CONTROL PATROL

BY JAVAROD

Rodney pulled his truck to the curb with a sharp squeak of brakes that were overdue for a service. Looking at the field, he shook his head, "Silly thing, just running in circles, 'least it'll be an easy take down."

Shutting the truck down, the old girl shuddered badly and he sighed, fifteen years of this, half way to retirement, they'd been a team for that long. He looked forward to retirement, the only good thing about being a public servant.

Pulling himself form the truck, you'd be forgiven for mistaking him for a garbage man, dressed in a generic city employee uniform that'd needing replacement for a while, he ran his hand through his thinning brown hair as he watched his prey, three cinches in his hand. Silly ebony male was just running around in circles, the excitement of his new found freedom over and replaced with the panic of being lost in this big bad world.

Lumbering over there, slow more because of his weight than his age, Rodney unholstered his gun, watching him freeze, hoping he'd get off a shot before he ran. Black, but his face wasn't right, perhaps a bit of Irish in there, but likely as fast as their race always was. A small puff was heard as the air powered dart shot forward, trailing a wire behind it, catching him in the thigh.

Impassively he watches the electricity dart down the wire, the male tensing as it shoots through him, dropping him to the ground in a panting sweating mess. Strolling up, Rodney pulls the dart from his thigh, "There, there, it'll be alright," stroking him as he grabs the male's limbs in pairs, cinching them, then using a third cinch to join them. Pulling out a carry handle, he locks it around the bonds, picking him up, carrying him over to the truck with a grunt. Unclipping his keys from his belt, he unlocks one of the right side cages, sliding him in there, unfastening the carry handle before locking the door.

Better he's on the right in the rear, that way I don't need to listen to him whine, dunno why the other guys get such a kick from it he thought. Booting up his computer, he filled out his paperwork, one of the joys of civil service as his radio chimed. Picking up the mike, he listened, nodding, a treed female, young, owner unknown, few blocks away. Sighing he told them he'd get over there right away, cursing as now he'd probably have to justify over time.

Starting up the truck, he slipped it into gear, a shudder running through the old girl as he hit the road, sighing and talking to himself, "When are they going to learn, keep 'em licensed and leashed like the law says, what's wrong with parents these days."