Just Another James Bond Action Story

It's never a walk in the park like a James Bond film.

INTRO: There's a dead man on my bed.

This was the woman's phone call I received at the police desk.  I had just arrived for the night shift.  My hair is still wet from the shower, my shirt still reeking with perfume as I just sprayed them on me before I left the house.

I am not expecting a case till later that night.  It's a Tuesday, and for a 25-year veteran like me, I know that cases  like this don't come in till the week-end.

I passed the phone to the duty complaints desk officer right after I got it, so he can place the mission on the dispatch book.

My partner was already on case at that time investigating a house robbery in a posh village near the police station.

So when the complaints guy shoved me the complete address, I immediately took one M16 rifle from the arm rack, then gave my nine millimeter gun a pat on the mango.  Just making sure I'm still carrying it on my waist.

You can't be any careful than that.  It's a murder case for sure.

Silver BMW, auto push start with voice recognition.

I climbed onto my jeep and, after a quick glance on the slip of paper containing the caller's address, I cranked my engine and left.

While driving, I was already calling up the crime scene unit.  They have to be there for technical support.   I can't hear them much as my jeep growls loudly from its bottom.  I had to apply full pressure on the brakes whenever I want to slow down.  Wish I had a newer vehicle.

Avenues became roads and roads became streets and streets became alleys.  After a few minutes, the slip of paper brought me to this stinking alley in the ghettos.

Oh boy, and I'm wearing my new shoes...

Martini.  Shaken, but not stirred.

"San Mig Lights, boss.  One bucket." this is what my partner ordered from the waiter.

It is an hour past midnight and I, together with my partner, is inside this local waterhouse.  My investigation of a dead man's body led us here, deep inside the city's nocturnal crevices.

The killer is said to be five foot six, medium built, dark skinned, curly hair, early twenty's.

They said his name is Byanong.

Tuxedo suit, crisp white shirt, polished shoes.  Hair swept to the side, gelled and all fixed up.

I got him in his collar.  There is no way he is going to escape.

My partner is bleeding hard on the pavement, his mouth is full of blood, but I can see him still breathing.  He had just shot him at close range during the scuffle.  Hope the wound is not that deep.

As for me, I don't know if he got me.  But somehow, I can feel my head and it is wet, must be blood or beer, I don't know.

My shirt is torn from its sleeves as we have already wrestled on the floor.  My hair is piercing my eyes.  It has stood hard because of the blood it absorbed.

My gun is a few feet away from me and I cannot reach it.  I have to cling my right hand on his shirt so he won't get loose, and my left hand on his right wrist.  It is his gun hand.  I must not let it point in my direction whilst I can get shot.

My limbs were trying very hard to pin his body on the ground, while my left hand controls his collar, thereby controlling him from his neck to his head.

There is the feeling of horror knowing that he can release his hand in no time and can get a clear shot of me.  I shouted for help, but there are no more people around as they have all ran for safety when they heard the consecutive shots earlier.

Slowly, my arms are getting weak while his is getting stronger.

He is way younger than me.

Bond deserve a night with our girl, plus a few extra cash.

Byanong is sitting at the corner of the cell, his hands swollen.

The complaints desk officer had to beat his hands because he refused to enter the cell.

He was looking at me intensely, as if he wanted to eat me.  I spat in front of him.  You just can't beat a cop, man, I was arresting goons even when you're still wiping your nose.

I took a nightstick and beat Byanong more on his body till his gaze dropped.

The commotion might have woke up our commander, he stepped out from his office.  He saw me bloodied from my head to neck.  My face is full of dried blood which gushed from my forehead. I cannot wipe them all when I cleaned myself earlier.

"Go home", he said, "come back in the morning for the case inquest."    With that, he returned to his office and shut the door.

The whole incident, anyway, was not surprising.  It was not odd.  It happens most of the time.

"Well, for us cops, it's just another day in the office."

END