Arrest
807 Words
Vincent Hale yanked the pin—but didn’t throw the grenade immediately. People have legs. Arm raise—cops scatter, regroup after blast. Throw ineffective.
He gripped the spoon tight, charged like mad at the densest cluster of officers.
The rush stunned the police. No one knew if pin pulled or spoon held—hasty retreat.
“Scatter!”
“He’s got a grenade!”
“…”
Officers parted a path. Vincent face twisted, roared. “Break out!”
Bang-bang…
Rowan Mercer fired four shots at Vincent. Fast move, body armor—bullets sparked white smoke off chest.
“He’s vested!” Rowan shouted. Vincent took four hits—closed to five steps from driver.
“Big brother—go!” Vincent raised spoon without hesitation. Grenade hissed live.
“Pin pulled—he pulled it!” Rowan turned, ran.
Silas and others drew guns, spun—run and fire outward.
Julian saw circle breach from Vincent’s suicide rush—no hesitation. Braked hard, turned, heavy plate armor—lunged at Vincent, head deliberate low near waist.
Thud.
Both down. Julian instinct—big hand pinned Vincent’s head.
Boom!!
Blast shattered quiet night. Shredded arm flew skyward. Julian’s face shield instant blood-red.
“Boss—boss!” Caleb wide-eyed yelled.
“No panic—plan—grab!” Julian shook head, left hand wiped shield sloppy, glanced Vincent—unconscious, right arm half gone, white bone shards hanging flesh, blood flowing fresh.
“f**k!”
Silas saw Vincent down, raged, fired left.
Whoosh.
Julian up, charged.
Bang-bang-bang…
Burst hit Julian—head, legs key spots—sparks flew.
Silas saw armor impenetrable, hasty retreat, reloaded.
Thud.
Julian double lunge—weight and armor advantage—headbutt Silas chin.
Crack.
Silas back two steps.
Julian bent low, arms locked Silas legs, waist surge lift—Silas flew half-man high, slammed ground.
“Don’t move—don’t move…”
Actions simple—total rush under fifty meters. Heavy load hand-to-hand—instant burst. Julian edge of collapse, legs lead-heavy, body pinned Silas, roared repeated.
Grenade threat gone—forty-plus officers no hesitation, shields up, clamped remaining dealers—ten seconds, fight over.
“Pin him—pin him.” Caleb pointed ground Silas.
Seven-eight piled—no cuffs—seventy-pound irons direct.
Julian snow sit near minute recovery, removed helmet, spat. “f**k—good thing plate. Best vest—I’d be gone today.”
“You okay?” Rowan rushed.
“Fine—tackle position good. Blast front.” Julian wiped sweat, deliberate to Rowan and others. “You all say Captain backs me—I risk life for his merit—he blind? No promote—you happy?”
“Yes-yes-yes!” Rowan nodded instant, thumbs up. “No your double lunge—outcome unknown.”
“Shock drinks later!” Julian heavy rise from snow. “Go—bring back.”
…
Late 11:30 p.m.
Julian phone corridor. “Caleb—doctors save grenade guy. Yes—more alive, better chain… yeah—eat quick, interrogate soon. Later!”
Footsteps corridor. Sebastian dinner box approached, smiled. “Hey—back?”
Julian turned. “Eating?”
“Yeah—no work, grab food.” Sebastian easy. “Smooth?”
“Yeah—all pinned.”
“Our guys okay?”
“Fast grab—they no react—we done. No casualties.”
“Good!” Sebastian grinned, casual. “Heard garrison joint—why no troops?”
Julian paused. “Who said?”
“Not? Department chat.” Sebastian stunned too.
“They bullshitting—no troops.” Case closed—Julian no hide. “Drug dealers—Silas Hart, killed our four last time!”
Clang.
Iron box dropped. Sebastian frozen, face white.
“You alright?” Julian frowned.
Sebastian dazed, ears ringing.
Julian slapped arm. “Hey—you alright?”
Sebastian snapped, eyes Julian. “That… Silas?”
“Yeah—Captain lead—we grabbed.” Julian nodded. “You off—why?”
“No… nothing. Thought Zabby… Zabby died his hand.” Sebastian forced grin. “Faced him that day—little scared.”
“Sure okay?”
“Yeah.” Sebastian bent pick box. “Eat—you go!”
“You not eating? Together!”
“No hot sauce—back get.” Sebastian smiled.
“Ah—I eat first.”
“Yeah!” Sebastian box in hand, turned walk.
Corridor—Julian odd watch back, no believe Sebastian words, but couldn’t pin abnormal.
“Boss—eat.” Caleb cafeteria door called.
“Coming!” Julian no more think, walked over.
…
Two minutes later, logistics warehouse.
Sebastian locked door, thud sat ground, hands hair pull roared. “f**k—not garrison joint? Half month—why not gone?… How the f**k this…”
- Writer
