(xv.)

"Okay, on three."
"Okay."
"One--"
"Wait! Is it on 'three', or is there a 'go' after 'three'?"

The man with "JCIIE District Coordinator" stenciled on the back of his bulletproof vest sighed heavily. "On 'three'."

Another one smacked the first in the back of the head. "No one said anything about 'go', dumbass."

"Alright! Enough!" The District Coordinator screamed. "Let's just kick the door down -- on three -- and arrest whoever's inside."

"But--"
"What is it now, Louis?"
"What if it's the wrong person?"
"Well, then we--"

"--We don't make mistakes," someone blurted out.

Behind them, in the shadows, was a relatively slender man, in a crisply-ironed business suit, trying futily to light a cigarette. "Even if they aren't the one you originally set out to arrest, arrest them anyway. Haul their ass to Washington and see what they know."

"But, sir, isn't that--"
"That's what I told you to do. Now break down the Goddamned door."


"Alright... on three..."
"Okay... let's go..."
"One..."
"I don't know 'bout this..."
"...two..."
"Are we sure this is the right adress?"
"...three!"

The District Coordinator smashed through the door with a tremendous BAM.


"...Uh, sir?"
"What is it?" He demanded, still trying to light his cigarette.
"...Well, th-there's no one in here. It's empty."

He growled, before throwing down his cigarette. "I hate this fucking job," he mumbled, before glancing over his shoulder. "Go arrest whoever's in that house," he said, pointing to a random home.

"But, why?"
"Because they have lawn gnomes," he said, calmly, "and lawn gnomes suck."


[chapter xvi]