[Original: Drabble] "Get the Drop" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Get the Drop
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 weekly quick fic #6, prompts “If you run, you’ll only die tired.” (“Life”) & ‘a bad feeling’
Word Count: 477
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke and Howell chase a suspect into an abandoned warehouse.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Get the Drop
I held my gun steady, keeping back and to the left of my partner as we entered the empty warehouse.
The politicians, gearing up for the election in November, had all been complaining about how those warehouses were lost revenue for businesses and/or wasted real estate for developers, but I was sure that none of them realized what a mess they made for law enforcement.
Like right now, when Howell and I were trailing a murder suspect through a maze of rusty shelves and broken crates. The man- approximately six foot tall, thin build, medium complexion, wearing a red t-shirt and ripped jeans- had run the moment he spotted us, and we had run after him. Also, for some reason, this building had power, but no lights. The suspect paused long enough to start up a rusty conveyer belt, which creaked loud enough to cover his footsteps from even our slightly-superior vampire and werewolf hearing.
The APB said he was armed, which was confirmed as we rounded the second row of shelves and a bullet ricocheted just ahead of us. Howell and I hit the floor, as three more bullets hit overhead.
“It’ll go better for you if you surrender now!” my partner yelled.
“Never!” the guy yelled back, complete with another badly-aimed bullet.
With all of the shelves and crates in the way, I could only just see glimpses of the suspect’s t-shirt, not nearly enough to get a bad shot at him, let alone a good one. I listened to the conveyer belt, then eyed the rickety shelves, then scooted a little closer to my partner, still crouching out of sight.
“Sir,” I hissed. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”
He really didn’t. Actually, I didn’t like it, either, but he agreed, so it was a go.
As quietly as I could, I moved back to one of the shelving units and scaled it, holding my breath and hoping it was still more metal than rust. They held under my weight and I made my way forward, toward the suspect.
“You’re already in a lot of trouble, kid!” I heard Howell say. “Come quietly, and it won’t get any worse!”
His answer was two more shots, but by then I was behind the guy, and I knelt on top of the shelves, gun level.
“Hands up!” I barked, in my best Howell imitation.
The suspect whirled, and my partner had him disarmed in seconds. “Not bad,” Howell allowed, once he’d read the guy his rights. “But now you have to get down.”
I looked at the ground, very far below me, and clutched the edge of the shelf. “Sir?”
He turned, pulling the suspect with him. “Meet you at the car, Jones.”
I thought my answering glare was pretty powerful, but my partner didn’t even turn around to see it.
THE END
Current Mood:
blah
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 weekly quick fic #6, prompts “If you run, you’ll only die tired.” (“Life”) & ‘a bad feeling’
Word Count: 477
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke and Howell chase a suspect into an abandoned warehouse.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Get the Drop
I held my gun steady, keeping back and to the left of my partner as we entered the empty warehouse.
The politicians, gearing up for the election in November, had all been complaining about how those warehouses were lost revenue for businesses and/or wasted real estate for developers, but I was sure that none of them realized what a mess they made for law enforcement.
Like right now, when Howell and I were trailing a murder suspect through a maze of rusty shelves and broken crates. The man- approximately six foot tall, thin build, medium complexion, wearing a red t-shirt and ripped jeans- had run the moment he spotted us, and we had run after him. Also, for some reason, this building had power, but no lights. The suspect paused long enough to start up a rusty conveyer belt, which creaked loud enough to cover his footsteps from even our slightly-superior vampire and werewolf hearing.
The APB said he was armed, which was confirmed as we rounded the second row of shelves and a bullet ricocheted just ahead of us. Howell and I hit the floor, as three more bullets hit overhead.
“It’ll go better for you if you surrender now!” my partner yelled.
“Never!” the guy yelled back, complete with another badly-aimed bullet.
With all of the shelves and crates in the way, I could only just see glimpses of the suspect’s t-shirt, not nearly enough to get a bad shot at him, let alone a good one. I listened to the conveyer belt, then eyed the rickety shelves, then scooted a little closer to my partner, still crouching out of sight.
“Sir,” I hissed. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”
He really didn’t. Actually, I didn’t like it, either, but he agreed, so it was a go.
As quietly as I could, I moved back to one of the shelving units and scaled it, holding my breath and hoping it was still more metal than rust. They held under my weight and I made my way forward, toward the suspect.
“You’re already in a lot of trouble, kid!” I heard Howell say. “Come quietly, and it won’t get any worse!”
His answer was two more shots, but by then I was behind the guy, and I knelt on top of the shelves, gun level.
“Hands up!” I barked, in my best Howell imitation.
The suspect whirled, and my partner had him disarmed in seconds. “Not bad,” Howell allowed, once he’d read the guy his rights. “But now you have to get down.”
I looked at the ground, very far below me, and clutched the edge of the shelf. “Sir?”
He turned, pulling the suspect with him. “Meet you at the car, Jones.”
I thought my answering glare was pretty powerful, but my partner didn’t even turn around to see it.
THE END
Current Mood:
blah