21 Jump Street (Tom Hanson)

The Dreaded Return of Russell Buckins

Late February 1989
Mickey's POV

Tom and I had not really talked about what happened on the morning of my finals tests for college, or the night by the sea. I talked that night through with Tom before going to my mandatory therapist appointment, and I was good to go back to work. We quickly became distracted when we heard that someone had written an article in a magazine about Jump Street.

I got to work in a relatively good mood. The moment that I sat down at my desk, Judy came up to me with a sickeningly cheerful smile and her hands behind her back. "Good morning. I hope you have had your morning coffee because I'm gonna tell you some things. One, I hope you have a great day."

I chuckled and asked, "what are you talking about?"

"Second, I'd like you to take a look at this." Her smile dropped and she handed me a magazine opened to the page of the hostile article.

My eyebrows scrunched together as I took the magazine from her. I leaned back in my chair as she retreated back to her own desk. I was going to ask her what it was about, but once I started reading, it became abundantly clear and my jaw dropped.

Everyone had their own copy of a magazine that outed the entire Jump Street program, written by Tom's very very good friend, Russell Buckins. It printed lies that make the program look bad, and truths that make the secret program known to the public. All in all, it's very bad. We could all lose our jobs over this.

Russell Buckins was the guy who somehow talked Tom into wrestling a bear for a few hundred bucks at a sketchy bar off of the interstate a year and a half earlier. I met him once, and it was more than enough. I do not like Russell Buckins.

"'A Bruce Lee clone who swiped Don Johnson's wardrobe'?" Ioki asked as he approached Tom's desk. "Where does your friend get off printing this bull? It's your fault man!"

"I know, Harry, I'm sorry, all right?" Tom said while sitting at his desk, dialing a number, and putting the phone up to his ear. I was standing off to the side, flipping through my copy of the magazine with steam blowing out of my ears.

"You're here, so Buckins must be dead, right?" Doug asked as he came over. He wore a red plaid flannel over a white shirt with a black baseball cap.

"Go away, I'm a little busy," Tom said. He held the phone reciever up to his ear and said, "hi, yes, I'm looking for one of your writers, a Russell Buckins? Well, this is his cousin. It's a family emergency. Yeah, I'll hold."

Doug walked off and I replaced him and stood in front of Tom. I dropped the magazine in front of him on the page that talked about me and glared at him coldly, "'hot-headed broad who will do anything to get your children arrested'?! Is that code for a sex thing?! Is this because I yelled at him at that bar?"

"I'm on the phone, please," Tom said to shut me up.

Doug came back to the desk after snatching a magazine and said as he opened the magazine for the direct quote, "hey, hey, this 'typical bruiser type who has fallen off of his motorcycle one too many times'. Is that supposed to be me?"

I wanted to laugh because it was a little too accurate, but it was certainly not the time. I snatched my daily iced chai tea, courtesy of Booker, from my desk and took a sip.

"And what is this about preening in front of the ladies room mirror?" Judy barged into the conversation. She slammed the magazine down on the desk. She was pissed. Hell, we all were.

Tom was still on the phone. "Buckins, yeah. San Francisco, really?"

"Captain's comin'." Doug leaned down to whisper to him. "Make a run for it."