style. “Cops don’t shoot kids. You won’t shoot me,” he rehearses as if he is convincing himself.
“You’re right. I don’t want to shoot you. But I can’t just let you walk out of here. Put the gun down,” she coaxes.
A customer walks in the front. The bell on the doorstop sounds, beckoning ears and eyes from the back of the room.
The thief throws his gun down, pushes the cashier away and bum-rushes Gina for the backdoor. She quickly holsters her weapon to avoid shooting him. Using his momentum, she grabs his shoulders when he comes at her and goes to the ground, landing on her back with effortless agility. She sticks her legs into his stomach, catapulting him up and over onto his back while she holds onto him, thrusting herself to roll over with him, coming down on top of him astraddle his waist. He swings, connecting with her left eye. Instinctively, she wants to return his contact, her fists in position. Refraining from doing so as she looks down at him, just a kid. She simply deflects his punches, working with Detective Gronkowski to turn him over, cuffing him.
“Goddammit, Gina. I’m sorry,” Tony sputters, checking out her eye, his knee in the delinquent’s back holding him down on the tile floor.
“Comes with the territory,” she dismisses, standing. She takes hold of the kid’s arm by the elbow, waiting for Tony to do the same with the other side.
“You can add battery to your list of crimes, punk,” he spews through gritted teeth, jerking the kid into standing position.
“Ow! Ah shit, that hurts,” the young man cries at the pressure of the unforgiving handcuffs gripping his wrists.
“Gronkowski,” Gina scolds. She helps steady the young man on his feet.
“You think it’s okay to hit women?” Tony jerks him around.
The kid shakes his head shamefully.
“You wanna be a big man? Hold guns to people’s heads…take their hard-earned money. Get a goddamned job!” Tony advises, briskly walking the kid to the front of the store.
“Central to 223,” Gina’s radio sounds.
“223. DeLuca,” she identifies herself.
“Chief wants you and Gronkowski. 4300-block of MLK. Fast as you can get there.”
“We need a pick up. Got one for booking,” she replies.
“You got it. 301’s in your neighborhood. Dispatching now.”
“Copy.” Gina clips the little black box back onto her belt.
“Make something of yourself. Contribute to society. Buncha punks,” Gronkowski continues. Gina follows behind, smiling, shaking her head, knowing in Tony’s anger is genuine concern for the misguided youth. “Take, take, take...you think you’re entitled? You big? You bad? You’re entitled, alright. Your ass is entitled to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you...”
MOMENTS LATER, DETECTIVES DeLuca and Gronkowski pull up to the 4300-block of MLK Boulevard. The scene surrounded by patrol cars, police and numerous onlookers. Yellow caution tape blocks the alleyway where a body lies lifeless. They pile out of their squad car, challenging each other with each stride. Even when they arrive together, the mindset still remains, ‘Who’s going to be first in?’
“Took ya long enough,” Chief Burns chirps upon noticing them.
“Tell me about it,” Gina replies. “Gronkowski insisted on driving. My grandma drives faster than him.”
Chief walks to her, positions his hands on the sides of her face, tipping his head down to focus his eyes over his bifocals, inspecting her left eye. “And just exactly how do you propose to drive with a bruised-up eye?”
“Exactly,” Tony says.
“Marks,” Chief Burns calls. “What are you drinking there?” He refers to Gina’s previous partner, Officer Sam Marks’ tall plastic cup with the words Big Gulp slathered all over it.
“Coke, Chief. Hey DeLuca!” He greets Gina with pleasant surprise.
“Pour that out. Save the ice. Grab one of those latex gloves out of the console of my cruiser,” Chief
“You’re right. I don’t want to shoot you. But I can’t just let you walk out of here. Put the gun down,” she coaxes.
A customer walks in the front. The bell on the doorstop sounds, beckoning ears and eyes from the back of the room.
The thief throws his gun down, pushes the cashier away and bum-rushes Gina for the backdoor. She quickly holsters her weapon to avoid shooting him. Using his momentum, she grabs his shoulders when he comes at her and goes to the ground, landing on her back with effortless agility. She sticks her legs into his stomach, catapulting him up and over onto his back while she holds onto him, thrusting herself to roll over with him, coming down on top of him astraddle his waist. He swings, connecting with her left eye. Instinctively, she wants to return his contact, her fists in position. Refraining from doing so as she looks down at him, just a kid. She simply deflects his punches, working with Detective Gronkowski to turn him over, cuffing him.
“Goddammit, Gina. I’m sorry,” Tony sputters, checking out her eye, his knee in the delinquent’s back holding him down on the tile floor.
“Comes with the territory,” she dismisses, standing. She takes hold of the kid’s arm by the elbow, waiting for Tony to do the same with the other side.
“You can add battery to your list of crimes, punk,” he spews through gritted teeth, jerking the kid into standing position.
“Ow! Ah shit, that hurts,” the young man cries at the pressure of the unforgiving handcuffs gripping his wrists.
“Gronkowski,” Gina scolds. She helps steady the young man on his feet.
“You think it’s okay to hit women?” Tony jerks him around.
The kid shakes his head shamefully.
“You wanna be a big man? Hold guns to people’s heads…take their hard-earned money. Get a goddamned job!” Tony advises, briskly walking the kid to the front of the store.
“Central to 223,” Gina’s radio sounds.
“223. DeLuca,” she identifies herself.
“Chief wants you and Gronkowski. 4300-block of MLK. Fast as you can get there.”
“We need a pick up. Got one for booking,” she replies.
“You got it. 301’s in your neighborhood. Dispatching now.”
“Copy.” Gina clips the little black box back onto her belt.
“Make something of yourself. Contribute to society. Buncha punks,” Gronkowski continues. Gina follows behind, smiling, shaking her head, knowing in Tony’s anger is genuine concern for the misguided youth. “Take, take, take...you think you’re entitled? You big? You bad? You’re entitled, alright. Your ass is entitled to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you...”
MOMENTS LATER, DETECTIVES DeLuca and Gronkowski pull up to the 4300-block of MLK Boulevard. The scene surrounded by patrol cars, police and numerous onlookers. Yellow caution tape blocks the alleyway where a body lies lifeless. They pile out of their squad car, challenging each other with each stride. Even when they arrive together, the mindset still remains, ‘Who’s going to be first in?’
“Took ya long enough,” Chief Burns chirps upon noticing them.
“Tell me about it,” Gina replies. “Gronkowski insisted on driving. My grandma drives faster than him.”
Chief walks to her, positions his hands on the sides of her face, tipping his head down to focus his eyes over his bifocals, inspecting her left eye. “And just exactly how do you propose to drive with a bruised-up eye?”
“Exactly,” Tony says.
“Marks,” Chief Burns calls. “What are you drinking there?” He refers to Gina’s previous partner, Officer Sam Marks’ tall plastic cup with the words Big Gulp slathered all over it.
“Coke, Chief. Hey DeLuca!” He greets Gina with pleasant surprise.
“Pour that out. Save the ice. Grab one of those latex gloves out of the console of my cruiser,” Chief
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