Among the Shadows — Kurtis Steale

Another Twisted Short Tale

I hate cemeteries!

Not that I buy into ghosts and that crap. No, graveyards have too many shadows. Too many places for the fuck ups of society to hide. Darkness hides the bastards who can ambush you. Shadows can kill you.

That’s why I’m slowly took my time, hustling from one headstone to the next. Then, I listen. The footsteps start again, and I trace the path of the suspect. So, I slip through the shadows and follow him. My goal is to keep my presence like a ghost, unseen and unheard.

Eventually, I hear his ragged breathing and the thumping of his footsteps when he runs to the next spot. Hell, I’m not doing much better since I’m overweight and nearing forty. Sitting in a squad car and handing out tickets most of the time doesn’t get you in shape for this crap. Fortunately, the guy I’m chasing is not smart.

The bastard shows up at the counter of a convenience store with a gun in his hand and things go south. He’s an idiot like ninety-nine percent of the criminals you run into in my job. Picks up a gun and thinks he’s got the world by the balls. After shooting the lady behind the counter, he shits his pants and runs away. Maybe he got a couple of packs of cigarettes. I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s the least of my worries right now.

The only thing I’m thinking about as I wait for a moment is getting home without a bullet in me. That’s because if I shoot the bastard, there’s too much bullshit afterward. Put a thug down with a bullet, then deal with all the paperwork, along with an internal investigation. Then, add in the spice of every lowlife lawyer and left-wing lunatic coming out to cry about police brutality. The bastards never show up for a fallen officer’s funeral, but damn if they won’t browbeat the chief and the D.A. into pushing charges on a cop. Politicians appease those bastards and their media mob, and I don’t plan on becoming their next sacrifice.

While I’m considering my next options, I try to calm my breathing. Let the suspect escape if you must, citizen safety be damned is one option. It’s a public secret out there now; an attitude cops must carry. Saves on paperwork and ensures that I go home alive. Screw the stupid voters who like the revolving door of criminals coming back on the street after a night court visit. I just need the excuse to let him get away before he pumps bullets my way. Otherwise, it’s more paperwork.

A bit of movement ahead in the darkness causes me to freeze. After I get a better bead on the shadow, a grin comes to my face with another option. The suspect has his back toward me now. I creep forward in the darkness, silently pulling out my taser. It means I’m less likely to get charges. Plus, the bastard gets to feel some pain. A little payback for shooting a timid clerk is good karma. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Then I stopped when I noticed the kid was staring up at something.

Who’s he talking to?

Carefully, I inch closer. The idiot has the gun sitting on the top of the headstone. My hands are full and sweaty. Things can always go screwy even though I have my HK 9mm pistol in one and the taser in the other. Not good form, but the suspect could have to turn around before I send the electric shock through him. Otherwise, he should drop quickly. I still don’t get why he’s looking up until I see what appears to be a statue. A quick glance shows me an old-fashioned headstone, obscured under the canopy of trees.

“It’s been so long. I’ve missed you, mom!”

He appeared to be listening to someone, nodding his head in agreement.

“You’re right, I’ve been bad. Will you help me?”

What the hell! Christ, I’ve got a mental case here!

“Yeah, I trust you!” The young man spoke to the air.

The decision’s made now. I squeeze the trigger on my left hand and two small, barbed darts shoot out of the taser. Before he can react, the darts push into his upper back and a surge of electric shock nails him. The bastard’s head is jerking around to get a look at me as his muscles start their involuntary contractions. A few seconds later, he flops over. Hurrying next to him, I secure his gun. When I turn off the voltage, I flip on my flashlight.

“Alright, hands behind your back…huff…huff…you know the drill.” I pant out while I keep my gun on him.

He didn’t move. I kick his foot, then bring the beam from the flashlight onto his upper body. His head’s got bloodstains, and it’s close to the base of the headstone. I see dark stains dripping down from the edge of the marble, where the suspect’s head hit the stone. Now it’s clear why he’s not moving.

Fuck, more damn paperwork!

~~~

Until the internal investigation finally completes, I hang around the apartment for a week. Luckily, the coroner is backing my version of the events. I heard from some friends it wouldn’t be long until they let me back on the force. The relief washes over me when I receive the news. Being at the station or driving my patrol route were the reasons I get up each morning.

Still, the kid’s death weighs on me. For all my negative thoughts about the work and the crap lawyers, I hate it when people die. It’s always a waste. Worse, it makes no sense. People who are good die by accident. Yet, the most worthless bastards who kill and maim for pleasure always seem to thrive. Fate is damn fickle, and I hate the way she works.

I turn my thoughts to the one thing that continues to bother me about the dead suspect. The conversation the guy had at the time I got him with the taser. According to the information I had, the kid wasn’t a mental case. Just another crook who thought he’d get more out of armed robbery than stealing from a house.

After letting out a sigh, I lean back on the overstuffed couch and look around the room. The television and cheap A/V equipment still have the HDMI and RCA cables dangling over the top from another project I’ve never finished.

Well, what’s the point?