ds_flashfiction | Midsummer Amnesty 2008: Fraser Fucks Up Challenge, by Teaphile

Title: TV Cops
Author: Teaphile
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Size: 1200 words
Summary: A babble of questions boiled up out of the class, then, like all thirty-two of them were talking at once, even though Ray could see that at least one kid was asleep, head slumped against the window.

TV Cops

"It's not like TV, you know, being a cop." Except when it was, which was more and more often now that Ray had Fraser around. "It's hard work, boring and tiring work, and even when you catch the bad guys you've got lawyers in your faces all the time, yours and theirs."

A kid in the back, the same one from three questions ago, raised his hand. "Like on Law and Order?"

Ray peered at the kid, who was short and blond and kind of looked like his nephew. "Aren't you a little young to be staying up that late?"

The kid shrugged. "Mom and Dad work nights."

Ray stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's different from Law and Order, because Law and Order is stupid."

The teacher, a guy who looked like he'd rather be coaching football, frowned at Ray from over the desk.

Ray ignored him. "On Law and Order, it's too easy. They gotta wrap it up nice and neat, to make good TV. Being a real cop ain't like good TV. Hell," another glare from the teacher, "it ain't like bad TV, either."

A pig-tailed girl in the front row put up her hand and actually waited until he called on her. "Have you sent anyone to the electric chair? Dad says that's bad."

This time Ray looked at the teacher for help, and he was the one who shrugged. "Well, the state of Illinois doesn’t use the electric chair, for one thing. They use lethal injection, which doesn’t hurt as much." He hoped. Ray's job wasn't to understand these things, and he made a point not to, just in case. "And no, no one I've put away has been executed." Kids this age, they didn’t need to know that sometimes innocent people got put away because of stupid cops.

"Anyway, it's not like on TV. For example, most cops don't ever have to fire their guns. There are all these rules about when you can point them at a perp and when you can shoot them, and it's never easy. Most of the time," he looked around the class, hoping he wasn't boring them, but they were all watching him, making him kind of self-conscious. "Most of the time, you only fire your weapon on the range for practice, 'cause, you know, you've got to fill out forms every time you fire your weapon, and we hate forms. They're like tests."

A babble of questions boiled up out of the class, then, like all thirty-two of them were talking at once, even though Ray could see that at least one was asleep, head slumped against the window. "Hey!" Ray shouted, and the sleeping kid's head shot up. "One at a time."

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

Shit. This was why all his instincts had screamed at him to say no when Welsh asked him to do school day as a favour to his friend, the principal.

Ray slumped back against the blackboard, crossing his legs out in front of him, sticking his hands in his armpits even though they weren't cold. He cleared his throat and glanced out the window. It was sunny again after the morning's rain. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I have." He almost couldn’t hear himself he was so quiet, but the kids must have heard because they were even quieter.

"What happened?" The same voice as before, with a sad little waver.

"Kids," the teacher, Mr. Martin, said, coming forward to stand with Ray. "I think it's time for Detec--,"

"No," said Ray, putting out his hand to stop him. "No, they should maybe hear some of this." He picked up an empty student desk one-handed, hauled it to the front and squeezed himself into it, facing the kids.

"This isn't a nice, friendly city. Probably some of you already know that." He got a few nods. "There are things you can do to make yourself safe. Like, when bad guys are around you don't try to talk to them, you don't try to fight them. You just run away as fast as you can and call the police. If you can't run away, you just do what they say and wait until you can run."

He shifted, clearing his throat again, trying to find a good way to say it. "I have this partner. He's a great guy, a nice guy, always tries to do what's best. One of the first things you learn is to talk to the bad guys, maybe all they want is someone to listen to them. My partner, that’s what he does. Only he doesn’t realize that sometimes, all the bad guy wants to do is kill someone. To kill him.

"One day, he walked right up to the guy, a really big, strong guy, talking all the time, and I thought maybe it was going to be like all the other times, times where it worked. But this time, this time…." By the time Ray got there the perp, Edwin Green, had knocked Fraser out and was holding him on the ground by the throat, knife ready to slice him open ear to ear. Ray had no choice. Green had twitched and Ray had fired. Boom. Centre mass. The guy they were about to nail for aggravated assault dropped like a rock, nailed permanently.

"You couldn't shoot his gun out of his hand?" That was the teacher, and Ray wouldn't have expected a question from him, but there you go.

"It was a knife, and no, I couldn't. That's one of those TV things, and even cops can't make that shot, usually. I can, a lot of times, but that time, if I missed I'd have hit my partner in the throat. No way was I going to even try."

The kids were all big eyes and trembling chins. "I tried to stop the bleeding, you know, I called the ambulance, because we don't want anyone to die. That's for the judges to decide in a fair trial. My job, my job is just to arrest people, not to kill anybody. I never killed anybody before that, and I never want to again. It was awful." It had taken him weeks to forgive Fraser, months to forgive himself. If Fraser had done things by the book, Ray might still never have killed anyone.

Ray stood up, working the kinks out of his knees. "It's not a fun job. It's a nasty, stressful, tiring job. But it's an important job, and I wouldn't want to do anything else."

He caught a flash of red out the door, and turned his head reflexively. Sure enough, it was Fraser, hat in hand, smiling proudly at Ray and the kids. "Hey look, there he is, my partner. Come on in, Fraser."

"Thank you, Ray. Lieutenant Welsh told me you'd be here." Fraser entered the room and the kids just started booing. It was perfect. Someone pitched a crumpled ball of paper that hit Fraser right in the middle of his forehead, accompanied by a triumphant "Yes!" and a chorus of giggles.

He blinked in confusion at Ray, who just grinned back at him. "I'll tell you later." One thing he knew, he was in a lot of trouble if that story got back to the parents. But hey, Welsh would never make him do it again.