Saturday, August 09, 2008

book em psycho

This weeks Saturday Scribes prompts were,

Theme: Serenity
Words: Potato, Lipstick, Fuselage.

.................................................................................

The arrest came at 9:15 AM in the desert community of Shifty Sands. Brooker was part of the special tactical squad assigned to root out and neutralize terrorist threats in the great US of A. The trailer park looked just like any other with dirty animals sleeping outside on the makeshift steps to idled motor homes. Some of the sleeping lumps were dogs.

The takedown went something like this;

Brooker arrived in an unmarked SUV along with two other squad members. From the other side of the park came the rest of his crew in a minivan and a 1974 Olds green station wagon. Nine crack members of America’s finest.

The first thing Brooker saw, sneaking all James Bond like into the park, was a large woman in a bathrobe and curlers heading his way like she meant business. He looked her over as she bounded his way reminding him of a charging rhinoceros, if a rhinoceros wore gaudy lipstick and curlers that is.

“Youz tha cops?” the behemoth of a woman bellowed some ten feet away from Brooker. Let’s see, he thought, LAPD in neon orange letters across his bullet proof dark blue combat fatigues coupled with the fact that he was packing a taser on his hip and an M16 was cradled in his hands. Pretty astute observation - oops, he though, must not profile.

“Shush!” Brooker yelled back as quietly as he could holding a finger up to his mouth. A dog, or person - Brooker wasn’t sure - stirred on the steps two trailers down. By now the large woman was upon him, her lips slathered with gaudy red lipstick rivaling his neon letters. She mouthed with exaggeration, “over there in number twelve” like she had just revealed the secret of eternal youth or a cure for cancer.

“Thanks, miss” Brooker said. “We’ll take it from here.” Brooker started off giving hand signals for the others to follow. A few steps forward and Brooker could see that the woman followed. “Um, you stay here,” Brooker said half pointing his weapon in her direction. One can never be too careful of rhinos.

Number twelve looked much like all the rest of the trailers, less the sleeping organic mass on the steps. The other highly trained members of the squad had converged on the unit in question. The sun was just coming up and a jet from LAX thundered overhead on it’s way to some sunny destination.

Brooker reached down into his chi and found zen. Always, before a takedown, Brooker spent a few moments communing with eternity, but damn if that woman’s lipstick wouldn’t leave his mind’s eye. Yugh!

Giving the signal with his fingers, Brooker counted down from three. The door crashers were on either side counting silently with him. At zero, they drove the pummel full force into the door which slammed back like a cheap screen door. The first tactical officer to round the open door was propelled backwards and lifted clear off his feet. Brooker’s calm was shattered by the huge explosion and even saw some flame shoot out from the trailer’s doorway. This would require double meditation later in the day.

The officer on the ground got back up, remarkably unharmed. Mashed potato covered the front of his uniform. From inside Brooker could make out the culprit loading up his potato cannon again for another volley. Brooker gestured for the others to attack.

Like clockwork two officers leapt into the trailer and tazered the fool to the ground. It was over in a flash of highly trained expertise.

After Alkabar Jizmat Abkookla Remiliki Asquibilik was handcuffed and carried off, Brooker went inside looking for evidence. It was clear this individual was not right in the head, but then Brooker speculated, who in Shifty Sands was?

On the filthy table next to crushed beer cans and half eaten bags of Doritos, were the plans of attack. Pictures of LAX airplanes with the fuselages marked in red ink like targets dominated the scene. In the top of the trailer a hole was cut and a stand for the potato cannon was crudely constructed from milk cartons duct taped together. Another airliner rumbled directly over the park and Brooker watched it appear for a moment in the hole from the trailer.

A calm washed over him and he grinned. A good day’s work for his country always left him feeling whole. Jumping out of the trailer to let the pickup unit gather the goods inside, Brooker motioned for the remaining troops to pull out.

Another terrorist threat ended.

The US of A was safer again today.

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