Part 1.

“Turn around,” “What?” “My wallet….and my keys.” “My goodness! What didn’t you forget?” he said with the usual freshness, turning on the blue lights for full effect as he whipped a U-turn on the deserted suburban street. “That I’m smarter, better looking and quicker on the trigger than you’ll ever be,” the other replied, stifling a yawn. He leaned forward to crank up the heat in the chilly, predawn atmosphere inside the squad car and then sank back into his seat, ignoring his partner’s blatant misuse of authority. “And hey, it’s your fault anyway!”

“Yeah, it’s my fault you can’t get your shit together in the morning. How’s that again?” “You’re the one who insists on waking up at the crack of dawn! We’re not even on for another hour!” Both men quickly turned their heads toward the dashboard, but soon realized the sudden burst of radio chatter was not intended for them. “Why don’t you just, jog, or something?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love having free range of the bakery. Everything’s fresh and beautiful-” “Yeah and there’s donuts too, if you ever left the counter.” “What-ever” “Don’t whatever me! I see you trying to mac on…um....” “Stacey.” “Of course you would know her name!” They giggled like schoolboys as Schmidt wound up to deliver a smack, Jamal cowering in pseudo-fear. “But hey, I won’t lie, you do got some game.” “That’s right I do.” “Too bad you don’t got the money, body, or-“ “You want your keys or not?” Their stream of banter interrupted as they pulled up to Jamal’s, almost-renovated, two-bedroom house.

Four thunderous pounds on the door, followed by four more. “Geeze Jay, just pick the damn thing before you wake up the neighborhood.” “Bro, the house on either side of me is empty. We could have our own little party back here and nobody would care.” Jamal should’ve known Schmidt never missed an opportunity. “WE HAVE THE PLACE SURROUNDED. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.” With ears ringing from Schmidt’s sophomoric PA antics, Jamal slowly turned, fully intent on chewing out his partner with vividly colorful language. However, he couldn’t help but laugh, knowing deep down he enjoyed his role as enabler.

Then they heard it, a sound they were all too familiar with. “My basement!” As much as Schmidt wanted to dismiss Jamal’s comment, he couldn’t help but agree that the sound of gunfire definitely came from the basement window, not five feet from Jamal. With a crash the door flew open, aided by Jamal’s heel. Both Officer’s entered, weapons drawn. 

“I’ESHA!” “JAMAL!!! WHAT’S GOING ON?!!” “IT’S OKAY BABY, JUST GO TO THE BATHROOM, LOCK THE DOOR, AND LAY DOWN!” The trained Policemen skillfully cleared the entryway and living area as they moved systematically toward the source of the single fired shot. Jamal led them through the kitchen, down the stairs, and as they rounded the last corner, what they saw stopped them in their tracks. As Schmidt holstered his weapon, Jamal reached to his shoulder and grabbed the mic, “LEO nineteen, Metro.” “Go ahead nineteen.” “Yeah…we’ve got something...”

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Hey Prosers! This is the first piece of a short story I'm working on. If you have any critique, see any grammar error, or have anything to say about it, please comment below! :)