The Cracked Cop

No the cop wasn’t actually a cryp. I could tell it was a recent death by the constant steady nasal drip. NO, not so recent eh?! Took awhile to get this one over the way.


In the pitch black darkness in behind came the constant pick and gavel of a shovel as it grabbed some gravel. A little dirt thrown wide, another pick, another slide. A few feet in, I wondered how far they would bury him, or her under.


I couldn’t tell if it was a he or a she, the cop you see, one of those transit authority types scowling at me, wondering if I was indeed the type. Cool in a glazen glare, hiding some longer hair, eyes wandering but not quite in back, as if this grave digging was nothing attention should attract.


But I wasn’t sure you know, maybe this one was just really nuts, kind of like me.


He or she mumbled something this cop in response to a question I’d asked abpout the last trolley and when it would stop. Trying not to be too loud, as if they’d cover the noise. Not many toys on the belt I noticed.


Yes, I indeed figured Spun Valley had claimed a victim done in of means as was all about the syptoms of this area.


Must have a hired a cryp, I could tell the well done rewiring to take out the local smell. That creeping death odiferous  of Hell. Just a little joke there, but that light doesn’t seem to work really well. Flicking and flicking as if it was a light, not a hard job, this man had some might. About six one or six two by the scattering of the debris from the shovel now three feet  under. Seems it is gonna stop there, maybe, I thought. Made me kind of nervous, and I moved on.


The following night at the exact same time, being not very relevant to the victims dying time, say the last run on the trolley line again, it was the cracked cop at this stop and I. This night I was not prepared for what would come of the nigh.


This time it had only taken a day. It had taken its toll already, this one had snapped, no longer sane


In an abbreviated description of what had come before, I had been in a long and desperate agonizing emotional war with my very own lover, who lives quite nearby…there with our baby daughter siiting in her parents car on the side.


The cracked cop had felt the need to run to someone near the stair, warded off another, prowled around us  as if to smother us in his or her attention, I’m still not sure.


You see it was about five past noon, when years before, I had seen a ghost who had warned me of gore. In this very spot a local legend from before the laws time. At first I was surprised, he really got around huh? Then I felt silly and awestruck and dumb.


He never made a move as if in haste, he paid me great mind and showed off his great taste. Still unbelieving my eyes, as believeable as they seemed, this Wyatt Earp reenacted the later nights scene. He tapped at his hip, though not at his gun, at something concealed just above his bun. KInd of staggered for a moment, thought twice and didn’t. Looked kind of womanly to me and I chuckled, and he didn’t.


Then he got lost in a glazed over eyes glare ina golden glory I could see he could see past his whole unfolding story. Then he, finally, came across the way, and a whole different scene seemed to be in sway. One of another century. He tipped his hat as he got very near, and IN swear I felt his jacket brush my hip right after that tip as he moved past to the rear and disappeared.


When I left my love and our little one behind, I found that the cracked cop had decided earlier to climb. The cop had broken down some branches now strewn about, or perhaps carried them up. Either way, he immediately moved swiftly now I could see it was out of being unsure that I was not a threat and I’m not sure what for.


Leaning against the post, me beside the bench, the cracked cop teetered and tottered and chuckled and snorted and started like a startled wench wrenched free of her formerly attracted clenched clutch of clean intent. The cop ripped his or her cap off, and half shouted at me, then made a move like a punch, and dropped their hand to his or her key.


Still not sure why the belts missing anything like a gun, I amusingly observed, definitely no gun there I thought with a schwerve. Deciding to play fate a higher toll, and perhaps get my foot in the door to play a role, I took my fresh pack of smokes and as I approached the gate to the back where I was to toke, remembered this was where the grave was dug just the prior night. I pulled one from my pack in the dark. I startled the shit out of this motherfucker by simply setting it alight.


Practically running, making strange fake Ninja moves the cracked cop grabbed for a pack in his pocket and was instantly on the move. I couldn’t hear the cryp I hadn’t smelled the night before, or atleast the grave digger I’ll leave that in score.


The cop he fumbled nervously, desperately for a light, almost lighting more than one in haste, and eyeing me for a fight. Then he began cracking thsese strange limbs from some foreign tree nowhere in the area I’d noticed I could see. KIcking them ferociously, breaking them while eyeing my limbs, obviously deranged behind hope, senseless to go on any further with this bloke.


But as I turned away it hit me, that cold feeling of the calculation of another, while I walked with my back turned. The kicking had instantly stopped, and when I turned to look, toward me bounced the cop.


So I wandered a ways down, not quite sure what to do. Noticed that the light went out as I passed under it too. In fact the whole row had went out, and the whole of the trolley tracks and station lay in my grim repair of doubt in darkness.


Just me and a cracked cop, male or female I am still not sure,as I couldn’t tell and though what for even in this situations seemingly seething starkness.


The Spun Street Terminal in the valley of Hell.


THen a really bad thing to do occured to me, maybe I should take another juant, smoke another smoke, taunt another taunt.


As i moved on towards the cop I heard him utter these direct words:


“I killed. I killed them. These things kill. We’ll kill you. I will.”


Then he chuckled, or she, swiftly removing the cap quickly, leaning awkwardly, almost a bit of a swagger, and then a small bit of stiffness as if the cracked cop had been poked in the back by a dagger.


As I moved on down the row, I thought twice of this and now in the know, I said aloud in my largest baritone pitch to project in unhitched fervor: “I see we have a miscreant. THat’s fucking great. That’s ok I’m gonna smoke one. His secondhand smoke will kill me. I am the meaning behind fortunate. I am pretty sure of it.”


And as I puffed and puffed staring from behind the now rebuffed about five feet to be exact away this was no longer a subtle stranger, with no weapons intact. A sheath I now saw visible  tucked neatly under his or her shirt. I could sense where the blade now lay and knew it could blight. Very well concealed, I thought as he or she, the cracked cop sensed my eyes and of course shifted to the right and moved off in the distance to the west.


This was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. I immediately cruched out the cigarette, trying not to run. I had no weapon on me to defend myself, not even one.


Once again I searched for in solace in desperate woe, this one could do damage and get away with a badge in tow.


I found the stations cameras, where, of course the lights were out, and then moved all the way down the row where one single solitary saintly light still lay aglow. Moving directly onto the boarding mat, I stood and waited and steamed and spat. I remained quite tediously there, in the only spot anywhere that I was directly on camera til the train could return me to my hood in good stamina.


I will be returning there often at the exact same time. I am not sure what I’ll meet, or with who, but I have now a fortune in good luck to eschew.


I will leave you with this, as it was told to me the next day.


On reading this to my lover on our bed as we lay, she turned to me and said with a sneer “Honey, that was no cop, just a fake uniform to steer clear!”