1 Personal Vendetta

Heavy rain clouds slowly drift across the starless sky. The gusty breeze shakes weak saplings to their core. Carl gazes down the alley to find a dim streetlight reflecting off a puddle. It was a lingering reminder of the previous storm. Carl glances at the clock on the dash. My wait is nearly over. Excitement courses through every cell in his tall, rounded body as he continues to stare down the dark, foggy road.

Carl has been planning this project for months since he was given a life-altering ultimatum. The higher-ups told him that he could either retire early or challenge the reprimand and risk losing everything he's worked for.

Everyone at the station knew his action was warranted. The Police Chief even said so. Then the press sunk their blood-hungry teeth into it and turned what should've been deemed a good shoot a sacrilegious witch hunt. The reporters claimed he specifically targeted a subset of individuals throughout his policing career. With the public's support, they demanded the higher-ups to stop the discrimination once and for all. Carl was relinquished of his duties soon after, and the charges against the suspect were dismissed. Carl was trying to piece what's left of his miserable life together when the second shoe hits the floor.

"The Sob deserves my wrath," He growls through clenched teeth as he thinks back.

---

Pushing through the crowded squad room, Carl stomps towards the captain's door. His heart pounds furiously in his chest; sweat gushes from every pore on his body while the fury surges through every cell. He clenches and unclenches his fists, hoping to subdue his pent-up rage as he continues to the back. Carl throws the wooden barrier open and tromps into the room. Daggers shoot from his eyes. He glares at his startled superior behind the paper cluttered desk. There are one-way mirrors on either side. A picture window sits behind him with oak bookcases on either side. He always admired the office and hoped he'd be in it someday, but the press made sure that wouldn't happen.

The captain glances up to find his large detective in the doorway. Carl's eyebrows are raised, his jaw is tight. His large hands are balled into fists by his side. The captain has seen his detective infuriated before, but never quite like this. Sliding his hand into the drawer, Mac searches for his gun. His fingertips slide across the cold metal. He secures the weapon in his shaky hand and then places it on his lap. "Don't do anything rash, Carl." He positions the weapon underneath the desk.

Fire shoots from Carl's eyes. He growls through clenched teeth, "This is fucked up, Captain, completely fucked up." He reaches behind him.

Mac cocks his head to the side. A stern look crosses his face. "Don't do it, Carl." He raises the gun above the desk. Holding it arm's length away, he says, "Don't make me shoot you, son." He cocks his gun.

Carl tosses a rolled-up newspaper across his desk. "I lose my career over a good shoot, and the damned baby-raper becomes a millionaire. This doesn't seem right, Captain, and you know it." Carl steps towards the desk.

The captain tightens the grip on his gun. Please don't make me shoot you. Mac has grown rather fond of the man over the twenty-plus years. He did all he could to keep him on the force, but he realizes a man Carl's size could tear him apart.

"I spent over half my life chasing these perverts and didn't put a damn dent in the crime rate. Sometimes I wonder if my efforts didn't make things worse. The way it's going, the damn criminals can do whatever in the hell they want without having to worry about the consequences of their actions. I spent over half of my life, arresting their sorry asses, for what?" He slams his fist on the desk."Tell me, Captain, tell me why did I bother when the screwed-up judicial system puts these pantywaists back on the street richer than they were before?"

"I know that's the way it seems to you now, but we'll get him, Carl. I promise you we'll get him soon. He's a cocky SOB, and he'll screw up again."

"When, after he rapes a dozen or so more babies? Why bother when the pussy-ass judges will release him. The criminals are manipulating our judicial system, Captain. They're making a mockery of it. They yell racism or excessive force, and everyone and their brother jumps on the bandwagon. What's worse is that no one is doing a damn thing to stop them. If the damned higher-ups worried half as much about the city's crime rate as they do their public image, this town wouldn't be in such dire straits." Atlanta is known to be one of the most dangerous cities in the nation.

"I agree with you on some of that, Carl. There are a few who claim those things for no reason, but there are others whose outrage is warranted."

"Yeah, but the claim against me wasn't true."

"I agree, Carl, it wasn't. I did what I could to keep you here, but the evidence was too damming. And as far as the criminals go, you know we can only do so much. That we have to have proof to make anything stick."

"When the mob takes over, and the way things are going they will, you guys won't have anyone to blame but yourselves." He storms out of the station madder than he was when he came in.

Reaching his car, Carl looks back at the large brick building again. The democracy bullshit may tie you down, but I'm not tied to it, not anymore.

Thunder blares in the distance bringing Carl back to the present day. After twenty years on the force, five in forensics, I can finally give this town the justice it so rightly deserves.

Day after day, he and his partner, Jack, would make well-founded arrests. They'd always adhere to proper police protocol. A few weeks later, they'd find their suspect on the streets, doing what they were arrested for. The duo later discovered they were granted an early release because of the overcrowded jails. Release those hoodlums now and see what'll happen. He chuckles.