"Officer! I'm hungry!"
After I had fixed the heating in the cell block, I went back to studying languages. The office was perfectly silent. It was snowing outside. The thin layer of frozen snow on the pavement reflected painful beams of light shining through my window, irritating my eyes each time the sun appeared from behind the clouds. I almost forgot about Smith and hearing his voice resonate through the building brought me back to reality. It was past lunchtime, so I went to the kitchen to get my prisoner something to eat.
I found Smith fully awake, sitting on the bench. His face lit up when he saw me walking in with the tray.
"Hello, Officer! Is it me or did it get warmer here?" he asked amused.
"I left the door open to let the heat in from the office," I replied absently.
He didn't say anything to that and thanked me politely for the food. But before I left, he asked me if I could turn on the radio. I saw no harm in that and fulfilled his request. For a good hour I didn't hear anything from him and thought he fell asleep. But just a few minutes after the two o'clock news report I heard him calling me.
"Officer! I need to use the bathroom!"
I hated that part. Of course, everyone had the right to go to the lavatory, but I'd rather clean the cell after they had wet themselves instead of having to escort them to the toilet. First, it was risky. Second, it was embarrassing both for me and the detainee. Besides, I didn't trust Smith and thought him to be more dangerous than the local drunks or troubled teenagers I usually had to deal with.
"Okay, Mister Smith, just like I said before: don't make me use the taser on you," I warned him as I walked into the cell block.
I unbolted his cell and motioned him to walk in front of me. Before he entered the male restroom, he turned around and looked at me with a peculiar twinkling in his eyes.
"You know, Officer, it's very sweet of you to force the blockage on the heating. No one has ever been so kind to me. But I'm afraid it could get you into trouble …" his voice turned into soft hissing at the end.
He knew. I figured he wasn't asleep and secretly watched me vandalising state property. I stared at him, trying to keep a poker face but I knew I was blushing. Not because he had found out about my revolt against the savings policy of our police station but because I couldn't stand his gaze.
"My work issues do not concern you, Mister Smith. We're here. Make it quick," he smirked at what I had said and disappeared behind the door.
When he was done and we headed back to his cell, he suddenly stopped halfway down the corridor, blocking my way out. My hand mechanically grabbed for the taser on my belt but before I could pull it out, Smith took a step back and begged me to listen to him.
When I started working for the police, I knew that empathy would be my main problem. They were all innocent. They were all wrongfully accused. They were all victims of unfortunate circumstances. And maybe some of them were but even in his worst, vindictive mood, Shaheed made sure to arrest lawbreakers only, so that later it wouldn't get him into trouble. If I let every detainee plead their case to me, I'd have to change jobs and become either a lawyer or a therapist. But something in Smith's mellow tone made me drop my guard.
"Please, Officer! Listen to me! Have you heard today's news? About the shooting this morning? Those people were after me! They tried to kill me, but I managed to escape. I had to find a place to hide and then I saw your colleague. I punched him on purpose so that he would arrest me and bring me to a police station where I would be safe. But I'm afraid they know where I am and are coming to get me. You must let me go!"
"I must? Is there something else you'd like me to do, Sir? Get back to your cell, Smith!"
Smith dropped to his knees and wrapped his long arms around my waist, pressing his face into my stomach.
"Is there something you'd like me to do, Officer?"
The insane Anglo-Saxon looked up at me. The satyr from before had repossessed Smith and reflected his filthy thoughts through his eyes. He caught the end tip of my belt with his teeth and mischievously pulled at it. All I could do was grab his face between my hands, trying to make him stop. Smith quickly released the belt, caught my thumb in his mouth, and started sucking on it. That sight disgusted and petrified me so much, I froze for a moment. And that moment of stupor gave Smith the opportunity to throw me down to the floor. He mounted on top of me and tried to kiss me. Somehow, I succeeded in kicking him in his balls. Smith grabbed for his crotch and finally let go of me. I pushed him off and jumped back to my feet, ordering the Anglo-Saxon to return to his cell, pointing a gun at him. Smith groaned from pain as he picked himself up, however when our eyes met, he winked at me and started to laugh. I locked him up in his cell and ran out of the block with a feverishly red face, as the Anglo-Saxon continued to chuckle behind my back.
It struck me that Smith could've knocked me out to rape or kill me, but he chose not to. That comprehension and the helplessness I felt when I couldn't get my gun or taser made me feel sick to the stomach. I thought I could handle the work of a police officer, dealing with harmless locals. However, John Smith made me realise that I didn't belong there. I only had power when I pointed a gun at someone but in reality, I didn't even have enough body mass to stop a teenager from stealing chewing gum.
I went to the kitchen to calm down and make myself a cup of tea, as I consulted the Internet on my phone to find out about the incident in the shopping district of the neighbouring town that morning. Witnesses said that armed men broke into several shops, searching for a man. They had released a few shots into the ceiling. Luckily, no one was killed. One woman claimed that before the shooting she saw a man in a purple shirt run out of a closed corporate building across the street from her flower shop.
It made me think. Maybe Smith wasn't lying. Maybe he was on the run for mobsters. I adjusted my belt as I did out of habit and felt my blood run cold when I didn't feel the electric cell key. I instantly knew Smith took it when he groped me. I rushed to the cells and found the cell door unlocked. The Anglo-Saxon was gone. He could've only left through the main door in the office, while I was in the kitchen. I dashed outside and spotted him in a mini utility van that had permission to park on our property. Smith was trying to start the engine. I grabbed my gun and crossed the extensive parking lot, keeping low to the ground so he wouldn't notice me.
Smith was startled when I opened the door and jumped on the passenger's seat, pointing the gun into his face.
"Get out of the car, Smith!" I demanded.
"I'm sorry, Officer. When this is behind us, you can punish me all you want but right now I need this car to start and get the hell out of here!"
He held a small hammer in his hand. A screwdriver was sticking out of the keyhole.
"I said, get out!" I shouted.
The expression on his face suddenly changed as he looked over my shoulder. He ducked down and told me to do the same. I thought he was trying to trick me, so I continued to hold him at gunpoint, and quickly turned around to see what had scared him so much.
I saw three black jeeps pulling over on the driveway of the police station. A group of armed men left the vehicles and ran inside the building.
"See? I wasn't lying! Maybe they'll leave once they realise that I'm not there," Smith whispered as he pulled on my shoulder to make me hunch over.
"I don't think they will, Smith. I've left your ID card on my desk!"
"No problem, Officer. I have another one."
"Excuse me? What?!" I exclaimed.
"Be quiet! They're leaving and I think we must, too! You're coming with me, Officer!" he reached for the handle and closed the door.
One of the men drew his companions' attention to our car. Fortunately, Smith had succeeded in starting the engine and skilfully manoeuvred the minivan from the parking lot onto the highway before the hitmen could get in their cars. He pressed the accelerator to the limit, trying to get away from our pursuers. But despite our lead, the jeeps soon caught up with us. One of their vehicles came awfully close, driving next to us, aiming to push us off from the road. The tinted window on the passenger's seat slid down and a pale face appeared in the obscurity, pointing the barrel of a gun at us.
The man fired.
Three bullets hit our van, and one shattered Smith's window which made him sway the car violently from side to side, but somehow, he kept control over the wheel. Thankfully, we had neared an exit and were just on time to turn, as the assassins got jammed between the central reservation and oncoming cars.
"Who the hell are these people and what have you done to piss them off?!" I yelled as Smith drove at high speed on the sharply curved road.
"Oh, some Arnavut guys. There was a little misunderstanding between us. A language barrier," he replied laconically, steering the wheel as a professional car racer.
"You pissed off the Arnavut mobsters?!" I felt my heart rate go up as I fell back into my seat.
"Are you acquainted with this neighbourhood, Officer?" he asked, ignoring my petrification.
The mobsters weren't as reckless as Smith and didn't dare to speed up on the bend, this way getting behind us.
"Yes, I know this place. It's an industrial zone," I said in a shaky voice.
We drove into a densely built-up area, with many buildings, sea containers, and side roads granting us the opportunity to hide from the Arnavuts. Smith parked the van between two white containers, on the property of a bathtub selling company. After several turns, we believed we had lost the assassins, but we had to stay careful as we tried to find our way out of the industrial maze.
Most offices were closed, except for the second-hand store situated right at the driveway to the industrial zone. Getting to that store unseen was problematic because it was accessible from the main road only, which could expose us. Just as we ran inside the shop, one of the jeeps pulled over on the store's parking lot and two hitmen came out of the car. They hadn't noticed us, but I knew they would check out the second-hand store.
I was about to run to the manager's office on the first floor and inform the staff of the armed men when Smith stopped me.
"Officer, I wouldn't do that if I were you," he whispered into my ear as he dragged me behind a shelf with tableware.
"We need a safe place to hide where I can call for reinforcement!" I hissed.
"You think a closed door, or the manager of this place can stop those guys? They'll start shooting at everyone until they find us!"
"What do you propose then? Play hide-and-seek with them amidst pots and kettles?!"
Before he could counter that I motioned him to follow me. I knew that place. There was a warehouse in the back of the store. The doors to it were usually open because the personnel were constantly transporting goods back and forth on trolleys. The warehouse was connected to the garage where the moving vans unloaded second hand furniture. I believed we could escape through that gate.
We waited until there was no one around and crossed the warehouse. At reaching the gates we discovered another problem: the black jeep was parked right in the driveway to the garage. The driver was inside, and he would certainly spot us. Smith quickly found a way out. He nodded at the open moving van that stood before the gates. There was no furniture inside, only cardboard boxes. He jumped on the ramp and crouched to help me up. We hid in the back, behind the boxes, waiting for the driver to close the doors and drive away from there.