BRICK! A KILLER'S KEYS

The name's Brick. Six-six. Two-thirty. All steel, no flab. Ex-kickboxer. Don't mess with me. You won't like the result.

I'm a cop.

For me, being a cop ain't easy. I've had a couple of minor problems.

Nothing much really. Just trivial stuff that kinda got blown out of proportion. You get my drift?

To start with, cops got this Book of rules on how to do cop stuff. Written by some know-it-all what probably never walked a beat, never worked a day on the street, never faced the wrong end of a big gun, never alone in a dark alley with six giants wanting to rip his head off. Understand?

Anyway, cops are supposed to do things by this Book. No exceptions.

My thoughts on this cop Book?

Boring! Restrictive! One-sided!

You want examples?

Book says a bad guy has got rights.

One right, which is a pain in the ass, is for bad guy to remain silent and all that crap. Book doesn't want bad guy to accidentally incriminate himself in a crime. Bull. I say, slip a sharp knife underneath bad guy's groin, add a strong upwards pull for attention getting...bad guy will tell you all you want to know and more.

Book says bad guy has a right to a lawyer. Sure. Just as soon as my fists explain to bad guy how him not having teeth and his jaw wired shut won't effect his talking to his lawyer.

The Book says cop has got to warn bad guy first and shoot second. Nope. Not gonna happen. Too dangerous for cop and by-standers. Book got that one backwards.

Book says cop got to be nice and polite to bad guy. Cop got to say "sir" and "ma'am" and all that nice crap. Even when dealing with a bad guy what just murdered somebody or beat the shit out of a little old lady for five bucks. Screw it.

Well, that's just a few of the rules I had a hard time with.

But I did do pretty good at that enforcement stuff. Aced that hand-to-hand combat or whatever it was called...except for not stopping when the referee blew his whistle. Heck, I thought he was constantly blowing that silly whistle to applaud my aggression.

Only one little bitty accident. Really minor. See, one time when we were doing practicing with batons, I cracked another cadet's ribs. But only four of them. Not really my fault. My baton was slightly longer than I thought.

Hey, I said I was sorry.

Shooting was no problem. Rifle, revolver, automatic, shotgun, canon. All the same to me. Really pretty simple.

Ready! Aim! Fire! Boom! Thud!

Okay, so maybe I accidentally shot a popup target I probably shouldn't have. Not a big deal.

This target popped up to my right. I took a quick glance. I swear it looked like a fat midget Mafia shithead with a short bazooka.

Boom! Right between his eyes! One dead Mafia shithead!

But the Range Captain said the target was a little girl with a doll. Bull. No little girl has angry red eyes like this target had.

So, like I said, for a guy like me, being a cop ain't easy.