May 10th

          Oops I took a lot of time off.  I've been writing during that time but haven't been putting it up there.  Rest assured, it's still constantly improving I assume.  So here's something I have been writing today and yesterday.  Notice how it's constantly improving.  I'm going to try to do these atleast a couple of times a week.


 

            “Did anyone see a man with a hat and a beard come through here?”  MacDonald asked the group of onlookers, who all turned around rapidly as he rushed behind them.

            A man wearing a silly hat pointed at the elevator. 

            “Thanks, bum.”  MacDonald said.

“That could mean any floor.”  O’Malley whined.  “We could be here all day.”

“I don’t care if it takes us weeks, O’Malley.  Matter of fact, if you want to go home, go ahead.  I can’t have anyone half assing it here.  Go home to your videogames and your Michael Bay movies.”

O’Malley took the stairs next to the elevator.  A security guard approached MacDonald.

“Where’s your clearance?” 

“Are you fucking retarded?  I have a goddamn badge.  There’s a very dangerous man somewhere in your building.  If you don’t want any pedestrians getting hurt on your watch, you should follow me.”

O’Malley walked dejectedly out onto the street, and he stared at the little burger joint on the opposite side.  Cars flew past him on both sides, but a suspended bridge accessed by two stairwells granted him safe passage across.  He checked his police walkie talkie, there was no reception, and he clicked the thing off and shoved it into his bag.  He grabbed the railing and started up the stairs in a halfjog.

MacDonald combed through the halls with an inexhaustible supply of energy.  Sweat was seeping through his blue cop jacket on each armpit and he tipped his hat and scratched the top of his head with it.  When he stopped moving his eyes focused like those of a hawks.  Each floor was packed with people coming from either side, he was starting to doubt whether or not he would recognize the perp.

“Excuse me, sir.”  A younger man wearing a beige polyester shir tucked into jeans approached him.  “My girlfriend was supposed to meet me here an hour ago, and she’s not usually late.”

“I bet she’s breaking up with you.  Now beat it, Romeo.  I’m on the hunt for a dangerous man.”

“You fucking dick.”

            MacDonald stared through the window of the little café on the twentieth floor of this office building nonplussed.  He ducked into a little storage room and flipped the light switch on, removing a clipboard from his bag.

            “So this is what we know,”  He said to himself.  “

           

            O’Malley burst in and rushed the hostess at the counter. 

            “I need a quick table, a quick bite to eat.”  O’Malley said.  He looked plump and overweight in his police outfit.  A group of construction workers on break laughed without turning around at the bar.

            The place looked like a ritzy old hotel.  The wallpaper was an ornate brown-orange, pristine condition.  The wall fixtures were covered by felt that blended into the exterior, fake candleholders with lights inside of them hung above fake fireplaces.  The functionality of the décor was secondary.

            “Off duty cops sit over there.”  The waitress said.  The guys at the bars guffawed.  O’Malley shrugged and took a seat at a table near the entrance of the ballroom.           

            “So you’re a cop now?”  An old colleague of O’Malleys put his hand flat on the table and leaned over.  His breath reeked of vitriol.

            “Barnaby Haynesworth.”

            “I’d pull up a seat but I’m afraid to be seen with you.  Couldn’t get a decent teaching job?”

            Barnaby returned to his table.  To O’Malleys horror, he was sitting with a whos-who of unsupportive colleagues.  Stitch Madsen was there, wearing his hat with the feather in it and explicating some complex chain of logic with his hands.  Arnie Hemfield sat on the opposite side, celebrating what was surely his most recent academic victory with a plate of high brow dessert.  Flanked on both sides were Cindy Carlisle, an old girlfriend of O’Malleys who looked nothing like the girl she had been then, and Barnaby’s girlfriend Sally.  As he sat he put an arm around her and gestured over at O’Malley with a twitch of his neck.

            O’Malley waved at the bar ladies for a menu and they continued gabbing.  He checked his watch and looked out the window at the high rise building, and got up and hobbled to the bar to get a menu.  The waitresses congragated around a table of thirty men in the back of the restaurant.  The group guffawed loudly

            “Hey!”  He got the nerve up to say.  He coughed into his hand as the room turned momentarily toward him. 

            A man with a bib on and a lobster in front of him removed a wad of cash from his wallet and handed it to the man next to him.  He received it with his hand turned backwards, his other hand pulling the brim of his hat down in front of his eyes.

            O’Malley wondered what MacDonald would do in this situation. He didn’t have to wait for long.  His cheeseburger was finally on the way, he could see it sitting under the heat lamp where the chefs left the orders to be picked up, when MacDonald pushed through the door.

            “…One?”  The hostess asked nervously.  MacDonald lumbered past her with his slightly bow legged gait.  She looked around frantically for someone, and then pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

            O’Malley attempted to shield his face but it was futile, he was like a panda in a snake enclosure.  Macdonald stood next to the bookie, facing away toward O’Malley.

            “So you have been sitting here the whole time, while this has been going on?”  MacDonald said.  He was noticeably wobbily.

            “You don’t look so good, MacDonald.”  A man in a pinstriped suit asked from the back room.

            “You’re not going to look good in just a minute.”  MacDonald said.

            O’Malley got up and went to grab the burger.  He ate the thing in no time, stopping once to apply more ketchup.  He licked his fingers and walked over to MacDonald.

            “We are a little outnumbered, I don’t know if you noticed.”  O’Malley whispered behind his left hand.

            “Get out of here.”  MacDonald slapped O’Malley in the face.  He snapped open his holster and pulled the gun out.

            O’Malley retreated to the street and turned around before he reached the door.  He slammed a ten dollar bill down on the table right before the shooting started.

            He covered his head and ran down the street, and noticed a bearded man leaning on a light post.