Discovery Avenue

Police Car - Part 8

Sat in the back of the police car, handcuffed. The police officers told him he'd been involved in a suspected county lines drugs operation, which he'd ignored due to his head warp causing him to spin. The car was warm but smelled like bacon.

'Arrested on suspicion of involvement in drug handling and suspected dealing.' said the police officer in the driver seat. His brown haired, short colleague opened his passenger door and got out. Peter watched as he used his radio. They hadn't moved at all from the club, which he could clearly see now. It had no signs but a distinct black door with a small white led light above it. It was among a row of fairly big yet disused buildings, all of which were boarded up. 

'Can I go home now?' he asked. Everything became black and melancholy. Anna was still waiting at home, had heard two more notifications on his smartphone but couldn't check them as his hands were cuffed behind his back. The officer ignored him, hands planted firmly on the wheel.

His colleague got back into the police car. 'Said to let him go until further notice,' he said. Success, but the other officer looked angered, shaking his head.

'They are kidding, right?' he said.

'No,' other officer shook his head, 'have to let him go, they haven't got anything on him.'

'That's right, it's been a mix up,' Peter chipped in. Both officers looked with awe at him; uncomfortable.

'Shut up,' said the angered driving seat officer. Then Peter recalled Amy giving him that blowjob, and how a random man had showed and demanded she leave. It was bizarre, he thought. She was with a woman, then left with a man. Did he realise she had been out with a woman that night? Perhaps she was not a true lesbian, but exploring her dark side. He'd been the lucky participant, or the unlucky participant. The event had led to him receiving two beatings, as if the universe punished him for his lust, his adultery. 

'You heard your colleague, let me go,' he said. The officers remained silent for a few minutes giving Peter enough time to scan the area. He didn't recognise it, it resembled an abandoned small industrial estate. The streetlamps still used the old orange, rather than white. There was a few old cars parked around. The police car on the left side of the road, whilst the bar was tucked away on the right, with an old utility white van outside. He had figured that there was more to this than just powder or drug deals. The women were like some crack whore addicted sex slaves. The Scotsman had been like a more radical version of a mighty wizard who had gone power mad. His two henchmen reminded him of tweedle dumb and tweedle dee from Alice in Wonderland. 

'I'll let you go soon, just need to do a few more things and fill out some paperwork for you, okay?' the officer in the passenger seat said. He didn't sound enthusiastic. His more obtuse partner seemed to begin to fill out the paperwork. Peter felt like they were delaying his release which annoyed him, worsening his head throb. 

'We need to search him,' the driver said. He grinned over his black ball point pen. 

'We already...' his partner spoke, then smiled giving Peter the chills. Pair of weirdos he thought. 'I see, do we need to go to the station for that?' 

Driver shakes his head and Peter intervenes. 'What are your shoulder numbers?' he said, knowing his rights full well after spending a brief period watching YouTube police auditing videos. 

'On our shoulders look, can't you see them?' They each tilted slightly, but Peter couldn't see them as his vision was blurry and the car span. All he saw was squiggly silver lines. He thought one of them was two-two-zero-three-four, but had no clue and now hated being stuck with these two.

'No I can't,' Peter groaned. The officers then got out of the car and made their way to the bonnet and began to talk. He watched both of them smile and then laugh at something. Then to his dismay it appeared they both removed their radios from their shoulder strap and seemed to switch them off. They placed the radios on the bonnet. Peter sweated from his palms and felt a stinging run up his spine and his legs were as rock hard jelly. He couldn't move much. Whatever they were laughing about, it continued, without the radios which must have distracted them. Peter listened and watched with all his might, the hardest he'd paid attention in his life. What turned out to be a joke was him waiting for nothing. Then they turned to him and the driver approached Peter's side.

Officer opened the door, the driving officer with the bad attitude, and wrinkled eyes and a little black stubble. 'Get out,' he demanded. Peter shifted his heavy loaded legs out the door onto the tarmac. Silent. Little sudden gusts of wind breaking it. Nobody else to see and the door club was unattended, no officers stayed behind which he'd found strange. 

It got a whole lot worse too. The officer grabbed him by the scruff of his collar with both hands and ripped him from the car and pulled him face first onto the road. Peter smashed his already sore nose on the floor and his ribs crunched. The floor span so fast he thought he melted into it. 'Strip,' he demanded. Peter heard his colleagues boots stomp over to them and stop right at his face. He thought the officer was going to kick him in the face, he could taste the boot almost.

'No,' Peter mumbled, cheek pressed against the cold and damp tarmac.  

'Right, we'll do it for you,' the driving officer shouted. Peter went limp and for a moment had blacked out. He regained awareness and felt his clothes being ripped off his body. He had no idea which officer was which, just that their bodies fuzzed like orbs. First they tore his trousers off, pulling him like a ragdoll and then discarding his body carelessly. Then they pulled his coat and top off. He shivered, his bare legs and torso quickly goose pimpled as a wave of heat rushed over him. They tossed both the trousers and jacket over his head. Everything was black and he could smell the sweat and semen which had stained his pants. He smelled the perfume of Amy as well. 

'Help!' he shouted, muffled by the clothes on his head. He listened as the police officers began to remove the handcuffs. Peter lashed out, but he was blind. Then, boots began to kick hard into his ribs. Each kick a thunder strike, each blow like a sledgehammer which rippled into each rib through to his organs. Time was so slow, he didn't know if they stopped because his body was shivering, and the pain caused him to tremble. Waves of sharp needles coated his stomach. Then, he heard the car drive away, but felt like he was still being kicked. He moved his hands, and under the coat jacket, sobbed.

~You can read more published work by the author on Amazon.{thomas maxwell-harrison}