersey that had posted an opening for a police officer. But I was young and impatient.
The first alarm bell went off with the khaki uniform. The last time I’d seen one on a cop was watching Barney Fife and Andy Taylor in black-and-white television repeats. Nowadays black and blue were in, with an occasional riot of yellow for visibility. I’ve even seen elite S.W.A.T. units dressed in full camouflage.
It wasn’t just the khaki color, it was the style: straight pants with a neat crease down each side, two front pockets and one on the back, a buttoned- up collared shirt, a pocket on each breast. Police uniforms had been evolving along military lines since the early nineties at least. The number of pockets on a modern uniform had multiplied exponentially with the amount of gear that had become available to help put the bad guys away.
The badge was the second sign that this might not be the job for me. The one on the cop who’d be showing me the ropes had a bird of some type perched on the top of it, gripping the edges of the metal with its talons. I think it was supposed to be an eagle, but it looked more like a vulture to me. The name between the talons was Scanlon.
*****
At least I have a few minutes to think about my fashion and career mistakes. I can hear a siren angling in on my location. I hope it’s an ambulance, because I’m not sure how much more of my blood the k haki- colored shirt is capable of absorbing from the wound through my chest.
*****
Scanlon’s feet were perched on his filthy desk blotter, fingers laced across the bursting seams of his uniform shirt. An ancient computer monitor occupied one corner of his metal desk. The screen was covered in small yellow Post-it notes, and I’d bet anything that the only things the computer would be capable of, if it was still functional at all, would be spewing out thin lines of green text against a dark background. Maybe a beta version of Pong.
Scanlon noticed me evaluating the obsolete electronics on his desk. “Our scumbag Mayor’s been cutting our budge since he took office.”
“I thought Captain Anderson was going to introduce me around.” I surveyed the station. The only thing that had been changed sin ce the bicentennial was a light bulb or two.
Scanlon moved his feet from desk to floor, made eye contact with an officer sitting at an outdated desk next to him. They both smiled.
“You probably won’t be seeing too much of Captain Anderson,” Scanlon said, turning his attention back to me. “He likes to work from home.” Scanlon pushed his bulk out of the chair and went over to the coffee machine, asked, “How do you like yours?”
“Black with sugar.” I’d arrived early, eager to begin my first day on the job. A couple of cops filtered in, ready, if not exactly eager, to start the day shift. Some of them could have benefited from a shave or a trip to the dry cleaners to clear stains out of their gear.
A uniformed cop gave me a weird look as he dropped off paperwork on Scanlon’s desk.
“You’ll have to excuse us. We haven’t had a rookie in fifteen years.” Scanlon placed the Styrofoam cup in front of me and slumped back behind his desk.
“You won’t be disappointed.”
“It’s hard to feel disappointment when you get to be my age.” He leaned back in his chair sipping from his
I’m asking you to bear with me on this one, because I’m in a bad way, and there is a good chance I’m going to have to fire a gun in the general direction of a police officer in the next couple of minutes.
And that is not going to be an easy thing for me to do.
*****
I should have handed the uniform back to the sergeant the second after he gave it to me, thanked him for his time, and gone back to my job at the Home Depot. Another opening had to come up. It was just a matter of stacking lumber until the phone rang. I’d taken enough tests, one in practically every town in New Jersey that had posted an opening for a police officer. But I was young and impatient.
The first alarm bell went off with the khaki uniform. The last time I’d seen one on a cop was watching Barney Fife and Andy Taylor in black-and-white television repeats. Nowadays black and blue were in, with an occasional riot of yellow for visibility. I’ve even seen elite S.W.A.T. units dressed in full camouflage.
It wasn’t just the khaki color, it was the style: straight pants with a neat crease down each side, two front pockets and one on the back, a buttoned- up collared shirt, a pocket on each breast. Police uniforms had been evolving along military lines since the early nineties at least. The number of pockets on a modern uniform had multiplied exponentially with the amount of gear that had become available to help put the bad guys away.
The badge was the second sign that this might not be the job for me. The one on the cop who’d be showing me the ropes had a bird of some type perched on the top of it, gripping the edges of the metal with its talons. I think it was supposed to be an eagle, but it looked more like a vulture to me. The name between the talons was Scanlon.
*****
At least I have a few minutes to think about my fashion and career mistakes. I can hear a siren angling in on my location. I hope it’s an ambulance, because I’m not sure how much more of my blood the k haki- colored shirt is capable of absorbing from the wound through my chest.
*****
Scanlon’s feet were perched on his filthy desk blotter, fingers laced across the bursting seams of his uniform shirt. An ancient computer monitor occupied one corner of his metal desk. The screen was covered in small yellow Post-it notes, and I’d bet anything that the only things the computer would be capable of, if it was still functional at all, would be spewing out thin lines of green text against a dark background. Maybe a beta version of Pong.
Scanlon noticed me evaluating the obsolete electronics on his desk. “Our scumbag Mayor’s been cutting our budge since he took office.”
“I thought Captain Anderson was going to introduce me around.” I surveyed the station. The only thing that had been changed sin ce the bicentennial was a light bulb or two.
Scanlon moved his feet from desk to floor, made eye contact with an officer sitting at an outdated desk next to him. They both smiled.
“You probably won’t be seeing too much of Captain Anderson,” Scanlon said, turning his attention back to me. “He likes to work from home.” Scanlon pushed his bulk out of the chair and went over to the coffee machine, asked, “How do you like yours?”
“Black with sugar.” I’d arrived early, eager to begin my first day on the job. A couple of cops filtered in, ready, if not exactly eager, to start the day shift. Some of them could have benefited from a shave or a trip to the dry cleaners to clear stains out of their gear.
A uniformed cop gave me a weird look as he dropped off paperwork on Scanlon’s desk.
“You’ll have to excuse us. We haven’t had a rookie in fifteen years.” Scanlon placed the Styrofoam cup in front of me and slumped back behind his desk.
“You won’t be disappointed.”
“It’s hard to feel disappointment when you get to be my age.” He leaned back in his chair sipping from his