The usual disclaimer applies: All characters are property of Dick Wolf and NBC Universal. Not mine, not making money.
He did it for the thrill, more than anything.
There was just something about wanton destruction that made him feel alive – more alive than he felt while doing any other activity. The possibility of getting caught gave him the feeling of living on the edge, as did the fact that his handiwork would inevitably be discovered.
He held the knife to the rubber, jamming it inside. He thrilled to the delicious whoosh of escaping air. The task would soon be complete.
"Hold it right there."
He turned. Two men were standing behind him. One was older, dressed in clothing that had clearly seen better days; he looked like he'd seen it all. The other was considerably younger, wearing a worn leather jacket and a tie that could have been made from one of the tablecloths at Pizza Hut. There was the flash of a badge.
"Tell him what he's won, Mike," the older man said.
"A trip to the precinct. You've just slashed your last tire, punk." The younger man yanked him from the ground, steering him towards the waiting squad car.
finis