Food Rage

This was my submission for a 750 word short story for Writer's Digest.

“You’re in trouble doughboy.” said Sergeant Atkins.

Cop clichés appear again and again on T.V. shows and in movies for a reason, there is some truth to them. Perhaps the most well known and therefore truest of these familiar scenes is the “good cop bad cop” routine. Trust me, it works. The best way to get a confession out of a sobbing butterball like Duncan Starger was, is to have one dick be his buddy while the other one becomes Torquemada.

“Look at me when I’m talking crap-stack!”

Atkins always played the boogieman, sick bastard probably loved those Saw movies. It was hard to argue with his methods though, he almost always got results and from the way this sack of Jello was wobbling I figured it was only a matter of time before he confessed to the whole thing.

Atkins and I were called into investigate a series of arsons at several Krispy Kreme donut franchises around North West. Setting fires is a big no-no anywhere, but DC has seven different law enforcement services. That makes burning down a donut shop like abducting the commissioner’s daughter, very stupid. On top of picking bad targets Stager was spotted fleeing the latest scene on a motor-scooter with two Molotov cocktails in the saddlebags. I’m surprised he made it as far as he did, between the helicopter, the seven police cars, and the secret service van; he had zero chance of making a getaway. It was a bike cop that nailed him in the end, jumped right off his cycle and tackled him.

“No, no it wasn’t me. I, I, I’d ne-never do that.” Starger said.

He had one of those high pitched voices that made you want to cram a plunger over his mouth.

“Look, Duncan, we’re going to do what we can for you, but Molotov cocktails, those are pretty serious.” I said

“Th-those aren’t mine. I sw-swe swear.”

Running this meatball into the ground was taking a surprisingly long time. There was no question that he was guilty, but a confession was still a hell of a lot cheaper than the lab work to actually prove that he did it, so until he cracked, there was no going home.

“You make me sick! How much do you weigh lardo?” said Atkins.

“Th-three, th-three, th-three-“

“Yeah yeah, so what do you got against donuts huh? Big fella like you must put them away by the box.”

“I love donuts, it’s just that, it’s just that, th, th, the.”

“Spit it out big boy.”

“Krispy Kreme is bullcrap.”

All of a sudden Atkins and I were looking at a different person. Duncan wasn’t shaking anymore, his voice dropped an octave and he was eyeballing both of us like he was ready to take a bite.

“Is that so?” I asked.

“Factory processed trash, if you ask me.”

Atkins opened his lunch box and brought out a small bag with orange and pink lettering. He pulled out a confection slathered in half-melted chocolate frosting and set it on the table between them. If I had known what he was planning, I would have stopped him.

“What’s that?” asked Atkins, smiling.

“That my friend, is a real donut, Boston crème if I’m not mistaken. Freshly baked, hand stuffed, and served with a smile that’s the way it’s supposed be, anything else is just garbage.”

“Atkins what are you-“

Suddenly, the sergeant brought his fist crashing down on the pastry sending a spray of crème and sprinkles everywhere. Seeing the donut destroyed like that sent Starger over the deep end. Despite the fact that the tables are bolted into the ground he flipped it over like it was made of cardboard sending me straight into the wall. Atkins tried to pull his gun but Starger threw him into the one-way mirror and then crushed him against it with his big fat body. When I came to I could see Atkins flailing getting weaker and weaker and figured I only had one chance to save him. I jammed my taser into Starger’s back and let him have it. He squealed like a branded hog and passed out.

Atkins was in the hospital overnight for his busted ribs. Starger ended up in some nut house, split personalities they call it. The interview room still smells like bacon left out on a hot day. This job may be half clichés, but occasionally something comes along they would never put on T.V.