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Fiction Short Story

Marli Cronkhite

One Tough Cop

I was panting big time, maybe even drooling a little. I couldn't see him but I could hear him. This guy was fast, running like hell's fury through muddy swampland. But I was on his tail and my senses were on red alert. My focus was on one thing. Get him!

I knew it wouldn't be long before I had this dirty-dog penned under; it wasn't too often these thugs escaped me. My partner, Tom--he had me worried. He lagged several yards behind in fog as thick as a triple whammy prime rib. He is a top cop, and I'm overly protective of him because he's not only my partner; he's my best friend.

I could hear him trudging behind, through the quagmire. Even for me, a hard-hitting cop, it was rough going as thorny underbrush whipped and tore at my body. The bayou is no easy place to get bogged down in; the stench alone can sicken the toughest of cops. Tom said that every time he was on the trail of a bad guy, adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream like an over zealous oilrig. So I knew by now he was coughing and spitting out acidic bile, heavy duty. I could hear him groaning and gagging in the background and knew he was suffering. Every now and then I barked out my whereabouts so he'd know I wasn't too far away.

When the slug whizzed inches by my nose, I could feel the hair stand straight up on the nape of my neck. This guy was desperate. His AK-47shots spewed wildly through the darkness. Odds were that one of us would catch a bullet at any given moment. I had to act, and fast.

Like I said, my senses were on red alert. Even in the muck and mire of dank sludge, I had a good feel for where this clown was hiding. Not to be arrogant about it, but I've been told more than once that I've got a first rate nose for tracking perps. I guess that's why I'm always in the lead.

I knew this guy's days were numbered the minute I crept upon the mud-hut. The scent of him oozed through the crevices and as far as I was concerned, this hunt had ended. My tongue was dangling to one side and I was drooling more then usual as I hurdled through the open window. Then I was on top of him. One look at my face and sheer terror filled his eyes. Most perps react to me that way. Maybe it's something in my snarl, or the way my lips curl when I show my canine teeth.

When I heard Tom kick in the door of the mud-hut, I was in dog heaven. "Atta dog! Good boy, Rebel!" he said rushing over to pat me on the head. I gave him a couple of quick thank-you woofs while he handcuffed the bad guy.

I love those pats on the head. I know it means a job well done.

© Copyright 2002 Marli Cronkhite