The Last Working Day

The near-fatal event of a veteran cop's last working day.

Inspector Mazibuko was in high spirits as he drove to work for the very last time. His office was holding a party that evening to honour him for his thirty two years of exemplary service to the police force. He sang along to the gospel tune playing in his car stereo. He felt fulfilled.

He turned off the major street and into the desolate dirty road that was a short cut to his station. Further up the short road, he picked up a group of people huddled together in suspicious posture. He stopped singing and sat up in his driver’s seat, deftly turning the stereo’s knob clockwise, killing the music.

He drove slowly past the group and saw a smallish woman trapped by four mean looking men. Eight fierce eyes peered at him menacingly. He had been long enough in the force to know immediately that a mugging was in progress.

For a second or two, Inspector Mazibuko considered his options. He could drive quietly to work and collect his prizes and retire in relative peace at the end of his shift but the fear in the old woman’s eyes stuck in his mind. He knew it would lodge there even long after his retirement.

He looked through his side mirror and gauged that the group was about 100 meters behind him. Altruism overtook concern over personal safety.

Instinctively, he patted his service pistol on his waist for reassurance. He spun his car in a screeching u-turn and raced towards the bedazed criminals as the smell of burning rubber trailed his dash.

Noticing the presence of their unwanted guest, the crooks turned to look at the car approaching them at high speed. Their options were not many.

Inspector Mazibuko swerved towards the pavement and jumped out of the car in one swift movement. The open door covered most part of his body except his head and the cocked gun that pointed at the criminals menacingly.

“Hands in the air,” he shouted in his cultured stern voice.

All four criminals ran off with one of them grabbing the woman’s handbag.

Inspector Mazibuko gave chase. He enjoyed chasing criminals because they always assumed that they would outrun the old madala in uniform. They eventually realize their error of judgmental shortly into the deadly race. Inspector Mazibuko hadn't been a 12 times winner of the Gauteng marathon race for nothing. At the intersection, the crooks scattered in different directions.

Undeterred, he pursued the one clutching the handbag.

When the target criminal realized that he was rapidly losing ground, he dropped the handbag and disappeared.

Inspector Mazibuko stopped and holstered his pistol. He picked up the handbag and returned it to the petrified woman.

She was not a day less than seventy. She thanked her uniformed rescuer as she collected her handbag. She was shaking like a Jacaranda leaf caught up in a windy maelstrom.

Inspector Mazibuko offered to drop her at the nearest bus stop and she went towards the passenger’s door.

He bent to unlock the driver’s door when three shots rang out and shattered the relative dullness that was a part of the landscape of such empty dead ends. His head hit the car roof as he fell forward. He slumped and lay sprawled face down on the dirty asphalt road.

The old woman screamed.

A white golf with three occupants sped past and disappeared at the end of the road.

The old woman ran to him and raised his head from the floor and looked into his closed eyes. She cradled his head and scanned the road but there was no soul in sight. Tears streamed down her cheeks from hollow grey eyes as the old woman wept bitterly.

She placed her handbag that the lifeless man just recovered from the criminals on the road and lowered Inspector Mazibuko’s head on top of it. She stood up and looked up the road, wondering where she could go for help. She took two tentative steps and stopped as she heard some ruffling noise behind her. She turned and opened her mouth in a whimper of stifled scream.

The old woman fainted.

Inspector Mazibuko leant on his car for support as he rubbed his swollen forehead, bent at the waist. He straightened up to steady himself as three spent bullets fell off his back with a clinking noise on the asphalt road. Inspector Mazibuko patted his uniform and the bulletproof vest underneath before he took his mobile phone to summon help from his colleagues at the Orange Grove Police Station.

Reviews

[Maya Storm]

Look over a few things:
-The old woman fainted (needs a period at the end)
-Inspector Mazibuko leant of his car for support (over his car... on his car)

That's it... it end with "...took his mobile phone to summon help from his colleagues at the Orange Grove Police Station." The technical aspects of your story is good, but the story ends abruptly...

I was at the edge of my seat reading,... getting worked up, the story is wonderful and I was expecting more to happen.... Overall a good story

[nonno noo]

Awesome narrative! I really found the short sentences (eg. "the old woman screamed.") to be highly effective. They pack a nice punch.

[S Sanders]

Yeah, I was on the edge of my seat, too. I am glad that he didn't die, because I was going to be really upset if he did. I do agree w/Mya on the grammar aspects, such as in paragraph 11; the sentence should probably read as, "Inspector Mazibuko hadn't been a 12 times winner of the Gauteng marathon race for nothing. The suspense was good, though.

[Ike L. Obidike]

Thanks Maya.
A typo like the next observation. WIll fix them now.
I wanted to keep the story short though other readers pointed same out in my blog (http://blogs.news24.com/ikeobidike). Could have prolonged it further but remember, its a SHORT story....lol.

@ S. Sanders: I implemented the suggested change. It was actually what I wanted to put there but got a bit frustrated eventually and didn't. Tnx.

[Brittany W]

I really liked this, fantastic job.