Overshoot - Part 1

A few minutes later, the cops arrived and started yelling at Jamal, telling him to get on the ground and put his hands behind his back. Before he could do it, they struck him with their batons. He grunted in pain so they hit him again. And again, and a few more times for some kind of sick sadistic pleasure. 

Finally, they started questioning him. 

“Whose house is this, boy?” 

“Mine”

They hit him again and repeated the question. 

He provided the same answer and again he was struck. 

“What were you doing?”

“Burying a body.”

“Ask him his name, you idiot!” The senior cop interrupted the one questioning Jamal. “He’ll walk if you don’t mirandize him.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Jamal… Jamal Twist.”

“Jamal Twist you’re under arrest for the murder of… sorry Sarge am I supposed to know the vic’s name or…”

Sarge, the senior officer, sighed. His name actually was Sarge; he wasn’t a sergeant. He was a bitter, old-timey patrol officer who’d “seen it all”… which just meant he was jaded and unimaginably corrupt.

“I told them closing the academy and training you guys on AI was a bad idea. Nobody ever listens,” Sarge complained and slapped the back of his partner’s head, knocking his hat off. “Step aside, here’s how it’s done.”

“Now look here you stupid piece of shit,” Sarge said to Jamal. “Just tell Officer Incompetent here the stiff’s name so we can finish this dance, delete our bodycam footage, and use whatever you say against you anyway.”

“I don’t know his name,” Jamal said as he bled. “Some old dude hired me to bury him, said he’d pay me once it’s done, so I picked him up and brought him here.”

Both pigs laughed, one of them even snorted which Jamal found ironic. 

“Sure, he did. You got any proof of that?”

“Yeah,” Jamal replied. “It’s in my phone. Just call the last number and he’ll tell you.”

So, they did as he said and called the last number. 

The video call showed an old rich scumbag or maybe a sleazy poor one dressed exactly like Hugh Heffner - red velvet smoking jacket, pipe, and boat captain hat. 

“Sorry to disturb you, sir but we got a situation here…”

“What?” The old guy asked, high as a kite.

“Well…” Sarge cleared his throat. “We’ve got a black male, burying a body in someone’s backyard, says you hired him…”

“Keep your voice down!” The old guy screamed. He screamed that order several decibels louder than the average volume of everything that happened so far.

‘Ironic,’ Jamal thought again. 

“Yes,” the old sleazeball whispered. “I hired him to take care of my son, Hans. The little shit had a real problem with the world. Thought we oughtta be softer. Treat the poor better than my Corgies or some such bullshit. Probably gay too.”

(He didn’t actually say gay. He used the slur. I don’t use that word myself but I’m telling the story so just go with it.)

“So he was working under your orders?”

“Yeah, he was until you bozos interrupted him. Glad I’m not paying by the hour.”

Sarge and the rookie straightened up and backed away from Jamal. 

“We’re sorry, sir. We were just responding to a tip…”

“Spare me,” the old guy said. “Interrupt me at home again and I’ll have both your badges. Tell your Captain to make an appointment with my office tomorrow. I’ll be spitting in his mouth for this.”

“We understand, sir, apologies again and enjoy the rest of your evening,”  the cops said and hung up. 

“Well whaddaya know? The black guy was being honest after all.” Sarge mused. 

(Except he didn’t say “black guy”; you know what he said.)

Without a word, both cops left Jamal and proceeded to his neighbor’s house. The lady was at the door watching and listening to the whole debacle. 

“Evening Ma’am, I’m Officer Sarge, this is Officer Mills. You mind if we ask you some questions?”

With tears in her eyes, she nodded. 

“Were you the one who called…”

Before he could finish the sentence she burst into tears. 

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get a hold of yourself.”

“Sorry,” she replied, Mascara running down her botox-filled pillow face.

“Yes,” she continued. “I called but you gotta understand I really thought he was a murderer.”

“It’s alright. You just gotta pay the call-out fee and we’ll be on our way.”

She teared up again. “How… how much is it?”

“Seven thousand dollars and fifty cents, Ma’am.”

She gave them a look that said ‘I can’t pay that, I’m screwed aren’t I?’

Both cops recognised the look instantly. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen it tonight.

“I’m sorry,” she wept. “Can I at least say goodbye to my…”

Before she could finish, Mills shot her in the face, splattering blood and filler everywhere.

(Ok, maybe not everywhere. After all, you are reading this on Filler Free Fiction ;)

“Mills!” Sarge yelled, spitting out blood and gore. 

“Sorry Sarge, you want me to clean this up?”

“What are you, the maid? Just get the family to do it. If they complain, just threaten to frame them. Ughh… I need a shower. Unbelievable, she can afford the surgery but not a basic call out. What’s wrong with people these days?”