Jan 27, 2023

Mawazo Writing Africa

Writing about the main

SHORT STORY: Stop! Or I will open fire…

The street was narrow and lit by a flickering street lamp that threatened to go out. Jerica watched two shadows scurry down the street, turning left at the end, and without hesitation she ducked down the narrow path behind them.

“Hey J!” it was one of her colleagues, “Wait for backup J!” there was genuine fear in his voice: “Jerica, stop it!”

But she could have laughed as she sped down the street, nothing but a heady mix of alcohol and adrenaline coursing through her. Her gun was already drawn and ready, her finger twitching with pent-up tension as she squeezed the trigger.

Jerica was stocky, her short limbs a set of clenched muscles, her legs though they were probably half her length the men chasing her pumped twice as fast.

As she turned the corner into the second pitch-black alley that sloped down into a slum, she dropped to one knee, skidding to a stop, Raised her weapon and she fired instinctively, grinning as she heard a man’s grunt and a thud as he fell.

Then she was on her feet and running, accelerating seamlessly and passing the moaning form of the man she had shot on the rubbish-covered ground, in close pursuit of his comrade, who ducked to the right, in a shadow ahead of them.

The injured man would be found by her mates when they made their found courage in the number and ventured into the Sl around after her.

She had a promotion in mind, though, and she was going to get it; from corporal to sergeant.

As Jerica dove straight into another alley, the figure of a man stumbling from exhaustion in front of her bared his teeth in a fearsome grin.

Here there were no street lights. Nothing to light up the night but the thinnest sliver of a moon and countless stars setting in an inky sky.

The man Jerica was chasing slipped on something and fell screaming on everyone Four onto the muddy ground in fear and dismay like he did, then crawled onto his back as Jerica spun around him.

“Please!” He held up his hands as her weapon was dangerous swung close to his upturned face and she viciously kicked him in the ribs. ” Jerica kicked him hard again, taking his breath away. “Up!” she yelled, raising her pistol hand and pressing it hard to the side of his face. “Did I ask you a question?”

The man wailed and ducked behind his hands as Jerica, wild-eyed and bloodshot, delighted with her catch, approached him.

” What’s up?” A window opened and a middle-aged woman with a round face crowned by soft gray hair stuck her broad nose out. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “Don’t shoot the officer!” Her shrill voice carried through the silent night: “I know him, he’s not a bad…”

“You’re the fruit seller on the Ring Street, isn’t it?” Jerica hissed, her gun still aimed at the young man lying in front of her, “You always have a little girl with you,” her red eyes glittered even in the darkness and she narrowed them mischievously, “Mind your own business or your daughter will be next,” she whispered hoarsely.

The ramshackle shacks that lined the alleyway where Jerica was, began to stir. All around them could be heard whispers and the low screeching of metal as ears pressed against rusting corrugated iron, the dominant building material here. But Jerica had patrolled these narrow, densely built streets for so long that she wasn’t afraid, it was the other way around.

No one came out to challenge her, nor did she venture a peek for fear of being seen will . And so, it was with complete impunity that Jerica stooped and tucked in a fat bag of white as the wail of police sirens floated gently on the air at first, then in a wild cacophony as their reinforcements squeezed powder into pockets down the tapering, straight streets of the man lying at her feet.

“I’m sure he’s one of the drug dealers we were looking for,” she said breathlessly as her colleagues ran into the alley behind her, now lit by flashing red and blue lights.

“No!” The young man started yelling, “You’re the one…”

But he got no further when Jerica punched him in the middle of the jaw and yelled in his face, “You speak when spoken to, Got it?!” Then she pulled the disoriented man to his feet and lowered her voice until it was inaudible except for him: “I know where your mother lives, shut up or I’ll pay her a visit.”< /p>

The sun was rising and Jerica arched her back as she pulled into the driveway of her home.

The captain had personally congratulated her, the twinkle in his eyes indicating that she was in the running for promotion.

“Mom!” only a year or two younger than the man she just arrested, Jerica’s son rushed toward her, dropping her keys into his outstretched palm, her behavior that of a completely different woman.