one-shot
"subway"
New York is a busy place. So busy that it would seem no one would think to bother a sleeping man on the subway so long as he wasn't bothering anyone else.
Officers Bryant and Sykes were bored, however, and bored police officers make for bad business.
They saw a man, no higher than five-foot-four, but built like a bulldozer, sitting on a bench at the end of the station. Bryant tapped Sykes on the shoulder and pointed to him, and the two smiled and headed over.
The man awoke when he felt a tapping against his leg and opened his eyes to see two police officers standing above him. He grimaced as the bright light from their flashlights bore into his corneas. He raised his hand to shield them.
"Hey buddy," Bryant said. "Enjoying your nap?"
"I was," he responded in a grunt.
"Well you're gonna have to take it somewhere else, alright?" said Sykes.
"Why?" he sat up. "I ain't botherin' nobody."
"Sir have you been drinking tonight?" Bryant asked him.
"No, I haven't been drinking tonight, Jesus Christ," the man said. The officers raised their eyebrows and their eyes drifted down to the man's left hand, which was clutching a gallon of Vodka. He held it up and chuckled lightly.
"Huh. Guess I was."
"Right. Okay buddy, down to the station, come on." Bryant placed his hand on the man's arm, and the man froze.
"Take. Your hand. Offa me."
"I don't think you're in a position to make demands here, pal," said Sykes. "Get up or we'll make you get up, Mister-"
"We'll get his name when we get him to the precinct." Bryant tightened his grip. "Move. Now."
The man moved alright; so quickly that neither officer could react in time, and before Bryant could cry out in surprise the man had pinned him against the wall. By this point a crowd had amassed around the scene and of course they gasped as the obviously smaller man held the six-foot-three Bryant helpless with such ease, his forearm pressed against the cop's throat. Cameras and phones came out. People waited with stilted breath. The delay of the trains had never been more wanted.
"I ain't goin' to no precinct, but you'd better call an ambulance," the man said.
"Step away from the officer and put your hands in the air now!" Sykes said from behind. The man turned around to see her, pistol raised and aimed at his head. He dropped Bryant who began to cough violently. He smiled.
"You gonna shoot me, little girl?"
"If I have to."
"I really wish you would."
Sykes was taken aback. She repeated her order, slightly frightened now.
"Put your hands in the air."
"Do it," the man growled. He took a step forward and as Bryant reached for his gun Sykes fired hers-two bullets, one for the heart and one for the head. The man dropped like a rock and the crowd gasped again. Sykes's hands were shaking as she holstered her weapon and went to help her partner.
"What a mess," Bryant said as Sykes eased him up.
"I...I think I almost had a panic attack," she replied. "His eyes...the way he challenged me...like he thought it wouldn't kill him."
"You had to do it. He assaulted me and threatened you. That's what you say, that's what happened. Got it? Em?"
Sykes wasn't focused on her partner however. She was far more invested in the sight of the man she just shot getting up from the subway floor, the bullets popping out of him like gum balls from a dispenser, and cracking his neck while the crowd backed up in fear.
"Ahhh...tickles."
He stood up and looked at the cops.
They looked back, hands on weapons but no desire to pull them out.
He said one word.
"Run."
And they were gone.
Then he picked up his Vodka, took a swig, and went about his way.
Huh, he thought. I didn't even have to pop the claws.
