Join Date: Oct 2008
THE LAST COP by Wayne Clayton
Some people say the rain started to fall in the 50’s. Some people say it’s never stopped since. That’s why they built the Drains. Mile on mile of concrete and brick, Winding it’s way under the great city of L.A. Channelling a billion gallons of water back into the cesspool, once known as the ocean.
But nobody cared about that anymore. Over a hundred years had passed since then. The city had swallowed up the Drains. Most people didn’t even know they were there. The rain still fell and for all they knew it just vanished when the sun came out. Not that it ever did. Well not in Dibble’s life time. Unless the sun only shone at night. And he didn’t think that would happen in his life time either.
John Percy Dibbski was a third generation cop of the great city of Los Angeles. He had Cop written all over his face. Twenty-five years pounding the beat had weathered him. He no longer noticed the rain against his face. His feet no longer hurt, now they were just numb.
It was no surprise that the guys at work called him Dibble. It had been the name passed down to him from his father and his granddaddy before him.
He was a Cop. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one out there. Thanks to a stray bullet in the Projects he was now pounding his stupid numb feet up and down what seemed like the entire length of the Drains. Every damp dripping foul smelling inch of it.
Somebody had to do it they told him. Funny it was always the Cops that screwed up.
This was the pits. The city had swallowed up the Drains so much that you had to take an elevator down to the bottom. Now even if the sun did shine Dibble wasn’t going to know. This wasn’t a day job anymore. You get washed down the Drains and you were there for a month. Moving from one station to another as you went. Bedding down in the damp and the mould. If you were lucky you’d bump into some other Joe who had messed up as bad as you. But so far Dibble hadn’t found anyone that stupid. Maybe he never would.
Dibble pulled open the cage of the elevator and breathed in the stale air. The lights in the corridor flickered on and off as they felt the electricity ebb and flow through them anew. Their magic eyes gazed blindly back at Dibble as he stepped out. And for the first time in a week Dibble heard the familiar sound his footsteps echoing down the hall.
He turned and pulled the cage shut and then slammed the door, locking the outside world out for another month. From now on it was just him and his thoughts until he reached South Main 13. But before then he had the rounds to do.
He reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out the key to the control panel. Turning it fully to the right before the final tumbler fell into place. The light behind the panel struggled into life, displaying the map of the tunnels ahead. Each of the station check points were marked out in a dim sodium yellow glow. Only the station he was at shone brightly. He picked up the hand set of the phone mounted in the panel and pressed the ‘speak’ button set in it’s side. Normal radio just didn’t work down in the Drains. The concrete and metal played havoc with the signal. Anything had to be hard wired.
“ Officer 367 ready to begin check. Please display route.” Dibbles voice was deep and calm.
He waited a moment before the reply came. And though the static and feedback came a toneless female voice. A voice which all life seemed to have been drained away.
“ Officer 367 confirmed. Displaying routes confirmed”
He glanced at the panel and watched as a new station light lit up. This would be his next port of call. Due to the size of the Drains it was impossible to cover it all in one month. So each time you went down a new route would be randomly created. But it was all the same to him. Every tunnel looked like the next. He only had the control panels word for it that it was a different tunnel.
“ Officer 367 Route confirmed” He replied in a like wise toneless manner.
It wasn’t worth sounding interested. For the voice on the other end was just an automated signal. A speaking clock was all the company he had.
“Confirmed Officer 367” The voice hissed and clicked off and was replaced by singular tone.
Dibble placed the receiver back into the panel and reset the key. Down the corridor the lights grew dim. His way now would be guided by the magic eyes which would detected him and turn on the lights only in the tunnels he was to go down.
He pulled the thick collar of the trench coat close around is neck and set off up the tunnel. Already he could feel the cold creeping in around him. This was going to be a long month.
The Last Cop Chapter 1 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 2 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 3 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 4 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 5 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 6 by Wayne Clayton
The Last Cop Chapter 7 by Wayne Clayton