The Gentleman

A man and cop have argue about the intelligence of a missing criminal.

"Yeh, we get around," Brian muttered, glaring at the cop rifling through the various trinkets, books, and other strange ornaments on Brians bookshelf.

                "That's nice, Brian. You know, I really like you. I hope we can make this nice and easy," said the cop. "That is, so long as you don't have anything to hide." The cop turned his head slightly and eyed Brian.

                "Nope, nuttin' I aware of," Brian said. The cop turned back to the bookshelf. Brian gripped a switchblade in his pocket and continued glaring at the cop.

                "You sure?" The cop said.

                "Positive."

                "You see, we've heard some complaints about loud noises, foul smells, and otherwise suspicious activity. This is all centered around your house, Brian, and-"

                "I ain't smell nothin."

                "-and we take very serious concern to this, Brian, because we care about you. Now get this, Brian: we did a little research and found out that the file for 'Brian McClellan' didn't exist until around ten years ago. How old are you?"

                "Twenny-sevuh," Brian said.

                "The file says 31." Brian gulped.

                "Das what I meant." 

The cop sighed loudly.

                "Ever hear the name Edward Cello?" He said.

                "Can't say I have." Brians eyebrows came closer together.

                "He was a famous criminal. Also known as 'The Gentleman'?"

                "Aw, yeh, I know, I know."

                "You see, this guy- real dummy- was a criminal at only age seventeen. Real queer kid. He had this obsession with strange, eccentric items. Kind of like what you have here, Brian."

                "Yeh." Brian pulled the switchblade from his pocket and held it behind him.

                "What?

                "I said yeah."

                "Well  anyway, the guy- like I said, an idiot- ended up giving away where he lived by- get this- calling one of our snitches from his home phone. How dumb is that, huh?" The cop turned around and smiled.

                "I guess he couldn't have known. Oney seventeen, I think that kid was pretty smart, to get so famous, you know?"

                "Yeah, seventeen," the cop said. "Well, anyway, stupid kid disappeared ten years ago when he realized what he'd done."

                "Stop callin' him stupid," Brian said.

                "He was a teenage criminal," the cop said.

                "He was gifted! Nobody understands, is all."

                "What do you mean?"

                "The cops are the ones that can't catch a goddamn seventeen year old. Either he's a genius or the cops are dumbasses."

                "You have a problem?" the cop said. His face said that whether or not he did it didn't matter. Brian began to sweat. Did the cop know? He opened the blade.

                "Naw, naw, it's just... childhood memories, you know? I guess I feel for him. Whatever happen'd tuh the guy?"

                "We think we found him. We can't be sure, though."

                " Yeah, ne'er can be, these days," Brian said.

                "So you remember the guy?" the cop asked.

                "Yeh, yeh. Genius."

                "I don't know, it seems like he's just making the same mistakes over and over again."

                "Maybe he wants you to find him." Brian said.

                "That's a curious way to look at it. What makes you say that?" Now the cop was sweating.

                "I don't think a guy that smart would let you find him unless he wanted to be found."

                "You sound different."

                "I'm smarter than people think, David Strey."

                "How do you know my name?" the cop said. Brian smiled. "Ha ha, well it's been nice talking to you Edwa- I mean Brian, it really has, I see nothing wrong here, we're all good, isn't that right?"

                "Sure is, Dave. Bye." The cop walked through the porch and climbed into his little black car. He reached for the ignition. He stopped and looked back at the house. Brian stood at the window, watching and grinning. He waved. David grimaced in fear and again gripped the key. Brian's smile grew wider. David clenched his eyes, and when he turned the keys...

 

                Bang! The car rumbled to life. David breathed deeply, and screamed. Brian was laughing through the window. And for the first time in a long time, David was scared for his life. He started for the station.

                He grabbed his walkie-talkie. Man, they are gonna s**t themselves when they hear this, he thought. He was gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles were white. He was driving past the speed limit. "Hey, Strey reporting back from Brian McClellan's place," he said into the radio.

                "Gotcha Dave, what's up?"

                "He's our guy. Hold on,  I'm about to pull in to the lot-" Dave pulled into the department. Another officer approached his window.

                "He's our guy? Really?" the officer said.

                "Yeah, man, you guys are gonna s**t yourselves when I tell you what just happen-"

                The car exploded.

 

Author's Note

Probably need to work on setting- it seems sort of dislocated because of the lack of it. I tried to focus on dialogue here. All input helps, it really does!

Reviews

[Marie]

THis is almost awfully good. You lost it when it got near the end. Why did Dave scream when nothing really had happpened yet? Why was he afraid? Work with this a little.