The Saga of Tripper Cop
“The Moving Mountain”
As the alarm clock shrieked through his waking mind he realized morning broke far earlier than he would have liked, which is never. He lied upon a bed with no sheets half covered by a barf colored blanket and surrounded by dirty pillows without cases. As he reaches over to turn off the howling wail from the clock he knocks over an empty bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey which falls off the floor and takes its place among the food wrappers, dirty laundry, and other debris scattered on the ground of the small apartment. He slides feet on to the floor as he sits on the end of the bed, running his fingers through his greasy brown hair, and gets up to go to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror he takes a look at the stubble on is face and judges it is well past a five o'clock shadow, probably closer to eight or nine o'clock, but he only shaves once it reaches midnight. He splashes some water on his face takes a few swigs of Listerine then looks in the mirror. “How did I get here? Did I do this to myself or did somebody do this to me?” He walks over to his dresser and opening the top drawer reveals a menagerie of pills, vials, and various bag filled with powder. He rummages around until he finds a small glass bottle with a dropper-top. Carefully, he sucks a small amount of the clear liquid out of the bottle and drips a single drop into his right eye. It stings a bit, but he will be fine in an hour or so. Inside his closet hangs a tattered and stained navy blue uniform which he puts on. He grabs his cap of the wall and heads out the door somewhat ready for the day.
Walking out his door he is greeted by his portly neighbor in the parking lot. “Is that you John!?” She says.
“I don't know. I'm John T. I don't know who he hell U. John is.”
“Isn't it a nice day?”
“Never seen a mean day, so what are we comparing it to?”
She laughs and waves him goodbye as she goes back to deep frying a turkey. “Goddamn, blimp, airhead, full of air....” John mutters under his breath as he gets into the car.
His patrol car was large 1991 Ford LTD Crown Victoria. It was not a new car. It was box shaped. Nobody else at the station wanted it. “Old, rigid, and unwanted,” he thought to himself. “No wonder I like this car.” The interior of his car look just like the floor of his apartment except with more fast food wrappers and less beer cans. Soon he arrives at the station to be greeted by a couple of his co-workers.
“Why if isn't John E. Trip! Peace officer extraordinaire!” Says Officer Shortkok.
“Well, well! Hey Johnny, you catch that elusive criminal yet? What did you say his name was? Repetitive Steve?” Asks Office Bigman.
“He is Competitive Steve and he's an asshole just like you.” Replies John. The two other officers start slapping there knees and laughing manically.
“That is a good one!” Says Shortkok.
“It looks like you need to take 'a good two' because your full of shit.” John replies.
“That's our Trippercop! Ha-ha!” Bigman has to grab a table to stop from falling over he laughing so hard. John didn't know if they were mocking him or actually found him funny,but he didn't care. He tried his best not to spend much time in the station because there is a risk that he might shoot someone if he did, which they would also probably find hilarious too.
Walking out the door into the cool morning air he started feeling tingly and a chill crept down his spine. He started feeling calmer and less agitated. He thought he would start the day with a nice drive. As he tooled along the country roads in his cruiser he began thinking about impermanence. “Have I always been here? No, surly I must have been somewhere before being here, but I can't remember. I can't stay here forever. Can I? No, nothing last forever. What a terrible thing that would be if nothing ever changes.” As he crests over a hill he looks into his rear view mirror. He sees in it a round green mountain covered in trees. Round as an umbrella covered in foliage. “That's a nice mountain.” He approaches a slight curve in the road. “But just like all things, except for maybe me, your view is impermanent and will be leaving my mirror now. Goodbye.” After rounding the curve John glances up to see what new view lay behind him. It was the still the same view of the mountain. Confused he turns his head and looks out the back of the window of the car. The mountain was behind him. He slams the brakes and flips a U-turn. Anxiously he looks at the mirror to find the mountain still there. “I need some confirmation on this.” He slams the gas and charges down the road until he gets behind a yellow station wagon. He hits his sirens and lights and proceeds to pull the motorist over. Before exiting his car he checks the mirror. Yep, still there. He quickly jumps out of his car, spins around, and pulls out his gun aiming directly at the mountain. He then hears a voice behind him.
“Was I speeding officer?” John spins around to see an elderly woman with her head peaking out the station wagon's window.
He walks up to the woman and asks, “Has that mountain always been there?” As he points at it with with his gun. A mixture of panic and befuddlement pans the woman's face as she looks back to where he is pointing.
“I believe so...”
“Mam, not interested in beliefs. I need to know has that mountain always been there.”
“Well... of course it has. Mountains don't move.”
“Are you familiar with plate tectonics!”
“No officer.”
“Of course not. But I digress. You answered my question. Carry on citizen.” Leaving the bewildered driver behind John starts his car and immediately begins doing burnout donuts in the middle of the highway. Spinning round and round he keeps a keen eye on the rear view mirror to see if he could shake the mountain out of sight. It remained. “I must go to this mountain. And it appears I must go backwards to get where I am going.”
He turns on the siren again, hits the lights, throws the Crown Vic in reverse and punches the throttle. The car barreling backwards at excessive speeds catches fellow motorist unawares as they swerve off the road and into oncoming traffic to avoid a collision. As he passes by them John catches glances of their terrified faces. Faces caught in the stare of uncertain death. “Haunting” he thinks to himself. The mountain grows closer until he can start making out the definition of trees. He sees one tree at the base of the mountain and it becomes the focus of his intention. He keeps heading towards it closer and closer until he smashes the back of the patrol car into it.
Unshaken John exits the vehicle with its siren still wailing, lights still flashing, and he proceeds to walk up the mountain. While walking beneath the trees, beams of light shine through the dark shadows created by the canopy above. The light and dark begin to mix and create images, shapes, forms that create an uneasy feeling in John. He pulls out his revolver and cautiously proceeds.
“You killed me Officer.” A voice rings out. John shoots wildly into the trees.
“Who is that!”
“You shot me officer Trip. Why did you do that?” The voice speaks again. Suddenly the light and shadow forms become faces. They look like the faces motorist that he had just passed by in his backwards pursuit, but he recognizes them from somewhere else too, like he had met them before but could not remember where. “Why did you do that?”
“Because that what I do! I'm a cop! I shoot people when they deserve it!” The echo of these words rings through the empty forest as the faces dissipate. John holsters his gun and continues up the mountain. When he reaches the summit he sees that there is a clearing from the trees where the shadows do not fall. In the middle of this clearing is a bench which he takes a seat upon. He hangs his head down and begins to reflect. “We are born and we die. That is impermanence. Some kill others are killed. That is haunting. Does a ghost have an expiration date? If one becomes a ghost does that mean you never really die? But to have death requires birth and what if a man has no birth or recollection of a beginning?”
“What you think your fucking immortal or something?” A voice asks. John looks up to see a fit, young, white man in running apparel, who looks like he just came from a frat house. He is running in place and chewing gum obnoxiously.
“Fuck off Steve. I'm not in the mood.”
“Oh, no! Is little Johnny in a bad mood? Come on dontcha wanna shoot me?” He then sucker punches John square in the face causing his nose to bleed. John draws his gun as quick as he can and unloads the remainder of his clip, but as usual the athletic Steve dodges all the bullets. John leaps up to tackle him, but Steve quickly kicks him in the groin and John falls to the ground in pain.
“Haven't you figured this out you will never get rid of me!” Laughs Steve.
“What do you want!”
“To piss you off of course silly!”
“Well you have achieved that. Now kindly fuck off!”
“Maybe I misspoke.” Steve retorts, “No, 'piss off' is far to impermanent.... perhaps haunted is the correct word.” An evil grin spreads across his face as he says this.
“Are you real?” John asks. Steve lets out a loud belly laugh before kicking John in the gut while he lie on the ground.
“Does that answer your question?”
“It could be psychosomatic. I don't even know how I got here.” Steve then squats over John, grabs his collar, and yanks his face close to his.
“That is why I am here you son of a bitch. Because you're here. And I am never going let you forget who you are. You might think you can forget it, leave it all behind you and move on, but not as long as I'm here asshole.”
“You know where I came from?” John asks.
“No, I don't. But I know who you are. You feel me?”
“What?” John asks as Steve then headbutts him in the face.
“Do you feel me!”
“Goddammit yes!” Grabbing his bloody face.
“Good. Let me tell you a little quote then from one of my favorite authors then. I know you will relate to it. 'Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are.'”
“What am I then?”
“If I tell you that then you win. I can't let that happen!” Steve laughs, puts in a pair of earbuds, and gives John one final kick to the abdomen before jogging off into the trees. The sound of a helicopter could be heard overhead and when John looked up he could see it was coming down for a landing in clearing where he lay. When it landed he could see it was the precinct's chopper and Shortkok and Bigman were inside.
“John!” Shortkok yells from the helicopter, “We saw your car wrecked and we came looking for you! What are you doing out here you nut! Did you go get yourself in trouble again?” Both the men began laughing. “Come on over here and we will take your crazy ass home!” John picks himself of the ground, limps over to them, and reluctantly gets inside.
As he gets in Bigman turns to him, “How many times have we come and got you now?” He laughs, “Your lucky we love you so much.” By this time it was getting dark, so rather than taking him back the station John asked if they could just drop him off in the parking lot of the liquor store by his house, which they were more than happy oblige. At the store he gets a bottle of Wild Turkey and walks back to his apartment. As he passes through the parking his portly neighbor sees him.
“Is that you John? Isn't it a nice night?”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Good to see you too honey! Sweet dreams!”
No comments:
Post a Comment