Burt Girard (Squad Car – Park Patrol)

Officer Girard cursed under his breath when his lieutenant came into the duty room and ordered him out to investigate a situation on Lake Street, in the red-light district.

It was raining hammers and nails and he was in the middle of a ham sandwich, but when Standish came into the room with orders he knew better than to talk back; he and his partner got to their feet and put on their rain gear without delay. They were out the door and in their squad in less than five minutes.

Girard got behind the wheel, drove north down the King’s Highway, merged onto Dupont Avenue and took a right turn on Lake Street. There wasn’t much traffic west of Nicollet Avenue. They drove with the cherries rolling and moved through the traffic lights.

There was a crowd gathered out front of the Round Up where Lieutenant Standish told him the incident had begun. Crowd control was the job of the 5th Precinct, he wasn’t going to stop for that. Standish told them to be on the lookout for Karl Thorrson. Girard didn’t know him by sight but he knew that this Thorrson was a heavy hitter, new in town, some kind of crime boss running the rackets on Lake Street, and people said he was ten feet tall.

The young ranger doubted that.

They were given an address, told to take a sweep through the alley between 4th and 5th Avenue.

So he took a left turn down the corridor and drove in slowly; right at the entrance to the alley there were two 5th Precinct beat cops huddled together under an awning with their backs against the storefront. One of them looked to be having some trouble, the other looked up at Girard as he passed them by. The look on his face suggested that he was seeking some assistance.

To hell with them, Girard thought. I ain’t getting wet for a couple of city cops.

His partner had the same idea and didn’t say a word.

They turned on their search light as they got into the alley.

Officer Girard thought he saw someone slip into a gap between two buildings. Probably just a junkie, he thought to himself. A radio car came toward him from the opposite end. They each stopped in front of the loading dock of a warehouse that belonged to the giant they were looking for. There was a cream colored coupe on the ramp with a couple inside.

Then there was a blinding light, and a thunderclap so loud it shook them in their cars; all the city lights went out for blocks.

They heard a woman screaming from inside the warehouse, Girard decided he had better go in.

Sandy O’Rourke (Beat Cop 5th Precinct)

Sandy O’Rourke caught up to his partner, wheezing and out of breath. He stopped, doubled over, and vomited into the rain filled gutter. What spewed from his mouth was little more than sputum and bile, and that minute he spent hacking with his head between his knees was the last long minute that he struggled for his breath.

His young protégé, Officer Randy Parsons, had taken off in rush, chasing a tall man in a long coat, who was himself chasing a giant down Lake Street, a man so large and menacing that he could only be one person—the notorious Karl Thorrson, the new crime boss over the city of Saint Anthony.

There had been an incident at the Round-up, a busy watering hole that Sandy was fond of drinking in. Sandy didn’t know what had happened but Karl Thorrson had been involved. There was a fight and then a terrible stroke of lightning struck down and a kid who worked behind the bar…maybe killed him…then Karl Thorrson took off running followed by the stranger.

His partner, Officer Parsons, who didn’t have the sense to leave well enough alone, took off after them, and Sandy followed suit. He didn’t even think about it, its what his training told him to do.

Sandy wasn’t sure how far they ran, four maybe five blocks or so. Thorrson and his tail turned down a dark alley and his partner had the wits to slow down to wait for Sandy to catch up, instead of going in alone.

Sandy was spent, he puked and clutched at his heart while his partner watched, unsure of what to do.

He fell to his knees in the pouring rain and pushed his hat off his head, finding some relief in the falling water as it washed his face clean.

His partner came up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right old man?” He asked.

Sandy just nodded and shook his head in an uncertain motion, he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to push out any words.

Officer Parsons pulled him backwards, away from the curb and up to the windows of a store front. He got the old timer under an awning and set his cap back on his head.

Just then a squad car pulled up, it had the markings of a park police, radio car. Parsons tried to flag them down to get some help for his partner. He watched as the driver looked at him, with no emotion on his face, and no indication that he was willing to offer any kind of aid.

Parsons spat and cursed.

Sandy took his hand and tried to tell him that it was okay.

Another stroke of lightning hit the city somewhere nearby, and the lights went out everywhere, just as the lights went out from Sandy O’Rourke’s eyes.