Push Hard

“Hanson, where the hell are you?” the Lieutenant screamed into his phone.

“You’re not going to believe this, chief,” I replied into mine. “I went to guard presidential candidate Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator like you asked, but then we went to South Dakota and rode a giant terrorist airship towards Area 52 until he and I brought it down. Pretty wild day.”

“I don’t care about your day. I don’t care if your paper boy brought you a hot fudge sundae with extra fudge!” he howled back. “I’ve got a job for you, you need to get to the Pookatoomi Building in Los Angeles, there’s a Die Hard situation going on there.”

“A Die Hard situation? Aw geez.” It seems like since that movie came out way back when, whenever a cop is in another city and some little trouble starts brewing, he immediately takes off his shoes and heads into the air ducts. “Can’t you send Agent Johnson?”

“Agent Johnson, Smith, Jones, and Shivolski are all on assignment, you’re the best of what we’ve got left Hanson,” he growled. “Don’t screw this up.”

“But what about catching Sylar?” I asked. “This is the Sicko Psycho Serial Killer Task Force, after all.”

“Don’t get me started on that Sylar crap. You’re still on my list about that crazy game show, losing to some guy in granny glasses and a soup bowl haircut. Now get to that Pookatoomi Building and take care of that situation!”

I said yes sir and quickly made my way to my new destination. The Pookatoomi Chocolate Company is a gigantic multinational candy conglomerate that started somewhere in Japan. I stalked up to what appeared to be the highest ranking local cop there and asked for a sitrep.

“There’s half a dozen terrorists keeping the people hostage,” he explained. “We have a man inside, John McStane, we’ve been talking to him over the radio.”

“Gimme that,” I took the radio from his hand. “Officer, this is Agent Audrey Hanson, FBI. I am here to negotiate the release of the chocolate hostages. What are you doing up there?”

“Who me? I just came here to drop the kids off at the pool,” he wisecracked back over the radio.

“Officer, what are you talking about?” I replied. “Do you have excrement for brains?”

“No, I brought my two kids here to swim in the condo pool,” he replied. “After I left them there, I noticed a guy with a machine gun and European shoes. Naturally I deduced that he was a European terrorist and I was right. So I dropped some mud on him.”

“You what?”

“There were a bunch of giant planters in the hallway here,” he replied. “I knocked him out with one and then I took his gun, took off my shoes, and went to the air ducts to get the others.”

“Listen here, Mister,” I barked into the radio. “We can’t have you going all poop crazy on us in there. My priority is to get those hostages out of there and safe. We can’t have you squeezing one out every time you see a terrorist. They’ll find you and then you’ll be up poop creek.”

“Hold on, I see one taking a steamer,” he replied. “Don’t worry, I got him, I dropped some logs on him.”

“You what?” I screamed. I looked at the police sergeant who just shrugged.

“He was walking through the steam room and I knocked him out with a giant tub of Lincoln Logs,” he explained. “There’s another in the bakery pinching a loaf of bread.”

“McStane!” I yelled.

“Don’t worry, I squirted Hershey’s syrup all over him and then knocked him out.”

“Dammit McStane, I need you out of there now!” I yelled.

“Oh my God,” he replied. “They’ve got a mule in there. They’re burning the mule! I repeat they’re burning a mule!”

“Why would they—?” My thought trailed off as I saw the flaming beast come running out the front door. Before anyone could react, the poor creature exploded right in front of the door, sending a SWAT team flying in all directions. “What kind of a maniac would burn a mule in an office lobby like that?”

“I don’t know,” the police sergeant shrugged. “Those guys in there must be nuts.”

“Wait a minute, the Sea Pickle!” McStane called over the radio.

“What?”

“The S.S. Sea Pickle is docked at the building next door,” he explained. “These guys burned the mule over here so they can take the service tunnel over to the dock to float away in the Sea Pickle.”

“Sergeant, send the SWAT team over to the dock,” I ordered. “Have them stop the Sea Pickle!”

A squad of police rushed over to the next building. There were a few quick bursts of gunfire then things grew quiet.

“We got ‘em,” the SWAT leader announced on the radio. “The remaining terrorists are now in our custody.

“Wow, that was some fancy deducing,” I complemented McStane. “How’d you figure that all out?”

“Just lucky I guess,” he replied. “I’m just an analog cop in a digital world.”

“Well, you’re all right in my book,” I answered? “In fact, you’re number one. No, better make that Number two.”