Equality In Justice: A(n) Unicorn Shooting Rainbows Out of Her and or His Ass
Officer Schwartz had been having a slow day, a welcomed change of pace in the day of any cop of a major city. The chief had even let Schwartz take off early to go over the newly assigned cases from home. Schwartz oversaw the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low when it came to the citizenry of this, “great country being overtaken by immigrants and criminals,” a thought Schwartz had frequently day to day. Officer Schwartz had been a police officer in a small town years before, but was forced to find employment in a station forty miles away from their childhood home. The circumstances of this migration, the now Detective Schwartz, had never talked about with anyone but their conscience, a panel of peers, and the D.A. As the gender of our main character doesn’t affect the truth of our story it will be omitted, and should the author make a mistake and use a gender pronoun that isn’t they or them, please know, dear reader, that it doesn’t matter what sex, gender, race, or creed our police officer actually is. These words will still, sadly, be true.
“You never know who might be recording, listening, spying,” Detective Schwartz thought whilst pouring a pot of coffee mixed with Old Thompson whiskey and pawing over the cases given by the 73rd precinct. Schwartz had quickly risen to the rank of detective by an attention to detail, but the past case that had forced Schwartz to leave their hometown had always vexxed them. How could the community not be on Schwartz’s side when the evidence put forward exonerated them? Couldn’t the public see that they were the good guy with a gun? A criminal shot in the back is just as guilty as one shot in the front. Even if they were only thirteen.
It was that same slow day, my friends and fellow readers, that Schwartz received an update from an app that gives police radio reports, A.P.B’s, whatever you want to call them, to a civilian cell phone. The true killer in the “lawful but awful” case that started Schwartz on the current path of becoming a “gypsy cop” had been spotted. The kid’s accomplice who had led a teenager astray. Sure, the cops didn’t have this criminal cornered, but they were hot on the trail. Schwartz threw a case file into the desk of the office in their one bedroom apartment. Well, if you consider two sheets hanging in the corner an office. Hardly a moment had passed when Schwarz open the door to the stairwell, ran down the steps four at a time because the elevator seemed too slow, jumped into their prowler, and shot off like a bullet searching for a dark skinned “innocent till proven guilty” person running from a peace officer saying, “Stop or I’ll FUCKING SHOOT!” Before you get upset and curse my name, dear citizen, I must define a term. A “gypsy cop” is an officer that moves from precinct to precinct. This is generally after doing something terrible to the community they were sworn to protect. Unfortunately, this is not a fabricated term and the population is growing.
Schwartz, driving like Meatloaf’s “Bat Outta Of Hell,” luckily didn’t get pulled over by state troopers. They always came down on city cops who broke the rules. This is the only part unbelievable about this completely true story. On Schwartz’s entrance into their hometown they saw a glint of colors they once had learned the order to in science class despite a childhood inability to focus. Schwartz took a left, making a beeline to a house they hadn’t been to since the forced migration to the 73rd precinct.
No lights were on in Schwartz’s old home. The front door was thrown open and hanging from its hinges. “Signs of a break-in,” thought Schwartz. A raindrop fell on Schwartz’s brow as a clap of thunder rumbled in the distance. With pistol and flashlight in hand Schwartz walked up the steps of the porch, once at the door the stench of rotting wood and mold overpowered Schwartz’s nostrils. Schwartz gagged upon entering the decaying ancestral manor, walked to a picture of their mother on the wall, and ran a hand down it. The dust completely changed the color of Schwartz’s hand. “Doesn’t look like it’s been lived in for years, would my parents have moved without telling me? They couldn’t be ashamed of an innocent person just doing their job. Keeping law abiding citizens safe from the hordes of animals trying to corrupt humanity,” said Schwartz. Detective Schwartz heard a creak on the patio and turned just in time to be hit by an object resembling a cricket bat.
Detective Schwartz came to, handcuffed to a metal table like those found in an interrogation room. There was only one dim light swaying above Schwartz. Directly ahead was a one way mirror. Schwartz peered around and noticed dozens of pictures of police shootings. All the suspects in the pictures were on their stomachs which Schwartz took to mean the criminals were fleeing. Schwartz laughed. A voice that sounded like it came from an intercom filled Schwartz’s head.
“What do you find so funny, Schwartz?”
“I’m just thinking about how you will be able to join the criminals in these pictures as soon as I get free. Whoever you are.”
“How do you know these people were guilty?”
“Innocent people don’t run.”
“Guilty until proven innocent?” With another blow to the head Schwartz was out again.
Schwartz awoke again. The pictures had changed their visage. Rather than suspects on their stomachs a single dead child laying face first in a pool of blood now inhabited all the pictures.
“Poor kid, this is why I don’t feel sorry for those fleeing scumbags,” the head of the teenager turned in the picture, making Schwartz think of The Exorcist. Schwartz gasped in recognition of the boy’s face.
“Hands up or I’ll fucking shoot!”
“Stop or I’ll fucking shoot!”
“HANDS UP AND I’LL FUCKING SHOOT!” Schwartz felt another blunt instrument to the back of the head.
The light was off when Schwartz finally came to again uncuffed and on the floor. Schwartz felt around and found a pistol. Schwartz found the table and got up on one knee. Using the table for balance, Schwartz fired shots in the direction of the one way mirror. A repeated clicking of the trigger let Schwartz know when the clip was empty. The lights flickered back on. Schwartz saw the shards of a mirror on the ground in a heap. Nothing but walls. Schwartz looked down. A single bullet lay before them.
