Writing Assignment 7 1st/2nd draft

I apologize for this arriving late. It just took me so long for it to come together.

Warning: Story contains strong language and graphic violence

Perspective is a difficult and strange thing. We as humans can interpret events in different way, “two sides to every story.” But these perspectives can also be eroded away when they becomes memories or are affected by an emotional undertone, like shock and doubt. My name is Joe Cotton. This is my story.

It started with a phone call, as do all things. I had just been promoted to the title of detective, after busting my chops for ten years as a cop for our fair city. I was in the process of moving into my new office, when the phone rang. I stopped unpacking and picked it up. It was my superior officer Lieutenant Chief Officer Orville Oswald, or as we called him “Oreo”. He said there was a body found by the lake and I should head over there ASAP. His voice sounded strange to me, fears mixed with sadness; but with a firm believe in me. The river was about a fifteen-minute drive outside of the city. A stereotypical major police crime scene surrounded the river: yellow tape, officers galore, flashing cameras, a helicopter or two floating around. I got out of my car and found Oreo, looking as grim as a man with cancer. He then led me to the body. It wasn’t as gruesome as gruesome as I expected it to be, but it was still pretty mangled. Oreo listed all the damages to it: shattered kneecaps, multiple stab wounds, shots to the back of the head and shoulder blades, and his right index finger was cut off. The body lay sprayed out on the ground like a dead fish or if someone had threw it out of a plane. I turned it over. His face had a scared face, permanently frozen to his face. I noticed a nametag on his shirt: Robert Olivier. At least it was a start. As I walked back to my car with Oreo, he explained a few things to me; that since this case seemed big, he was assigning me a partner. I respected and trusted any official decision Oreo made, but me; I’m the solo type, the lone detective on the trail of the criminal. As long as he’s not a fool, I’m fine with having a partner.

Oh, the sweet irony. The next morning as I stepped into my office, I see my “partner”: a white guy who looked like he had just come from the Keanu Reeves impersonation school. He was twiddling his thumbs, looking extremely nervous. I sat down in my chair and offered him a brief hello. He looked up at me and as soon as the breath left his mouth, my spirit just groaned in pain. “It’s very nice to meet you and I’m extremely excited about this case.” Let me explain myself. I don’t mind optimism and joy, it’s just the way he said it and the voice behind it. I briefed him on what we had found and I decided to take him for a drive around and to the shooting range, so he could warm up for action. He shuffled out in an almost dazed focus. We got in the car and I started driving him around; showing him crime hot spots, good restaurants, and great buildings. He just smiled the whole time, nodding at the right moments; and starring out the window with as much grace and wonder as child looking out onto the world. After our scenic tour, I drove back to the station and we headed down to the shooting range. There were a few officers down there, but it was mostly empty. I’m a pretty good shot, but today I was off, missing a few good kill shots. He on the other hand, became the god of guns. He stood there in a firm straight stance like a samurai, his eyes dead focused on the target. His body didn’t flinch at all with each shot; it was like the gun had become an extra limb. When his target came back, I was blown away. All the major kill points hit with such perfect accuracy. If this were a person, they would have been dead before they could reach their gun. He walked over after I had starred at his target long enough. He started talking in such a dramatically different tone: strong, firm, and real; like a great public speaker. He apologized for acting like a nervous wreck, saying he wasn’t used to all the new surroundings. He said his name was Greg and put out a hand. We shook hands and were cool. He would prove to be a valuable asset, as I got deeper and deeper into the case.

Looking through the background of Robert Olivier, I discovered that he was a nuclear scientist from the Davidson Power Plant, just a few miles from where his body was found. His work history showed that he was a good hard worker. I noticed something strange though. A week before Olivier’s death, it was reported that the Davidson Power Plant was going to undergo major renovations. Rumors said that the plant was actually closing, because of faulty waste management. I pondered with Greg on this for hours on end. Who would want to kill one measly little scientist and why? I had an idea of someone who could pop out the answers. Sonny G was about as sleazy and fake as a gang banger got. Gold chain, wifebeater; any kind of ghetto stereotype imaginable, you would probably find on Sonny G. He had done minor jail time for petty theft and attempted robbery. He was a lousy criminal, but he acted like he was hard. When we drove to where he was, I found him laughing and joking with his homies; probably telling some tall tales. I stepped out of the car very professional, with Greg behind me. Sonny spotted us, staring with a shit-faced grin on his face. “Well, if it isn’t the baddest cop that the city ever saw. What brings you to the hood?” he boasted. I walked up and got to the point. I asked him if he knew anything about Robert Olivier. Sonny just kept on smiling. “Do I look like a scientist to you?” He stared chuckling at his own joke. I edged him on, since he was the type of character who knew some secrets. He spoke slyly; “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But I wouldn’t tell it to no motherfucking Uncle Tom.” His friends lost it, laughing their dumb heads off. I waited and made my move. I rushed up to him and punched him as hard as I could muster. The power of that punch was one of the most satisfying things I’ve done. His head slammed against the door of the stoop. His friends scattered like seeds in the wind. Sonny turned around, his face bruised and bloody with shocked look on. I pulled out my gun and stuck it right in his face. His eyes bugged out of his face at the sight of the gun. I changed tone then, slightly letting down my professionalism. “Nigga, if you call me a Uncle Tom one more time; I’ll stick this gun so far you ass and blow your brains out like a fucking volcano, motherfucker!” I then let it all out and started pistol-whipping him. Blows went by, each getting harder then the last as Sonny started screaming. Finally after watching the whole time, Greg bolted up and pulled me away from Sonny; screaming that I was going to kill him. Sonny leaned against the door like a bruised raisin. He was still breathing. I walked back to him and pulled him up by the shirt. I was calm now. I finally questioned him on what he knew. Sonny coughed a bit and started talking. He was blabbing on about something like a conspiracy nut, saying it was bigger than I knew. I was tired of his shit. I walked away with him yelling at us about they were going to get us. His voice echoed in my head as I drove away. Greg sat there in the car silent. I was tired and exhausted. I dropped him off at the station, telling him I would talk to him later. He just nodded. Finally I was home. O, the things I could do. Take a shower, walk TV or maybe sleep for a million years; either one was fine by me.

As I walked up to my apartment, I noticed something strange. The door was almost all the way open. Now I never forget to lock the door when I leave. I slowly walked through the open door, creeping as best I could. Everything in my apartment was normal, but something strange was in the air. I walked up to the carpet and looked around. Suddenly a figure jumped from behind and grabbed me. He was choking me with something, but I couldn’t tell what. I was losing breath and dropped my pistol. Somehow I managed to muster enough strength to reverse out of the choke, take the shotgun from his hands and blow his head off.

His head exploded like a bleach watermelon, blood and brain sprayed all over the wall and nearby lamp. God, I hate to have to clean this up later. I was frantic now, the adrenaline pumping through my system as I searched around. I spotted a flashing red light near the top of a doorframe, so I grabbed a chair and picked it out. I was bugged; for how long I don’t know, but someone wanted me gone. My heart jumped even faster as I heard whispers by my front door. I needed to get out fast. I quickly slipped out the window and rushed all the way down the fire escape. I ran around a corner and stopped, hugging the wall. I slowly poked my head from around the corner, and saw another man dressed the same as my attacker; an almost mercenary type uniform. He was slowly walking toward me, but he was at a distance. Just then my cell phone started ringing. I freaked out, frantically searching for it. I jerked my head around the corner again. The mercenary was walking toward me faster; I don’t know if he heard the ring, but in my mind he did. The phone was ringing endlessly as he approached closer and closer. I hugged the wall, praying to dear life that phone would shut up. He was so close now, I could sense him. If I even glanced around the corner, I would be dead. The dead silence came like an angel with wings. There was finally a pause, then the sound of footsteps fading away. I sighed a breath of relief. I checked the phone to see who had called. It was Greg. I’m defiantly giving him a hard time for that. I called him back as I walked easily down the street. I egged him about his call that nearly got me killed. He told me he had a major breakthrough. He had found a man who could gives us all the answers and had a meeting set at 7.

Night fell easy as a blanket. Greg and me stood around, feeling the chill of the night. Finally a figure stepped from the darkness. He was a short stout man, bearded and wearing glasses. He introduced himself as Albert Rochester, head scientist at Davidson Power Plant. He explained that all of the scientists were told that was the plant would have renovations and they would be laid off until further notice. He also noted on the day of Olivier’s death, he acting very strange and scared. He paused a moment and looked around, checking the scenery before he revealed his secret. He explained that the plant was being turned into a crack factory, run by AJ “Carlito” Freeman; the most notorious drug lord in the city. A select few scientists were kept to be a part of the factory, and were going to be paid triple of what they got from the plant; as long as they kept quiet. Accidentally, Robert Olivier received an email that told all this in detail. He going to tell all about it, but he was killed before he ever could. The mercenaries I had encountered were the ones that had killed him, and Rochester explained they were from an outside party to help the change run smoothly. Olivier even left a clue before he died; his chopped off finger hand was pointing toward the plant. It all made sense, but one question remained; who provided the mercenaries? Just as Rochester was about to reveal the answer, shots ringed out. Rochester was struck by a sniper’s bullet and fell dead to the ground, the truth gone with him. Greg and I jumped behind cover, firing away at the unseen sniper. After a short while, we stepped back into the open. The shadow of a figure was against the moonlit wall. Greg and I saw it and went running. The figure seemed to have heard us, and also ran. The alley became blurred as I ran as fast as I could. We seemed to have the shadow, but I spotted two more. I put out my gun and yelled freeze. Greg shone a flashlight my way. Caught in the light were AJ Freeman and Governor Rolfe together. Suddenly the answers rushed to my head. It made sense. Governor Rolfe had a percentage of the crack profits, as long as he provided tight security and laundered the money through fake government programs. The sight just shocked me, a man of the people was in cahoots with a drug kingpin. A gun clicked from behind us. I turned around and to my complete shock and horror, there was Oreo pointing a gun at us. I just couldn’t take; the man who had trained and taught me all my police skills had betrayed me. I could muster only a few words, “You knew?” He didn’t answer, but his facial expressions were all I needed.

I don’t know what happened next, it’s such a blur. All I know is someone needed up dead and now I’m on the run. I’m at an undisclosed location in the middle of nowhere, far away with these ghosts of a past. So much for case closed.