novel 1

The smell was the first thing that penetrated Mick Kellman’s mind. Thick, putrid, it hung in the air like a blanket and clung to every fiber of your body. He’d seen crashes before. Hell, he was a cop, he’d seen everything. But this was something else. The entire highway had been affected. He glanced at the twisted metal that had once formed two cars: a silver Chevy, and a black Passat. He slumped down beside his partner, Charlie Makenroe, and surveyed the scene.
There was debris everywhere. Small bits and pieces to huge twisted chunks, and some suspiciously squishy looking bits that Mick didn’t even want to think about. There were also people. Onlookers who had jumped out of their cars at the sign of trouble (what is it with people and drama?), policemen (Mick spotted Tracy Ostter, the police chief, picking through rubble), and those damned CSI’s. They seemed to pop up at every scene, even if it was obviously an accident. They got all the credit from those TV shows. Did people really think that’s how it was? The only thing they do is-
“Stop.” came Charlie’s voice.
“Stop what?”
“Stop mentally cutting down the CSI’S. They’re not bad guys, you know.”
“How did you know?”
“You do it every time.”
“Well it’s not my fault they get all the credit for everything.”

Tracy Ostter walked up to the two, a scowl stuck on to her withered old face.
“You two apes done muckin’ around?” Mick and Charlie opened their mouths, but she continued. “Good. The medics are just packing up. The driver of the Chevy is being sent to the ICU, he’s still got a fighting chance. But the two passengers in the Passat,” she said, pointing to the twisted wreckage, “were killed on impact.” She flipped through her notes, checking if she missed anything. Satisfied, she closed her notebook and headed back to her car, calling over her shoulder, “you two goons do whatever it is you do. I’ll be at the station.”

The two police watched her bitterly as she climbed into her car to drive back to her nice wooden mahogany desk, with its customized nametag, and its fancy computer-
“Stop, please.” Groaned Charlie, rolling his eyes. “Your so predictable.”
“Hag.” Mick muttered. Charlie snorted.
“Shit, Mick. Can you make friends with anyone?” Mick sighed and heaved himself off the car.
“That’ll be the day. Now come help me with this mess.” He picked his way carefully among the burning bits of car, over to where two rookies were setting up police tape.

“Hey, can anyone here update me?” called Mick. One of the rookies turned around, and Mick was caught off-guard by his young appearance. “Geeze, your just a kid!” the boy looked at him indignantly.
“No, Sir! I’m twenty years of age next week, sir.” The kid stood tall, towering over Mick and Charlie who had come over to see what was going on.
“ At ease, soldier.” Mick joked. The rookie flushed.
“Sorry, my names Steven carter. The accident occurred at approximately two o’clock this afternoon, the victims were Ellen and James Patrick. Tom Brown was the only survivor.”
He finished up proudly. Charlie smiled.
“You know your facts. Can you tell me which car belonged to the victims?” Carter beamed and nodded.
“Yes, sir, the black Passat.” Mick patted the boy on the shoulder.
“Thanks, you’ve been a lot of help.” Before carter could answer, Mick turned and stalked away. Charlie ran to catch up with him.
“Let me guess, you hate rookies.” Mick grimaced and nodded. He walked up to the trunk of the Passat, where three other police were attempting to pry it open. Mick leaned in to Charlie and whispered,
“Check out these guys. All brawn and no brains.” Charlie chuckled.
“Yeah, well, they get the job done.” He motioned towards the, now open, trunk of the car where three burly cops, presumably rookies, were high fiving each other.

Charlie walked over and Mick trailed along behind him.
“Good job, guys.” Charlie smiled. “Now we have some business to take care of. You can go.” But the large rookies stood their ground. One stepped forward.
“We opened it. We get to see what’s in it.” The others nodded in agreement. Mick rolled his eyes and trudged forward, flipping open his badge and flashing his I.D.
“Official police business, important people only. No rookies aloud.” He snapped, looking pointedly at the one who had spoken. The rookies face reddened.
“Fuck you, man.” He said stepping forward. “I’m-“ he was cut off by Mick shouting,
“I don't care who you are! Last time I checked, you were insignificant, inconsequential, unimportant and, all and all, expendable, and I'm not! So beat it, kid!” the rookie looked surprised and motioned to his friends to leave, but not before each of them had their turn at flipping Mick off. To which he just grinned.

Once they were alone, Charlie confronted Mick,
“What the hell was that?” Mick looked at him calmly.
“What was what?”
“That!”
“What?”
“That outburst back there!” Charlie cried. “Don’t make me go therapist on you.”
Mick shrugged. “I don't let people walk all over me. Plus that guy needed to be deflated. Now are you gonna help me open this sucker, or am I gonna have to call them back here?”