Police Acadamy 8: Big Apple Bust

Police Acadamy 8: Big Apple Bust

- Chapter 2 -


The next thing he knew, Leonard heard a sickening thud!, and he flinched at the sound. He did not want to find out what had just happened, but something impelled him towards the door. Looking down, he could just barely see Cousin Malcolm through the slats, lying motionless on the floor. Sweetchuck's stomach lurched as he saw a thick, dark red pool of blood around the body, and his throat tightened as a lump of sadness began to form. He just could not believe that his own relative would sacrifice himself to protect the location of the chip. What he did not realize, however, was that the chip was closer than he thought it would be. Soon after Malcolm's lifeless form slumped to the floor, Lenny heard the voices of the police commissioner's bodyguards.


"Split up and search the place." Frankie's gravelly, codingding voice was heard once again. "I want that chip found, or else heads are gonna roll when the commissioner finds out." Sweetchuck covered his mouth, attempting to muffle his breathing, which had increased with his heart rate. Footsteps then echoed throughout the apartment as the men went from room to room, digging in drawers and cabinets looking for the chip. One of the three opened up the door to Malcolm's home "office" and proceeded to sift through his collection of compact discs, trying to see if the chip was hidden behind one of them. After ransacking the rooms, the men regrouped around the luggage, which was still sitting there.


"We've found nothing, sir," one of the men answered. He sounded like an all-business, no-nonsense type.


"Yeah, we searched everywhere, boss," the other added, his voice sort of like the stereotypical "meathead". "No sign of the chip."


"Well, there's one place we haven't looked," said Frankie. At those words, Sweetchuck's body went numb with intense fear, every muscle in his body suddenly refusing to move.


"Where's that, boss?" asked the second of the two lackeys.


'Oh, NO! That means they're gonna search in here! Frankie'll open up the door and find me, then I could be next!' the frightened little man thought to himself. The next words out of the scarred guy's mouth, however, were not what he expected.


"Check the suitcases, dimbulb!" Frankie barked at the not-so-smart agent. "Take out everything in there and look through every article of clothing. The dweeb might've stuck it in one of his pants pockets or socks or something."


Sweetchuck silently breathed a sigh of relief; thankfully, the secret service agents hadn't thought to look in the closet that hid him from view. Hopefully, they would leave soon and he could make an escape from this place, maybe put a call in to the police and have them handle the situation, if they weren't all under the commissioner's control. He did not keep his hopes up because the bodyguards might turn around and discover him hiding inside the dark closet at any second. As he watched them rifle through his travel bags, he dared not make a sound. Minutes seemed like an eternity. Would those men *ever* leave?


After Lenny waited for what felt like forever, he peered through the slats to see that they had reached the bottom of the suitcases.


"That's it, sir," the first bodyguard finally declared, having searched half of the clothing and personal items that Sweetchuck had originally packed for his stay with Cousin Malcolm, as well as the luggage bags themselves. "I looked in every pocket of every shirt, jacket, and pair of pants, as well as any other places where the microchip would fit, and found nothing."


"Yeah, same here," the second man said to Frankie. "I checked all the rest of the clothes." There was a short pause. Frankie leaned down towards the less-intelligent agent.


"You *sure* about that, Bobby?" asked the man with the scarred face, his tone cool. The guy named Bobby knew what would happen if he gave the wrong answer, but he wasn't smart enough to lie about his end of the situation.


"Well, um, I did find this...." Bobby muttered while holding out a small black object in his right hand.


Leonard Sweetchuck nearly fainted when, through the slats, he could clearly see that the object Bobby was holding was his own service revolver! 'Oh no...' Sweetchuck thought nervously, 'no...no...no...'


Frankie did a double take.


"Impossible! What was Specs doing with a police-issued revolver in his suitcase? Where'd he get it from?" The large, bald bodyguard looked at the man across from Bobby. "Scott, did you know about this? Don't lie to me, because if you do and you knew about the nerd having a police gun, I'm gonna make sure you'll be joining him!" Scott put his hands up, now getting a little nervous, unusual for someone so composed as he.


"I-I didn't know a thing about it, sir," the one called Scott stammered in reply. "He could be an undercover cop or something and this job of his was just a cover-up."


"He's right, boss. Steve Urkel over there ain't on any of our police rosters," Bobby said, quickly coming to his partner's defense.


"Then what's he got a gun for, nimrods?!" bellowed Frankie, irate because these two men weren't giving him the answer he was looking for. Even Scott, who was brighter than Bobby, could not figure out why Malcolm had a police officer's revolver or how he got hold of it. Silently, Sweetchuck thanked God once more, for he had decided to keep his police badge and I.D.-which he had planned to show his cousin as proof of his graduation from the police academy-in his jacket pocket, rather than stick it in one of his travel bags. Had he done that, well…the consequences were too traumatizing for the poor guy to think about, he was already distraught enough from the chain of events which had occurred only minutes ago.


With each passing moment, tension built within the closet's lone occupant until the poor guy felt himself growing fidgity. Knowing that it was the worst possible thing he could do--what with the bad guys right outside the door, and he without a weapon--Sweetchuck struggled to remain as still and as silent as possible. For an eternity it seemed, the bodyguards remained in the apartment; Scott and Bobby arguing over who's fault it was that they hadn't found the chip. Finally, there was the sound of flesh meeting flesh as Frankie slapped both of them up side the head and ordered them to grab the 'stiff'.


There was bumps and thuds that jarred the closet door and caused Sweetchuck to tremble despite his best efforts. There was rustling as Frankie grabbed one of Malcolm's area rugs from the living area floor in order to wrap its owner in.


"Hurry it up, will you?" Scott griped at Bobby, who was trying to avoid the large puddle of blood spread over the wood floor which surrounded Malcolm's head and shoulders. By now the young man's face was taking on the pallor of death, and his skin felt cold to the touch.


"I don't want none of that on me," Bobby protested. "Someone'd figure out we committed a murder if they found blood on our hands."


"Just help me get him up, numbskull," the first agent growled. He was becoming impatient. "We gotta make tracks and take him with us. We can't have the landlord or someone else discover the body, it's too risky."


Resignedly, Bobby slipped his hands under Malcolm's shoulders as Scott grasped the ankles, then the two lifted the corpse and carried it over to the area rug. Sweetchuck's ears picked up muffled thumping as his cousin was rolled up inside the carpet and his heart began to sink even further towards his small feet. 'They should've had more respect for his body,' he thought, but then again these guys were criminals, so of course they felt no need to show dignity for an underhanded weasel like Malcolm.


When Malcolm had fallen to the floor, blood flowing from the exit wound in the back of his head, his glasses had flown off his nose. Frankie walked over, his shiny black shoes making a dull echo with each step. Lenny could see them through the slats of the door, followed by a hand as the man with the scar running down his face took the thick-rimmed spectacles and held them up, examining them for a moment. Suddenly, there was loud clicking as he flung them to the ground, then Frankie's big foot came down on the glasses, and Leonard cringed as the lenses splintered and cracked under the heavy pressure applied.


He felt his eyes welling up with hot tears of sadness and anger. He wanted so much to cry out, to come bursting out of the closet and take revenge on his cousin's murderers. But Sweetchuck knew it would be foolhardy, and he could very well become their next victim if they found him hiding out in the closet. Still, he had to get out of the apartment and let someone know, it mattered not who it was, as long as they could provide help in bringing the criminals to justice and expose the police commissioner's shady deeds. Soon, Frankie spoke again.


"You two got him rolled up?" There were replies of affirmation from the two agents working under him. "Then let's hit the road. Move it!" The last two words reminded Sweetchuck of Captain Harris, who was on the other side of the country, and so were his friends. That gave him an idea. As soon as he escaped from this apartment of terrors, he would find a phone somewhere and make a long-distance call to the rest of the crew.


More thumps and grunts were heard as the two thugs picked up the corpse, which was now hidden within the rolled up carpet. From an oblivious observer's point of view it would simply look like a couple of burly guys packing an ordinary carpet. Not two accomplices disposing of the body for a man who had just murdered an innocent person in cold blood . As the group moved past the closet and out of the apartment, Sweetchuck took one last peek out the slated door, though his tears blurred his vision.


'Goodbye, Malcolm,' he thought sadly, but his face settled into a determined look. 'Don't worry, I'll make sure these guys pay for what they've done!'


Silently, he watched as Frankie waited until Scott and Bobby exited then turned to take one last cursory look around the apartment before closing the door behind him with a soft click of finality.


'Thank God!' Sweetchuck thought, finally allowing his body to relax for the first time since he had been shoved inside the closet over an hour ago. Waiting an additional five minutes to make sure the bad guys weren't coming back, Sweetchuck reached up slowly for the door knob, catching it with a hand that trembled in both nervousness and fright. It rested there for an additional minute, as if reluctant to turn it. As if it feared to release the latch, allowing its owner to leave the safe haven the dark closet provided. The slatted door acting as blinders to the chaotic world which had just erupted on the other side. Sweetchuck released a shuddering sigh, prompting his unwilling limb to do his bidding and let him out. He thought he might be becoming claustrophobic.


Battling to maintain control over his shot nerves, Leonard Sweetchuck carefully opened the door and glanced around. His eyes darted left, then right. Finally, he took a small step forward, doing his best to keep his shoes out of the blood pooled by the door. At the same time, about three flights down from the apartment, Frankie remembered something they had left in the apartment: Malcolm's broken glasses.

"You two keep going," he ordered his lackeys. "I'm going back for the geek's glasses. We don't want the evidence left behind."


Scott and Bobby nodded and continued down the numerous staircases leading down to the ground floor while Frankie hurried back up to retrieve the spectacles he had crushed only a short time ago. By now, Lenny had exited the broom closet and was walking around through the rooms. He felt as if he were wandering in a daze, his mind trapped in a mental fog. The tragic events he had witnessed earlier would remain with him for the rest of his life. The little man took a peek into his brother's office, which the men had trashed beyond recognition. After a long look inside, he turned away and headed towards anr ror room. He had just come out of the bedroom when, at that very second, Frankie re-entered the apartment. Sweetchuck had no time to react, feet seemingly nailed to the wood floor. The broad-shouldered bodyguard took one look at Lenny and his face contorted into a demonic snarl.


"Hey, what're *you* doing in here?!" he yelled.


As if by magic, Leonard was able to move his feet again, and he bolted. He skidded to a stop, frantically looking for a place to run, then turned to glance back; Frankie was running and swiftly coming closer. Sweetchuck found a door and sprinted into the room on the other side, slamming and locking the door behind him. Then it hit him…he'd just locked himself in the bathroom! Any minute now and that agent with the beefy arms would break down the door and corner him, leaving him with no way out. His eyes went to the window. Oh, well, Sweetchuck thought as he sighed. At least death by throwing himself out the window would save Frankie the trouble of shooting him, or doing something more horrible than that. Outside, Frankie was pounding on the door, then his footsteps were heard moving away from the bathroom. The agent dashed out of the apartment and down the hall, leaned his head over the railing, and called down to his accomplices.


"I found another one! He's in the bathroom! Drop the stiff and get up here so you can help me bash down the door!"


Bobby and Scott put down the rug and tromped up the stairs again. Once they reached the top, the three bodyguards burst back into the apartment and crowded around the door, trying to bust it in. Sweetchuck had moved to the window by this time, and with the aid of an overturned wastepaper basket, had managed to lift his head over the windowsill, prepared to jump. To his relief, and amazement, he found a series of stairs leading down to the ground. 'A fire escape!' Now was his chance to blow this popsicle stand!


Hoisting himself up and out over the ledge, Lenny lowered himself out onto the top of the fire escape, then started to make tracks down the winding staircase as fast as his short legs would carry him. After much kicking and banging of fists on the door, Frankie decided to take out his .357 Magnum and blast some holes in the door. Sweetchuck ducked as he heard the shots being fired, then the sound of a heavy foot shattering the door as it flew off its hinges. That only spurred him on faster, and at long last his feet touched solid ground again. Frankie, Scott, and Bobby burst into the bathroom, looked around, then ran to the window when they heard faint footsteps below in the alleyway. The bald agent stuck his head out and caught sight of Sweetchuck making a break for it onto the street. He pounded his fist on the sill.


"Damn you, you little rat!" he roared furiously. "I'm gonna kill you! Just you wait! I'm gonna come down there and shoot the crap outta you!" He and his accomplices made a beeline for the entrance to the apartment and hurry down the many stairs as quickly as they could. Outside the building, Lenny darted down the street, fearing for his life. He ran and ran, never once looking back at the apartment complex. Right now, Sweetchuck had one thing on his mind.


Survival.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*


TBC....


Rose: Um....yeah. I guess I lied about it lightening up in this chapter...Maybe the next one? Let's hope so! Tell us if you want to find out. REVIEW!