Crusher Retires

Crusher was dreaming.  The years were catching up on him, too many years chasing too many criminals, finding missing people, tracking down lost dogs and children and having to cope with his nemesis, the odious Chief Constable Tranker. He had dealt with the local hard man, the legendary Big Willy plus he had dealt with delinquent teenagers. He had freed hostages and survived being shot at while wearing bulletproof vests, he had brought endless villains to justice, but maybe the time had come. Retirement beckons. He’d done his bit; it was time to hand over to a younger dog. Getting up in the morning was getting harder; the enthusiasm was waning.

Unfortunately, taking official retirement would involve all sorts of functions, as even he understood that he was a bit of a local celebrity. During his long career, his media profile had brought plaudits from around the world, much to the great annoyance of Chief Constable Tranker. Despite basking in the glory of Crusher’s spectacular successes in keeping the less desirable elements off the streets any event that gave any publicity to anyone or anything other than him caused the Chief Constable to lose sleep.

Crusher was woken up by the sound of the telephone ringing, his handler PC Sharon lifted the receiver, a puzzled look showed.

“We’re on our way.” She said quietly

“Wake up, you lazy dog, the Chief Constable has gone missing.”

“Missing is the best place for him.” Mused Crusher, who opened one eye, yawned and returned to his slumber.

CRUSHER, THIS IS SERIOUS! HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED!! Yelled PC Sharon.

“So what; whoever they are, they can keep him, if they demand a ransom, you should offer them more to keep the despicable nerk.”

“I know what you are thinking, Crusher, but he is our superior officer.”

“The only superior bit is his ego, it’s so huge that even his own shadow avoids him.“ Thought Crusher

They arrived at the police station. The duty sergeant gave them an update.

“We’ve had a ransom demand.”

“How much?” Asked PC Sharon

“5 million pounds in bitcoin.”

“£5 MILLION!! They have got to be joking.” Thought Crusher.

“What’s the going rate for a Chief Constable these days?”

“Why would anyone pay even a fiver to get him back?”

“£5 million, how many jammy doughnuts would that buy? Surely that could provide a lifetime supply.”

Crusher’s liking for the sugary confectionery was well known in police circles (see Crusher in Trouble)

PC Sharon addressed Crusher.

“There’s not much we can do unless our lads find where they are keeping him, but we need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Just think, Crusher, if you rescue the Chief Constable, how grateful he will be.”

Crusher glared at his handler.

“If I had my way I’d leave the vacuous, malodorous  toffee nosed, pompous waste of space to whatever mess he is in” Thought Crusher. “The guy only has two brain cells and they are fighting for third place, just think, did he study to be a moron or is he naturally gifted?”

“Just wake me up when you need me.”

It has to be said that when it comes to Chief Constable Tranker, Crusher is not overflowing with the milk of human kindness. Using the duck principle, if it waddles like a duck, looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it is a duck. Tranker, who looks like an idiot, sounds like an idiot and has the mentality of an idiot, then he really must be an idiot.

Crusher resumed his nap.

His slumbers were brought to an abrupt halt by a uniformed constable who arrived in the room and announced.

“They reckon they have found him. A warehouse in the East End.”

“Crusher, come on, time to earn your keep.”

Crusher rose slowly, stretched, yawned and shook himself

“I really do hope this bunch of imbeciles don’t have any guns. I really don’t like guns.”

PC Sharon received the latest intelligence report when they arrived.

Inspector Jenny, the senior officer, gave her the latest situation report.

“The problem is this. It’s a massive disused warehouse that still contains loads of discarded stock. The only entrance is at one end, and the only exits are the fire doors, but we don’t know if they are booby-trapped. We think the best option is to send in Crusher; he can get in quietly without any noise, and he will deal with anyone he meets. We just don’t know how many are in there, could be just one, but maybe more.”

Crusher entered the huge warehouse and silently weaved his way through the bags and boxes of redundant stock.

Suddenly, he rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a villain from the past. There, facing him was Big Willy, a thoroughly  despicable individual who considered himself to be the local hard man. Crusher had already intimidated Big Willy before and had no trouble doing it again. The cowardly villain turned and attempted to escape. Crusher followed, launching himself at Big Willy, hitting him in the back, causing him to crash to the floor, hitting his head and rendering him unconscious.

Crusher then went looking for Tranker, but as he was walking, he felt an itch in what is referred to in polite company as his nether regions. Crusher stopped and, being a fastidious canine, licked the offending area and carried on.

There, sitting in the room tied to a chair, completely helpless, was Chief Constable Tranker. Crusher approached slowly, the Chief Constable took one look at the imposing sight, and his blood ran cold. He was under no illusions; he really disliked this dog, and he knew that the feeling was mutual.

“Good doggie. “Intoned Tranker

“Good Doggie!” Crusher was incensed.

“Who do you think you are talking to, you piece of lizard puke?”

Tranker’s whining voice was really winding Crusher up.

Crusher came to a stop and sat in front of his nemesis and knew that with retirement coming, this would be the last time he would have the opportunity to deal with the Chief Constable. Crusher rose up and placed his very large paws on the man’s shoulders. His mouth lowered to come within inches of Tranker’s face. He could smell the man’s fear and showed his adversary a perfect row of teeth as he prepared to inflict humiliation on this obnoxious individual.

The door crashed open, and from the entrance to the huge warehouse, he heard the plaintive cry of PC Sharon.

CRUSHER, STIOP LICKING THE CHIEF CONSTABLE’S FACE!!