Tales Between the Lines

V.2 The Escalation

The officer, whose name happens to be Edward,* reaches for his phone and dials Police Central. In the meantime, Ashley and Amber stand behind his broad back, vying for the shelter it provides from the still tongue-sticking ship. They peek over the officer's massive shoulders, hoping to catch another glimpse of the handsome alien.

"Police Central..." The female voice on the phone is an irritated drawl. "How can I help you." The non-question carries the resignation of an office clerk who has to put down the tabloid she was reading because her phone is ringing.

"Hey, this is Edward Edwalds, from street patrol, south side."

"Hey, EE!" Police Central's voice perks up. "Good to hear from you. Have you caught another 973?"

"Naw, it's an 855 this time."

"An 855?" She hesitates, and the shuffling of pages can be heard over the phone. "A... rabid rabbit?"

"Try again. The code numbers are in the margins. The numbers at the bottom of the page are page numbers."

More page shuffling.

"Ah, I see. An illegal alien," Police Central says. "Mexican?"

"Naw, Looks more like a Rigellian."**

"Rigellian? Is that in Latin America?"

"Naw... Look, it doesn't matter. Just send me a 327."

"Okay..." Shuffling. "Let's see... A doughnut lunch box?"

"That's 372." Edward rolls his eyes. "I need a 327... but, while you're at it, you can send the 372 as well."

"Um... 327, here it is... Are you sure of that?"

"Absolutely."

"But... the 327 is expensive." Police Central's voice is tight with budgetary concern.

"Never mind, just get me one."

"Okay... It's on its way."

"Thanks."

"It has been a pleasure serving you, EE. You know, we should—"

Edward taps the phone's disconnect button and sighs.

A rumbling can be heard in the distance.

———
* No, he's not sparkly
** This one Rigellian forgot his headwear. Sorry, @Reffster

~~~

Officer Edwalds smirks, aware it will only be minutes until the alien gets his well-deserved punishment for parking a spaceship in a public area right beneath a no-parking sign.

Edward Edwalds prides himself in neither discriminating Rigellians, nor Mexicans, nor Pelicans or beer cans. But if he hates something with a vengeance, it's parking offenders sticking out their tongues at an officer on duty.

The rumbling gets louder, shaking the tarmac and announcing the indisputable arrival of law and order.

Edward, unaware of the two teenage queens now clinging to his strong upper arms for support, puts his hands on his hips and stares the spaceship down.

The ship seems unconcerned by the policeman's prematurely victorious stare. Eyes still closed, it leisurely licks its lips, hiccups once, and spits out an empty cardboard pizza box.

Then it opens its eyes, bats long, silvery eyelashes that put Amber and Ashley's best efforts to shame, and starts to purr it's engine.

Meanwhile, the rumbling reaches teeth-shaking ferocity.

Edwards gets hold of his hat to prevent it from rattling on his hard skull. Amber sways on her four-inch heels, desperately holding onto the officer's shoulder while Ashley lies sprawled on the ground, wondering what hit her.

Ashley's desperate shriek for help is drowned by a wailing siren and the arrival of the district police's brand new anti-terror-and-street-battle-breaking special-unit tank, for convenience shortened to BNATASBBSUT.

Spray-painted by juvenile delinquents on probation, the one and a half storey high monstrosity blends in nicely with the surrounding city scene, camouflaged to near perfection. But the siren at its top, a couple of flashing blue lights here and there, and an orange stripe along its sides spell it out, loud and clear: we are a dead-serious, official contraption.

Spaceship blinks.

The wonderful illustration was created by the amazing EvelynHail — thank you so much for this transformation of our ramblings into art!

And then, the pizza box happened.