Description: BAD COPS, BAD COPS
Metro City Park, Nov 10th, 2:36 AM.
Like any other place in Metro City, the Park is a two-faced kind of girl. Gorgeous during the day, sunny, kind, she's the one you'll show off to your friends, secretly write songs about. Your parents'll love her, and she'll never do you wrong, never cheat on you with another city. Night, though - night's different.
At night, she's a complete, utter whore. Men wander in and out, never there for more than thirty minutes, loaded up with dirt, with parasites, disease. The disease that's choking your city. The pot, the crack, the dope, the Glow - it doesn't matter, it's all the same, and your lady's taking it, every single night. Most times you'd think you can't do a thing about it. It's not your place to tell somebody else what to do.
"Son, put that cigarette out before I am regrettably forced to do so enormous bruise on your cheek." Thomas Miracle is leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, frowning. Waiting.
"...There's no bruise on my ch--" The youth stops, mid-sentence.
Thomas Miracle continues staring at him, stone-faced.
"...Yes sir."
Just another stranger trying to score on Miracle's woman. They're all the same.
Metro City Park, Nov 10th, 2:36 AM.
Like any other place in Metro City, the Park is a two-faced kind of girl. Gorgeous during the day, sunny, kind, she's the one you'll show off to your friends, secretly write songs about. Your parents'll love her, and she'll never do you wrong, never cheat on you with another city. Night, though - night's different.
At night, she's a complete, utter whore. Men wander in and out, never there for more than thirty minutes, loaded up with dirt, with parasites, disease. The disease that's choking your city. The pot, the crack, the dope, the Glow - it doesn't matter, it's all the same, and your lady's taking it, every single night. Most times you'd think you can't do a thing about it. It's not your place to tell somebody else what to do.
"Son, put that cigarette out before I am regrettably forced to do so over the enormous bruise on your cheek." That -is- Thomas Miracle's place. Metaphorically. Literally, he's leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, frowning. Waiting.
"...There's no bruise on my ch--" The youth stops, mid-sentence.
Thomas Miracle continues staring at him, stone-faced.
"...Yes sir."
Just another stranger trying to score on Miracle's woman. They're all the same.
Carmine, for a little while, allowed himself to forget about this side of Metro City. Training at night and doing the 'light' side of cop work by day -- investigation, witness interviews, and number crunching -- let him forget about the dark underbelly, the hideous part of the city.
"Jesus, Sergeant, he's just a kid," Carmine remarks after watching him at work for a moment. Not that he minds what he's doing, of course -- it's best for that kid that he gets a little of the rough stuff over it, even. But... /damn/.
For all the tin in his blood, Carmine doesn't have what it takes to be that way yet. He can't /quite/ muster that level of sheer... callousness in the name of the law -- even when he knows it's necessary. Sometimes his blood gets up and it looks like he's got it -- but it's not focused enough to really be in Metro's best interests. Not yet, at least.
This city might be a whore, but that just means she knows how to sincerely love a man, even if she's faking it. Take Sho Easten for instance. Here's a man who's been through the wringer, if the wringer was an adolescence spent in street gangs, time in a military cartel that didn't have good intentions, and then being set on fire instead of being paid.
There's a whore analogy in there somewhere.
But for some reason, the SWAT member is out there with the other two, only he just ambled up. He's dressed in track suit pants, and a too-tight gray top that really shows off his arms. The shirt displays the local gym, METRO FITNESS. Expensive membership. Kind of money SWAT makes. He's wearing gloves though. It's not cold enough for gloves.
Right now he stands on the nearby footpath, watching the kid, before his gaze turns to the nearby sergeant and the apparent trainee. His expression shifts just slightly under the flickering lamplight nearby. It shifts slightly into a frown.
"Not busting him for the weed? Or does he have a medicinal pass?" He almost sounds critical. Perhaps he's just curious.
+|
Both men prompt a roll of the Sergeant's neck, a thoughtful lidding of the eyes, but the attitude they receive is -certainly- not equal. Carmine is rebuffed with a blocking, uncaring shake of Miracle's head - Sho, on the other hand, prompts a level gaze, the briefest sort of grin.
"Was hopin' he had somethin' on him. Keep it down, now, keep an eye on him. God-damned dealers love thinkin' you're an overzealous prick. You all know the cops that bust people on the easy violations..." Miracle pauses, briefly, and glances over Sho's shoulder, towards the retreating youth. He settles back against the tree, and continues to speak.
"They're God-damn disgraces. Miserable officers. Fill their quota with minor infractions, rile the town up, give us a bad name. Carmine, watch him, now." One of Miracle's gloved hands extends, over and past Sho's shoulder. "Sho mentioned our kid had weed on him - Sho's got a hell of a sense for that - d'you see what he's doing, over there?" It's an open question. It's the soften-up for a test yet to come.
Sho is almost unnerving to Carmine; the plain-clothes cop has a sort of intensity that Carmine just doesn't quite get. Miracle is at least a known quantity, even if that known quantity is 'hardass' with a side of 'white-hot rage,' and a 'serious past infractions' chaser. Sho is an enigma to Carmine still -- and Carmine, as pattern-oriented as he is, alternates between chafing under enigmas and trying to solve them.
Right now, he leans toward the former.
"Juking the stats," Carmine notes quietly, with a little frown at the mention of the easy violations. "Makes the town look a little less like a shithole when people in Seattle read the journals." This is one thing on which Carmine agrees with Miracle -- wasting time with the little things over the big shit is just that: a waste.
Squinting off into the distance after the kid, Kolodzik adjusts his tie (today's tie: Justice League, big old Superman right on the visible part) and tries to figure out just what's going on... and comes up short. "Can't tell this far away," he admits.
While everybody's attention shifts to the retreating youth, Sho's remains right where it was. He just keeps on looking at the Sergeant, the grin not returned. The number of times that co-workers have seen a friendly expression cross the face of Easten can be counted on the one hand.
His attention shifts to Kolodzik. He just stares, gaze dipping down once at that tie before returning to the face. That frown twitches, pulling at the burn scars on his cheeks just a touch.
"The town feeds on tourism. He's about to run," is what he finally states, as if delivering a world of insight to the trainee. He also hits two birds with one stone, as if excessive speech were entirely unnecessary for this man.
Finally he shifts, large forearms crossing upon his chest. That shirt expands. For an Asian, he is built, although the short-sleeve shirt shows just how excessive his burns are, as if they made up for the brevity of speech. Then again, considering his spotting partner at the gym is none other than the Mayor, well.
Sho's analysis prompts a thoughtful nod from the older officer. "Sho's got the right of it, but I'm a gambler. Two things happen when you cow a perp like that - they run, or they get bold. The rationale goes somethin' like 'This guy's caught up on the little shit', or some fuckin' horse-shit logic like that, I don't really give much of a shit. You wait for this--"
Another parkgoer passes the policemen, casually lighting up his own cigarette. Thomas isn't watching him.
Miracle's eyes remain on the distant youth, now rapidly approaching a copse of occlusive trees. They're big things, conifers or something, and keep visibility to a minimum. Still, it's not hard to catch the kid's look over his shoulder, the second one. It's a little harder to catch the second youth within the trees, one with his hands in his pockets, nervous, but when you're staring at a guy...
"Kolodzik, you're up. You see a weapon, feel free to use lethal force."
The pressure's on, Carmine thinks, as he's told that he's up shortly after he's reminded of the 'value' (such as it is) of juking the stats. Carmine knows how to handle this kind of thing -- this is what you go to academy for. It's different in practice, though -- there's so many variables here. /Do/ either of the little punks have a gun? Carmine could take a bullet -- maybe even a full clip -- but it's not something to exactly bank on.
Carmine takes a deep breath, glancing back to Thomas and Sho one last time before starting toward that little group of trees. He almost reaches down for his sidearm... but prudence makes him think better of it. If he doesn't draw, they might not.
Taking a deep breath, he tries to get a gut feel for the situation. The fact that he has several people around isn't exactly helpful... but he tries his best to tune out the Sergeant and the burned man, at least. He doesn't seem to feel much hostility... that's, at least, a good sign. He heads a little closer to the trees, taking it slow and prudent -- like he takes everything.
While Thomas only has eyes for staring at the fleeing perp, Sho spares a glance at the nearby passerby. He has that way of looking at people, the weighing kind, where everyone is put on a scale and he considers how best to disarm them with force.
That doesn't last long, and Carmine is off in pursuit. He waits for some distance to be gained, before letting that stern exterior down just a touch. It starts with an exhale. It might just be partially amused. "You know that guy wasn't carrying an ounce, right?" The older members of the force can take their time with the pursuit. Running is for young bloods.
"I bet they outrun him." Now he means Carmine. "I'll ride you twenty on it. Also, I don't have my boots," he wears actual rocket boots, a gift from a cartel, "so if they get away, they get away." What he does have are running shoes, and he uses them to walk after Carmine towards the trees.
Miracle watches Kolodzik wander towards the copse, eyes narrowed, more amused than upset -- though it should be noted that Carmine's speed is -not- alright by the senior officer. It's ultimately Sho that blunts forthcoming wrath, and Thomas' face oscillates - rapidly - between flaring anger and shared mirth.
"They didn't??? Well shit - color me surprised." Something about his delivery lacks a sense of authenticity. Even so, as Sho begins following Carmine, Miracle's about assed to move, himself. He keeps his tone quiet while he walks - very much a predator stalking his prey.
"Besides. I can't let the rookie go gettin' shot up on a damn lark like this. Shut down before we even started - damned pathetic. Twenty says he'll catch 'em. Kolodzik's fast when he wants to be."
Kolodzik has never wanted to be fast, so far as Miracle is concerned. Still, the sergeant thumbs a shotgun's safety to 'off'.
Kolodzik has a good, solid stride. He's not good at those little quick movements that get you out of the way of fireballs -- too big, too lanky for that -- but he's fast at a sprint. It's that lankiness that gets him here, though -- hard to look inconspicuous when you've got eight inches on the kids.
"Hold it right there -- police," Carmine says, in a tone that, while it's not /bluffing/, lacks real authority -- it's not the kind of tone that could stop a perp in their tracks. "Hands out of your pockets, kids," he adds, after a second.
Needless to say, inner city kids never learn that running makes you look guilty; they run, and it catches Carmine a touch off guard. "Shit!" he interjects, glancing back to Sho and the Sergeant for a moment. He seems almost flabbergasted that they ran -- even if he's faster, he sure isn't running after them.
On the other hand, Sho happens to have rocket boots, and he is damn fast with them. But he doesn't have those as previously stated. The rather obvious sarcasm from Miracle earns little more than another of those exhales. While Easten hasn't been on the force for a long time, he's made a name for himself. Rocket boots help.
Side arms, shotguns, and Sho just has his gloves. "I'm off-duty you know," he points that out to the Sergeant as if that weren't obvious too. But Miracle knows why Sho is on the SWAT team, after all. It's what those gloves contain.
Push comes to shove though, and it doesn't take a rocket-boot wearing scientist to figure out what that exclamation from up ahead and the look-back from Carmine means. "Alright, got a runner do we?" he must have a degree in stating the obvious. While not on duty, he nevertheless wants to see how this turns out -- so he increases his pace, jogging up to the copse.
It's about then that a shadow passes over the running cops, blotting out the moon for the briefest instant.
An enormous shape slams into the ground in front of the fleeing perpz, shaking what autumnal leaves remaining on the nearby trees right off, buffeting Sho, Carmine, and Miracle with a pleasant, leafy shockwave. A mustache glints from the textbook cloud of dust, two meaty hands emerging from it to grab their heads and lightly (for him) bonk them together. Both kids fall to the ground, dazed.
Mike Haggar, Mayor of Metro City, steps grimly from the cloud, arms crossed over his chest, frowning down at them. He intones gravely, "No littering."
With a start, he glances up at the approaching MCPD, and... takes a step back, rubbing the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Ahhh, dang. Shoulda let you guys handle that one, huh?"
TWENTY MINUTES AGO
Haggar crushes a discarded soda can in his fist, scowling at the back of an unsavory-looking character headed into the park.
Log created on 02:27:49 11/10/2010 by Miracle, and last modified on 04:56:43 11/10/2010.