Cop Craft – Dragnet Mirage Reloaded

Book 2: First Night (1)

The rust-colored glow of the evening shone upon the junkyard.

Piles of nothing but cars, cars, and cars. From a Ford to a GM, a Nissan to a Toyota. Even a Renault, a Fiat and a Volkswagen were there.

A graveyard of cars. There were some whose engines had been taken out. A few were missing their tires. And still, others were left with no seats at all. They were all destined to meet a gruesome fate; lifted violently by the crane to be crushed under the press.

Come to think of it, I havent been to Ais grave in a while.

Detective Kei Matoba thought idly.

Adjusting his sunglasses, he glanced at his wristwatch. Although he wanted to smoke, the wind was blowing in the direction of the Russians he was meant to observe, thereby forcing a change of plans.

Right now, Matoba was hidden in the shadow of a rusted sedan, all alone.

Beyond the scrap heap lay a ramshackle warehouse approximately three hundred yards away. A number of cars shiny, brand-new ones, by the way stopped by its side.

Matoba. Any movements on their side?

Through his wireless earphones, Inspector Bill Zimmers voice sounded out.

The Russians? Not really. Well, they look like they just wanna get this over with, get a drink and go straight home, to be perfectly honest.

Moron. No unnecessary chatter.

Scuse me.

Shrugging his shoulders, Matoba peeked at the Russians. Four armed men by the cars. One sniper. Concealed atop a neighboring scrap pile, he surveyed his companions with his rifle, equipped with a holographic scope. This guy was probably insurance just in case the deal goes awry.

Inspector Zimmer announced.

The Semanians just passed through the gate. Two vehicles. Matoba, can you confirm from your position?

Not yet wait, I see them now. They the blue Volvo and the green VW?

Turning the corner towards the dilapidated warehouse, the two cars slowed down. The sound of tires on gravel. These two parked right in front of the Russians. Two Semanians got out from the Volvo leading the pack.

Two criminal organizations meeting face-to-face to make a deal. That was the current situation.

All units, standby.

Zimmer whispered through the comms.

The Semanians inhabitants of a fantasy world located beyond the boundaries of hyperspace, connected through theMirage Gatethat floats in the ocean nearby San Teresa.

This very morning, the police had received a tip-off indicating that these Semanian smugglers would be conducting some form of black-market exchange with a group of Russians here in this junkyard. Prior to this report, they had already monitored the Russians for quite some time.

The information had come from an individual at an information hub Matoba frequented, a woman working at the Topless Bar over by Methuselah Street. She had overheard a Russian customer discussing the venue in secret. According to her, Susan, the Russians in question were to hand over a large number of AK-47s, hand grenades, and contraband to the Semanians. Three days ago, Matoba had heard from other informants that the Russians were looking for buyers for their weapons. As such, he could not simply brush aside Susans account.

And here they are now, meeting as expected. Doesnt seem as though Susie was gossiping Matoba chuckled to himself.

Maintaining a certain distance from one another, the Russians and the Semanians exchanged words. The leader of the Russians was a skinhead with a large build. On the other hand, the Semanians were led by a brown-skinned man with a muscular frame. His age on Earth would be thirty years or so.

There was not a shred of hospitality present in their conversation. Satisfying a minimal level of confirmation, men from each group retrieved the goods from their respective vehicles. The Russians took out several wooden boxes, whereas the Semanians prepared a single, large casket.

(A casket?)

Doubts lingering in his mind, Matoba continued his surveillance. One of the Russians pried the lid off a box, revealing its contents an assault rifle. With an exaggerated gesture, he moved the bolt back and forth, checking to see if the barrel was empty, before finally tossing it over to a Semanian.

Bingo.

Matoba muttered. If all those boxes were filled with more of the same, it would definitely be possible to lock these guys up for about fifty years or so. They handle this right, they might just get a shot at their smuggling route in the North Pacific.

This is Matoba. Reporting confirmation of the goods.

You sure?

I can see it from here as well.

Another voice joined in on the conversation. It was his colleague, Detective Tony Mcbee.

Lots of AK-47s. Maybe theyre going to war somewhere?

Okay, take them into custody! All units! Go! Go! Go!

Zimmer shouted. All at once, sirens began ringing out throughout the scrapyard. Several patrol cars came out of the woodwork, their engines revved, flooding the scene of the crime.

Police! Throw away your weapons!

The declaration from the megaphone echoed out into the surrounding area. Caught in the act and blinded by the flashing lights, the confused gangsters proceeded to ignore the warning, blasting their weapons at the police. Full-auto submachine guns were fired at will. Sparks erupted from the hoods of the patrol cars. Uniformed police officers returned fire with their shotguns under the cover of their car doors. Having deployed a police sniper beforehand, the Russian sniper was summarily put out of commission, tumbling down from the scrap heap.

Escaping from the gunfight, one of them staggered towards Matoba.

Good grief. They better give me overtime for this.

Grabbing the shotgun leaning against the car nearby, Matoba burst out of the shade. Pointing his gun towards the runaway, he yelled sharply.

Freeze!

The man disregarded the order, choosing instead to retaliate with a hail of bullets.

His submachine gun opened fire with glee, raining bullets all over Matobas surroundings. In that instant, Matoba gave up on returning fire, hunkering down behind a nearby wreck.

Shit, Im gonna lose the initiative at this rate. Fuck the police.

He stuck out his gun from cover, firing a single shot. The man leaped back in surprise, before taking off in another direction. Pulling back the pump of his shotgun, Matoba immediately chased after the offender.

Eventually, they arrived at a cramped alley hidden in between the piles of cars. Even now, Matoba felt as though these innumerable stacks of metal would collapse on him at any second. The figure of the runner was slowly sinking into the depths of the darkness.

He was no longer obligated to warn Freeze!. Matoba aimed his shotgun at the man, letting loose a shell.

A short scream, followed by a volley of curses.

As he advanced forward in an attempt to check on the fellow, the man tenaciously stood his ground in the darkness. Stubborn asshole, aint he? The resulting ricochet produced a shrill, piercing noise, much like the cutting of metal, prompting Matoba to rush towards the front. If he had simply hesitated out of panic, he would be in a much worse situation right about now. Adopting a low posture to creep past the corridor, the man finally came into view. Placing a hand on the hood of one of the crushed vehicles, Matoba drew back before pointing his weapon at the man.

He shot, his buckshot making contact with the culprits right arm. Closing on his opponent as he dropped the submachine gun in his hands, Matoba slammed the butt of his gun against the back of his neck. It was a heavy blow. The man mumbled something as he crashed into a rusted car, falling on his backside.

Giving me nothin but trouble.

Urghh

Kicking away the fallen submachine gun, Matoba grabbed the offender by the nape, forcefully throwing him onto the ground. Swiftly searching the man, he grabbed the heavy pistol that came tumbling down the mans coat. The guy was bleeding, but it was nothing to write home about.

Oi, you understand English?

Fuck.

Seeing signs of resistance coming from the Russian, Matoba roughly pressed his head onto the floor.

Seems like you do.

At that time, he heard the sound of a pistol being drawn nearby.

Before he realized it, another Russian had pointed his revolver at Matoba. He was still young, and yet he calmly kept Matoba right in his sights. That glint in his eyes. Probably ex-military.

He blundered. He failed to notice the presence of the second man.

Get away from him, policeman.

The man said. Matoba let go of the arrestee, slowly standing up.

At this rate, Im dead meat. No, before that

With his mind occupied on other matters, the Russians exchanged words in their mother tongue. Afterwards, the wounded man ordered the youth.

Kill him.

As soon as he said that, a white shadow descended from above.

A sharp, silver light glittered in its wake. In an instant, the hand of the man holding the revolver was dancing in the air. A blood-curdling scream followed soon after. Leaping down from the scrap heap, the girl had used her thin longsword to slice the mans wrist off all the way to the bone.

As she recovered from the landing, the girl turned to face the man, intent on delivering the finishing blow.

Stop it!

Matoba shouted. Mere inches away from slitting his neck, the longsword stopped right on cue. Without skipping a breath, the petite lady shot a look at Matoba.

A doll-like face. Tender, white skin. And immaculate blonde hair.

The young girl looked out-of-place being here.

This man was trying to kill you, Kei. Is there even a need to show him mercy?

The Semanian girl, Tilarna Exedilika, said.

Hes not putting up a fight. Arrest him.

Hrm

Tilarna brandished her sword. In the blink of an eye, her blade had returned to the sheath strapped to her waist. The Russian youth, face pale and stricken, stiffly got down on his knees, cradling the leftover stump that had once been his right hand.

Ill see to his wounds. You take that asshole over there to the Chief and the others.

Very well.

Handing over the reins of the other man to Tilarna, Matoba checked on the amputees condition. After telling him to apply pressure on the wound, he went to pick up the severed limb from the ground. Unpleasant for sure, yet he could not deny the magnificence of the cut. If this guy was sent to the hospital right away, they might somehow still be able to stick it back on. Still, even with the best surgery, it would probably be impossible for him to hold a gun any longer. Well, its probably for the best.

Hey, if you dont wanna die, get going Ah, and Tilarna!

Matoba called out to Tilarna, who was struggling to put handcuffs on the Russian.

What is it?

Make sure you read him his rights. Just like I taught you.

Understood.

Taking in a deep breath, Tilarna read out his rights in an exaggerated voice.

Listen closely, o villainous Dorini! Thou shalt not be permitted the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney. Purify thy body, kneel, confess all thy sins to the world! Otherwise, in the name of Great Lubarna, thou shalt be smitten where thou standeth.

Aint that completely different from what I said!?

Matoba stopped in his tracks, smacking the newbie detective on the head.

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