He glistened.  No, he really did.  You read about characters so full of enthusiasm and rectitude for the job that the author describes them as glistening in the pulp novels he read and of course Damien put it down to poetic bullcock but this kid seemed capable of developing a fine patina of "honest" sweat at all times.  Not enough to dampen the shirt or dirty the collar, but enough that right here, the idiot glistened.  In the middle of winter.

"Sarge said you're quick.  Said you dealt with an RTC 5 minutes of leaving the station first time out."

"Did he now?" the bugger. Of course he probably forgot to mention that I was the one in the crash.

The kids forehead wrinkled "What's an RTC?".

Good grief, didn't they get any training these days?  "A good way to lose your lunch" and your license and end up in front of a committee.

"You were sick?" there was that annoying grin, only to once again be replaced with concussed toddler confusion "That doesn't even..."

The screech interrupted the gormless twit, thank god.  In a moment the black car was there, screaming two inches from the door, then it was gone a cloud of blue smoke lingering.

Give the kid some credit he could react and drive, there was barely time to make the shout before they were hurtling pulling a hard U and down the road blues and twos weaving between the cars, the cabin a roar of noise and confusion.

"Sarge also said you don't like to drive".

What the heck?  Now?  He tried to regain some composure. "Focus on the road." an afterthought "And the perp."  He peered through the drizzle and glaring lights.

Pressing the button "Dispatch plate is Charlie, Oscar, Charlie.." oh god, hilarious, of course.

"I've got it!  Anyway, I don't get why you're still on traffic if you hate it so much" the kid continued in a horribly measured voice as the weaving continued and bits of crud fell out of every bucket, sun visor, bucket and pocket in the car creating total chaos.

Covering the radio with his hand and trying to flail off a pad of traffic tickets "Gods sake! Later!  I'm trying to call in the plate...", this must be hell, I must have died and gone to hell already.

"Look out for that bus!"

Suddenly it was gone.  Equally suddenly there was a fraction of a second of weightlessness in which a tiny portion of his bladder relieved itself, and then immediately there was immense pressure, and noise and everything that hadn't hit him as it left the orifices of the vehicle earlier now found a way.  The car spun to a halt just in front of a terrified old lady on the sidewalk who started to enthusiastically hit it with her handbag.

"Right then..."

Right then, shaking "Dispatch, er... calling off pursuit, vehicle has vanished. Over.".

He heard "Madam, please do not vandalize police property.  If you continue you will be in contravention of the 1971 Criminal Damage Act section 1 and you may face up to 10 years in prison."

His mouth dropped open, and watched as the kid walked back to the door and got in smartly and started reversing back onto the street.  He was smiling "That was great, are all chases that fun?".

Oh god, a hero in his own mind.  No wonder they lumbered him with the idiot. I'm not going to survive the night.

Black Rat

All works (c)Per-Anders Edwards, I do not permit use of any content for training AI.

US based British guitarist, noodling, collaborating, eclectic tastes and always up for a new genre.