Edgard's Finest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A superhero dark urban comic book universe, without the 'super' or 'hero'.

Submitted: July 24, 2015

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Submitted: July 24, 2015

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Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
~Friedrich Nietzsche
 

In the dark city of Edgard, Boone Howard works the 10 PM to 6 AM graveyard shift as an Edgard PD detective, alone.

Howard let his last partner, Dean, die, alone, forgotten, in the heroin house Dean had lost his soul in some months before. Dean tried to take on drug crime, trying to intervene, became a narc, and failed. Failed hard. Falling from grace, hooked on a try to keep his cover, Dean never recovered; left by Boone one Saturday night, helplessly, to go out in the last place that made Dean the least bit happy, a needle in his arm.

The department forgot about Boone. It was easier than dealing with his situation. In the darkness of Edgard, Boone wasn't the only one to get lost in the shadows. And so, paid a monthly salary, void of oversight, with a badge and access to an armory, Boone Howard joined the night as some strange in between of a vigilante.

The man in the long, heavy brown leather jacket, khakis, a red-and-blue tie, a dark blue Edgard Knights pennant jersey over that (number 22), and wearing an assortment of nondescript baseball caps, the darkening technology cap underneath concealing his face, now carries a fold-up, solid, corrugated steel baseball bat in a sheath beneath his jacket, along with his guns. The vigilante-detective: Boomer.

It's past 2 AM, vigilante hour, when Boomer takes his jersey out of his inside jacket pocket, still stained with last night's dried blood, and slips it over, along with bringing his darkened cap down to conceal his face in darkness.

The baseball bat extends with a dull metal snap in Boomer's right hand, a 9mm snaps into his left hand from its forearm spring-holster, and then the vigilante-detective launches into an alleyway, roaring, dragging his bat's end along the wall, firing his pistol over the alley resident's heads, sending people scattering.

Homeless on the ground cower under their blankets and into their cardboard box homes. The people that were standing bolt--except two, standing around a burning barrel. And that's how Boomer knows they're the ones with witch he wants to have a chat.

The vigilante-detective, still roaring and dragging his bat, shoots the one on the left in the shin, then brings his fold-out bat down, breaking the second one's right forearm.

Boomer knows he has to keep them alive, for the moment.

WHACK WHACK WHACK

He backhands his bat into the guy on the right's head, sending him down, then spins around and whacks the left guy clutching his leg in agony across the shoulders once, then twice. Boomer cocks back one more swing, considers a moment, then gives the guy on the left one more good shot down the middle of his spine.

After guy on the left is done screaming, left guy surrenders, "Okay! Okay! Fine! Stop! Fucking stop!"

Boomer swings back around on guy on the right, but that one is dazed, and holding his hands up in surrender, as well.

The vigilante-detective casually disarms them both, speaking, "You know why I'm here."

"You're breaking the--AHH!!"

WHACK

Boomer cocks back another swing, way past his head. "I'm not the law," he warns them. "Not at the moment."

"Shit, man!" cries Left Guy. "I dunno what you're after!"

WHACK

Boomer hits Left Guy again, this time on the knee, across from the wounded leg. "Lies," he says calmly.

"Oh Jesus!" says Left Guy. "I dunno!"

WHACK WHACK WHACK

Boomer spins around, and takes a whack out of Right Guy's broken arm, making him scream. "You--" He hits Right Guy on the ankle. "--fucking--" Then he spins back around and gets Left Guy on the unwounded shin. "--know!"

Smacking the bat once against the alley wall to clear the blood, Boomer then rests it over his right shoulder, and tucks away his pistol, waiting for the two to stop agonizing, so they can talk.

The homeless see nothing.

"Okay, okay..." Left Guy confesses. "Just stop hitting me, all right?"

Thumping his bat lightly against his collarbone, Boomer tells them both, "The beatings must continue until the crime rate improves."

"Jesus..." Right Guy finally says, slurring his words. "Just tell the fucker what he wants..."

"Good," Boomer says. "Now, who fired the gun that killed Tracy McGuire in her own bedroom Tuesday morning?"

Left Guy spits up saliva and a bit of blood. "Man, you guys still going on about--NO!! PLEASE!! STOP!!"

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK

Boomer keeps swinging on both, savagely, mercilessly. "No," he says simply. "Not yet, at least. I don't see the crime rate improving."

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK

"Stop stop stop STOP!!" the two plead.

The whacking stops, for a moment.

"Why?" Boomer asks, bat still cocked back. He's listening, but there are no sirens this early, not for just another random Edgard shooting that can wait for daylight. "The way I see it, two less thugs on the street means the stat line improves." He reaches way back, this time.

"NO!" Left Guy yells.

"Yes?"

"No, okay! It was one of Dante's boys, man. Just another drug deal, all right? Don't tell him I said it, but--WAIT!"

Boomer has the bat halfway down. "I do enough waiting in my other line of work," he says. "It gets boring."

"T-They, call him Little D, all right?" Left Guy confesses. "He's a Dante lieutenant, man. Good fucking luck getting to him, though. He's protec--NO!!"

WHACK

Boomer smashes Left Guy's brains out across the alleyway, then turns slowly on Right Guy to inform him, "Crime rate just improved." He points the bat at Right Guy. "What do you know?"

Right Guy slurs, "M-Man, I'll tell you the last time I wet the bed, you want to know! Whatever you want to know!"

"Good," Boomer says, tapping his bat into his free hand repeatedly, leaning in. "Help me improve the crime rate, without taking you out of the equation, my friend, and I'm sure we can...cooperate..."


© Copyright 2019 Jack Motley. All rights reserved.

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