Molly. The love interest of Crusher although she doesn’t appear today.
As before, any resemblance to anything in this story or any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
The call came in the middle of the night, and it must be said that very few demands annoyed Crusher, but he expected a really good night’s sleep.
“Typical of the criminal classes, why can’t they indulge in their despicable acts during daylight hours? In my opinion any criminal should have his sentence doubled for offences committed during the hours of darkness and at the weekend.”
“Now I have been woken up again in the middle of the night by the actions of another morally depraved degenerate.”
“Sorry to wake you Sharon but we need Crusher, there is a guy in the cab of his van and he won’t get out, he has a gun and he’s threatening to shoot anyone who gets too close. We have identified the weapon as a Sig Sauer P365 semi-automatic pistol. We don’t know how many rounds he has in that thing, but we think it can take up to 15.”
“We have developed a plan, we will use pellets to break drivers side window leaving a hole for Crusher to go through and immediately afterwards we will break the window on the other side to distract the perp and the third shot will break the windscreen and keep the perp distracted enough hopefully give Crusher time to do his stuff.”
“Normally we would wait for this guy to surrender, he will eventually need food and water but he is on the main road through the town and waiting could take days. I won’t deny it. This is a high-risk operation, particularly for Crusher.”
They arrived and surveyed the situation.
“Well, Crusher, another fine mess we’ve got into. Timing is critical, no delays, the minute they break the driver’s window, you move fast, very fast!”
The negotiators continued their attempts to coax the man out of his van despite the preparations to assault the vehicle. Crusher had been through this many times before. He was the “go-to dog” when the “higher-ups” had run out of ideas.
Crusher waited for the sound of breaking glass, when it came he charged. He dived through the broken glass, and as the perp pointed his gun at Crusher, he bit down hard on the man’s hand. The man screamed in pain and terror as Crusher continued to bite.
“So thanks to you, I had had my beauty sleep broken, you malignant tadpole. What’s more, you tried to shoot me. ME. What have I ever done to you? I am seriously annoyed, you clueless cretin.”
The driver was rescued by PC Sharon and led away to be questioned about his motive for refusing to leave the vehicle.
Crusher’s actions were headline news, and the plaudits flooded in. The word hero was to become synonymous with the name Crusher. With all the natural modesty that Crusher possessed, he accepted his star billing with ease.
Okay, I lied. Let’s be honest. Crusher is definitely not modest. He milked the event for everything he could get out of it. He basked in the glory and was rewarded with doughnuts.
“Could it be that Molly would be even more receptive to my overtures?” He mused.
“As far as I am concerned, I deserve all the recognition that I am given.”
Sharon was called in with Crusher to see her superior officer.
“Now, as you know, there has been a bit of a campaign to give Crusher a medal to recognise his actions that day. The idea, however, has been vetoed by Chief Constable Tranker as he doesn’t believe that animals are deserving of medals, don’t understand what they have been given and can’t wear them. Sorry, Sharon, but there is no medal for Crusher. As it happens, he will be visiting the station soon, so you will meet him, and I guess you can raise the issue with him if you want.”
“I don’t think so, Sir; Crusher won’t be bothered and will be content with a couple of jam doughnuts and a play in the park.”
“Jam doughnuts?”
“Yes, sir, Crusher has developed a taste for them over the years, and if he has been good, he gets a couple.”
“Surely they can’t be considered a healthy addition to his diet.”
“Well, as I said, he only gets them if he has been very good, and let’s be honest, he isn’t that good very often.”
The day arrived for the visit of the Chief Constable. All the local dignitaries were lined up to be presented to the distinguished visitor, and PC Sharon and Crusher were on the end of the line. The Chief Constable stopped to talk to many of them, and it was some time before he reached Crusher.
“Ah, you must be the dog handler, and this must be the dog.”
“THE DOG”, raged Crusher. “Don’t you even know our names, you pea-brain idiot? Perhaps moron third class may be a more accurate description?”
Crusher then allowed himself a rueful smile.
“I bet I know what your nickname is, Chief Constable Tranker. Just look at you, another sanctimonious, pontificating pillock, standing there with all those ribbons on his crisp blue uniform, razor-sharp creases in his trousers, crisp white shirt and tie.”
An evil thought crossed Crusher’s mind.
“This pompous prat needs a lesson. He denies me a medal whilst he has a chest full, and I bet he’s never taken down an armed madman. Doesn’t even know our names and stands full of his own importance, well see how you like this….
The Chief Constable jumped backwards, a howl of anguish escaped his lips and he choked down an expletive.
PC Sharon realised too late and definitely struggled to keep a straight face.
“CRUSHER, STOP PISSING ON THE CHIEF CONSTABLE’S LEG!!”
“Dogs…do not ruin their sleep worrying about keeping the objects that they have or to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value that they have to bequeath except their love and their faith.”
Eugene O’Neill
With subtitle or not?