Another Short Story!

First, today’s events:

Got rejected by Robin Read’s, just hours after submitting. If I wasn’t an international #1 best-selling author, I might be offended. Oh, well.
Posted 3 more chapters of Arnesto Modesto on Wattpad.
Wrote 600 words for The Baby Hunter! Good to be back writing again, especially on this novelette I had to abandon for a while.

And now, here’s the other short story I wrote the other day:

The Best Damn Cop on the Force

“I’ve been thinking about retiring,” Artie said.

“What?! You serious, Artie?” Officer Brooks had a Boston accent and pronounced his partner’s name, “Ahtie,” or as Artie would say, “naughty without the n.”

“Dead serious.”

“Is the chief making you do this? I saw you talking to her.”

“No, Brooks, Gomez is cool. She got me this position. Do you know how many people would take a chance on a cop with no arms? I just feel like it’s time, you know? My body can’t keep up anymore.”

“C’mon, Artie, you still have some good years left.”

The radio cackled. “We have a 10-65 at Main and Third. All units in the vicinity, please respond.”

“Shit, that’s only a block away.” Brooks grabbed the mic. “Dispatch, this is Brooks, in pursuit.” He hit the gas and the lights at the same time.

“There!”

Brooks slammed on the brakes, nearly hitting the suspects as they split up in front of the apartment building.

“You go low, I’ll go high!” Artie yelled, chasing his target into the building and up the stairs while Brooks went after the other man down the alley.

At the fifth floor, halfway up, Artie paused for just a second. His suspect was faster than him. As usual, he would have to rely on his wits rather than his physical prowess. Artie ran into the hallway. Bingo. Another stairwell on the other side.

When Artie emerged on the roof, he peered around the corner and saw his suspect approaching unaware. Artie hid behind an air-conditioning unit. He could just make out the scuffle happening between Brooks and the other suspect down below in the alley. Please let Brooks survive this night, he thought. Brooks was still a kid.

He saw a gun appear around the side of the unit and took his chance. He jumped up and slammed into the perp, catching them both off balance. The man’s gun landed right by the side of the roof, but still closer to the man. Thinking fast, Artie hid behind another unit.

“Come here, you fucking cultivar,” the man said. “Show yourself, coward.” Not getting a response, he ran for the gun.

Artie dove, getting under the man’s foot. The man slipped on Artie’s orange, cylindrical body and stumbled toward the edge. There was nothing for him to grab onto and he fell, slamming into the pavement a few feet from where the other suspect had Brooks pinned to the trunk of their squad car.

Artie hobbled over to the edge. Being stomped on had messed him up. A few of his white spots, signs of his age he had kept hidden from everyone, had been scuffed by the underside of the suspect’s boot. It might be a good thing he had gotten a little mushy. If he was still firm, he might have broken in pieces.

Assailant number two was hunched over Brooks, trying to use Brooks’ own nightstick to crush his throat. Brooks was holding him off but losing ground.

Artie knew he didn’t have time to run down the stairs. He lined up as best he could. He caught Brooks eye.

“No! Don’t you fucking do it, Artie!” Brooks managed to yell, only seconds from having his windpipe crushed.

Artie lept. His shape helped him stay pointed straight down. Brooks’ yell caused the assailant to look up at just the wrong time and Artie plunged into his eye, killing him. Before Brooks could grab either of them, the dead man fell such that his face hit the sidewalk at an angle, causing Artie to snap in half.

“No.” Brooks said, gasping for air. “No!” He stumbled over and picked up Artie’s top half. Artie was dead. “Damn it, Artie. Damn it to hell. You may have been a carrot, but you were the best damn cop on the force!”

The End

Author’s Note

If you’re thinking, “What the #)*$! did I just read?!,” that’s good! That’s the reaction I was going for. It just came to me while lying in bed a week ago. “What if I have this ridiculous little story where the hero cop saves the day by rolling under the perp’s foot and then plunging into the other perp’s eye, which only he can do, because as it’s so gradually revealed, he’s a carrot?” It was so clear in my head, I had to write it down. It cracks me up (obviously, I’m easily amused). Is this the worst thing I’ve ever written? Is it the worst thing anybody’s ever written? It’s possible!