the FUs

The old householder is awakened by someone beating on his door. "Oh God," he moans, "another drunken Indian." He slips on his army jacket & drops a snub-nosed Charter Arms revolver---the one that killed Lennon---in the side pocket. He leans against the wall for a moment, feeling a sharp pain in his left arm & shoulder. "Go away. I'll call the police." "Won't get here in time to do any good. You ruined my daughter." "We'll be there right away, sir." The door is about to give way. The householder stands about eight feet away from the door, gun leveled. Sirens approaching. The door gives way. The Indian rushes in with a baseball bat, his eyes wild, like an enraged horse. The squad car screeches to a stop outside. The householder shoots the Indian in the leg. The Indian falls, groaning, & rolls on his side. Door bursts open & wild-eyed cops rush in, guns drawn. Seeing a man in an army-type jacket, Officer Mike assumes it is the intruder. He doesn't waste time. Pumps three shots in. Householder clutches his chest & falls. Mike turns away, grimly holstering his gun. "We got him." "Are you badly hurt, sir?" He puts a solicitous hand on the Indian's back. It's good P.R. Slowly the Indian turns toward them, his face blank with pain & shock. They start back in horror. "Oh God," they moan in unison. Marv, the older partner, gives the agreed-upon sign. Ambulance siren in the distance. "Let me handle this; just back me up." They help the Indian into a chair. "You're a hero!" "He was a communist." "Good thing you shot him, & we are deputizing you." The cop shoves the gun into his hand. Sirens getting closer. The Indian looks down at the gun with stupid incredulity. Cops helping me into a chair? Handing me a gun? Ambulance turns the corner, two houses away. Slugs rip into the Indian's chest. No time for finesse. They kick over tables, pull over a bookcase. One tosses a chair through a window as the ambulance screeches to a stop. ______________________________________ "It was hairy, Boss, real hairy. The Injun went bonkers, grabbed Mike's gun & shot the householder. As God's my witness, he had the strength of twenty men. I warned him that we were police officers, but he leveled the gun at us & I was forced to shoot." "The Chief will see you guys now." "Is this your report?" "Yes Chief, that's it." "Stinks like buzzard puke." "What's wrong with it, Chief?" "Well for starters, nobody could have done what you say happened. Bullet angles are all wrong." "Aw, Chief..." "Besides, the householder didn't die." "Didn't---" He caught himself in time. "Well, that's marvelous," he said with a horrible smile. "Guy shot in the chest like that could get things all twisted around." "He was wearing a bullet-proof vest. He had a heart attack, but he's all right now & screaming for your blood: 'Not only do I have to protect myself from drunken Indians but also from insane fuck-up cops---fucking FUs!' " "Chief, I swear to fucking Christ I saw a drunken Indian standing there with a gun in his hand, clear as I'm seeing you now." "& what else did you see? The gates of heaven? Jesus fucking Christ awarding you the Golden Prick for bravery? Well, you two clowns have had it this time. You're nothing but FUs, the both of you." "Well Chief," says Marv, smiling & wriggling to ingratiate himself, "sure we're FUs; That's why we got on the force in the first place. A gun & a badge can cover a lot of FUs." "All right, boys. I'm going to give you a chance to square yourselves." "We'll do anything, Chief, anything." "It's hairy, boys. One big drug bust. On this one, it's shoot first & remember, dead men tell no lies. Ketch?" "Running with it, Chief." "You can pick up what you need at the arsenal. I suggest Ithaca pumps with number four shot." The FUs exit. The Chief smiles. He is taking out a columnist who's been riding his ass, & a roomful of liberal bleeding-hearts, vocals by Joan Baez. Will the FUs get a third chance? Will the FUs strike again? from Tornado Alley, William S. Burroughs