Short 2

Mike sat at his desk for the first time in weeks, eyed the unfinished stacks of reports between him and his computer, then stood up and left the precinct.

“Where you headed, Mike?” asked a portly officer seated near the exit, whom Mike assumed was named McNally.

“The street. She calls to me.” Mike said and shoved the door open.

“What’s she saying?” McNally asked.

Standing half inside and half outside of the precinct walls, Mike found himself at the same position he was always in; caught between two worlds. “She says people are hurting. She says ‘Mike… help them.’ She says the city needs me.”

“Okay.” McNally looked back down at the computer screen, leaving Officer Mike Nasty looking longingly in his direction for an awkward moment, hoping he’d inspired a colleague.

The streets were speaking to Mike in a different way when he walked outside. He crossed in the middle traffic to reach Sally on the other side. Cars stopped as he paced casually, making eye contact with each angry driver.

“Watch yourselves.”

He mounted his chopper, taking off down the street at top speed to hunt down criminals. Who and where they were was not information Mike believed he needed for fruitful policework.

A buzz against his thigh slowed his driving as he picked up his phone.

“You can’t just drive around all day, Mike. Get back to the precinct.”

Mike whipped around, inciting honks from all the cars swerving around his dangerous maneuver.

As he walked back into the precinct and sat at his desk, he grabbed the top report from the pile and turned to his right, where McNally stared at him over his computer screen.

Mike threw one of his pistols to hit the officer square in the forehead. “Snitch.”