Written on 01 Mar : 22:53
Now Playing: Ayria - Cutting
Been here since just before
dark; nada, nothing, not a thing happening. Bored stiff I think I will have to
poke myself in the eye to stay awake. Sitting in a government issue Chevy down
the street from a dark warehouse, time seems only to creep, every second
seeming to take minutes.
The night is quiet, almost too quiet. There is no movement, none at all. The streets are bathed in a light covering of fog. The haze making the lights in the distance appear fuzzy and distorted. Wondering if our tip was right. Have to find out what nark got his fix money for this one and get a refund. Hang on a sec....car.......OK buddy maybe your dope was worth it after all. We shall see shortly, if the warehouse is full of stolen trucking shipments your high will have been justified.
As the car stops in front of the warehouse, a dark figure emerges and approaches the door. Swiftly he unlocks the door and enters the building. I step on the brake pedal to signal my backup (local PD) and they begin to ease into position as I get out of the car and make my way towards the front of the warehouse. No windows to see out of, this will be an easy take down. One perp, no warning, 20 cops and one G-man. After we are in position, a rather large cop dressed in half of his riot gear, bangs on the door. "This is the police.....One Warning, come out with your hands behind your head. You have 5 seconds to reply." 5..4..3..2..1. No response, gonna have to do this the hard way. I give the signal and boom the door explodes inward, battered by the heavy ram wielded by two other officers. A flood of cops race into the building and it is over within seconds. The perp, Jake Mason, evidently not concerned was standing by a doorway to a small office. No resistance was offered other than the original lack of response. Pay dirt, all the trucking shipments are still on pallets haven't even been stripped yet. As the police go about their duties, Mr. Mason is on his way to a night in the slammer, other officers are busy tagging the stolen merchandise and arranging for its removal and safekeeping. I decide to poke around a bit.
I start in the small office. Nothing of note really, a few recent copies of playboy, a couple of unopened packages of cigarettes, a case of diet coke in a small office refrigerator in the corner, and the usual accoutrements that one would expect in such an office. In the trash can is a wadded up piece of paper with a few names written on it, not really in any arranged order they look like various scribbles and jottings. One name however, does stand out. Prince Maxwell.
Jotting the name on an empty sheet of paper, I call in an officer to tag and bag the piece of paper. While I have heard the name I haven't been in town that long, gonna go to the car and pull up any info the central systems have on this dude. Out the door the air seems heavier, and this night is creeping me out. The moon although present keeps being shrouded by moving clouds and man it is too quiet out here. As I pass the corner of the building next to where my car is parked I catch a glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision. Turning to face the empty lot I do not see anything.
Slowly out of the darkness a shape begins to form...What the hell is that, it looks like a dog, but the thing is massive. Slowly and without apparent fear it continues to approach, a low growl can now be heard slicing its way through the heavy air. Its eyes are locked onto mine. I have never seen a mutt as large and as black as this one. Drops of saliva drip from it’s fangs as it continues its targeted stalk. I am frozen in horror, so shaken that I do not even think about my holstered pistols. The eyes seem……different, seem full of intent, almost knowing. Before I can even scream the low growl becomes a guttural scream as the massive mutt tears into a straight run and he is on me in a heartbeat…..Next thing I know is I am awakened, several cops are tending to me and several others are fanned out around me, weapons drawn. My left forearm is shredded and I ask the flatfoot what happened. He tells me that a pack of dogs had attacked me, pack of strays; things get brave when they live on the streets, brave and hungry. He tells me that I am lucky they were coming out of the warehouse about the time I hit the ground, they got off a few shots but don’t think they hit anything…..As they pick me up one officer is already wrapping my arm in bandages he has retrieved from a cruiser nearby, another is informing the hospital of our impending arrival while another is mumbling to himself about never seeing such weird behavior out of street mutts. I know one thing, that was no displaced suburbanite “rover” or “rex” that paralyzed me with his stare. I don’t know what it was, but it was not just another street mutt.
The night is quiet, almost too quiet. There is no movement, none at all. The streets are bathed in a light covering of fog. The haze making the lights in the distance appear fuzzy and distorted. Wondering if our tip was right. Have to find out what nark got his fix money for this one and get a refund. Hang on a sec....car.......OK buddy maybe your dope was worth it after all. We shall see shortly, if the warehouse is full of stolen trucking shipments your high will have been justified.
As the car stops in front of the warehouse, a dark figure emerges and approaches the door. Swiftly he unlocks the door and enters the building. I step on the brake pedal to signal my backup (local PD) and they begin to ease into position as I get out of the car and make my way towards the front of the warehouse. No windows to see out of, this will be an easy take down. One perp, no warning, 20 cops and one G-man. After we are in position, a rather large cop dressed in half of his riot gear, bangs on the door. "This is the police.....One Warning, come out with your hands behind your head. You have 5 seconds to reply." 5..4..3..2..1. No response, gonna have to do this the hard way. I give the signal and boom the door explodes inward, battered by the heavy ram wielded by two other officers. A flood of cops race into the building and it is over within seconds. The perp, Jake Mason, evidently not concerned was standing by a doorway to a small office. No resistance was offered other than the original lack of response. Pay dirt, all the trucking shipments are still on pallets haven't even been stripped yet. As the police go about their duties, Mr. Mason is on his way to a night in the slammer, other officers are busy tagging the stolen merchandise and arranging for its removal and safekeeping. I decide to poke around a bit.
I start in the small office. Nothing of note really, a few recent copies of playboy, a couple of unopened packages of cigarettes, a case of diet coke in a small office refrigerator in the corner, and the usual accoutrements that one would expect in such an office. In the trash can is a wadded up piece of paper with a few names written on it, not really in any arranged order they look like various scribbles and jottings. One name however, does stand out. Prince Maxwell.
Jotting the name on an empty sheet of paper, I call in an officer to tag and bag the piece of paper. While I have heard the name I haven't been in town that long, gonna go to the car and pull up any info the central systems have on this dude. Out the door the air seems heavier, and this night is creeping me out. The moon although present keeps being shrouded by moving clouds and man it is too quiet out here. As I pass the corner of the building next to where my car is parked I catch a glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision. Turning to face the empty lot I do not see anything.
Slowly out of the darkness a shape begins to form...What the hell is that, it looks like a dog, but the thing is massive. Slowly and without apparent fear it continues to approach, a low growl can now be heard slicing its way through the heavy air. Its eyes are locked onto mine. I have never seen a mutt as large and as black as this one. Drops of saliva drip from it’s fangs as it continues its targeted stalk. I am frozen in horror, so shaken that I do not even think about my holstered pistols. The eyes seem……different, seem full of intent, almost knowing. Before I can even scream the low growl becomes a guttural scream as the massive mutt tears into a straight run and he is on me in a heartbeat…..Next thing I know is I am awakened, several cops are tending to me and several others are fanned out around me, weapons drawn. My left forearm is shredded and I ask the flatfoot what happened. He tells me that a pack of dogs had attacked me, pack of strays; things get brave when they live on the streets, brave and hungry. He tells me that I am lucky they were coming out of the warehouse about the time I hit the ground, they got off a few shots but don’t think they hit anything…..As they pick me up one officer is already wrapping my arm in bandages he has retrieved from a cruiser nearby, another is informing the hospital of our impending arrival while another is mumbling to himself about never seeing such weird behavior out of street mutts. I know one thing, that was no displaced suburbanite “rover” or “rex” that paralyzed me with his stare. I don’t know what it was, but it was not just another street mutt.
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