The Rookie

The Rookie
Dark Forces and Demons, and The Book of Nostradamus were curious titles, but not the usual reading I had expected to see in the locker room of a police station, nor as my second phase of training.
“We’re missing the book on spells and counter spells,” I said. I was tired, so what I said came off harsh instead of playful sarcasm. Officer Dexter looked me up and down, then handed me another book; The Code of Paladins.
I was used to being set up. As a rookie police officer you were told to expect hazing and some good natured pranks. I handled most of it quietly, but I had to hand it to Dexter for originality.
“Cubby got the night patrol with the Dex-man,” said Officer Bender passing through the locker room. I had just finished two weeks of afternoons with him.
I nodded and gave a smile. “Yep.” Bender was just another bill on the stack of “paying dues.” Anything he says, I would just smile and nod. Give him the impression that the hazing he gave was not getting to me. But, I’ll get him.
In eight months, I’ll lose my cherry status and be off the probation. I’ll be one of the guys, a man with a badge and gun just protecting and serving John Q. Public. But, right now, fresh out of the academy and, as they see it, wet behind the ears, I’m just a target for all the crap they can think of.
Dexter ignored him. He just puts on his gun belt as if nothing was said.
Bender grunts. “Have fun.” He laughs like he knows the joke and leaves.
Dexter grabs his hat and looks at me. I shrug and stand.
Just my luck, I’ve got a two week stint with Trooper Merle Dexter III. Bender and his band of three, the guys who deem it necessary to harass me, call Dexter the Dex-man. Usually with a rasp and accent on “Dex”. A lot of other blues: troopers, sergeants, and a few lieutenants call him Merlin because of his name. Also because he’s got a history, trooped a long time, never goes for promotions, wants the night shift, and is into spooky stuff.
I look at the books in my hands.
“I had heard night patrol came with a silver cross,” I said. This time I had a friendlier tone, but I still held onto the sarcasm.
Dexter paused and considered what I said. Dexter, himself, is an average looking guy: brown hair, brown eyes, average height, a little thin in the arms, and a little thick in the middle. He blinked once, looked at his watch, and said, “C’mon. We’re running late.”

“Yeah, Central we are out on 94. Heading east. Over.”
“Say, ‘yes’,” said Dexter.
“Huh?”
Dexter shakes his head. “Command of the language is crucial. It is a tool. The tool always works best when used correctly.” He looks over at me. “Say ‘yes’ instead of ‘yeah’.”
I nod. I do that a lot. Its my way of agreeing with whatever I’m being told without being sarcastic. I do a lot of nodding as a rookie.
“And don’t nod at me pretending like you’re listening to me.” Dexter seems to be grinning. “It’s not fooling me.”
I sigh and watch the cars ahead of us trying to hold it right to the speed limit. With Dexter driving, he holds it right there too, so eventually the cars drift behind. Drivers looking straight ahead pretending they don’t see us.
“So,” I say. “What nick-name shall you bestow upon me while I’m riding with you.” My tone is a bit caustic because of all the clever nick-names I have received so far, but I’m trying to be jovial; make a joke about the whole situation.
“What, don’t you like Cubby?”
I huff. “It’s the nicer of them all.”
“What would you prefer?” Dexter actually seems interested.
“I don’t know,” I said. He doesn’t say anything so I say, “Paduwan. Grasshopper…” I shrug and wait to see what he says.
He grins. “Star Wars and Kung Fu.” He takes an off-ramp. “Those references suggest that the student is learning something wise, noble and powerful.”
“Yeah… Yes,” I say.
“How about a literary reference?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” he says. “I’ll call you Wart.”

So, its about three or so in the morning when the radio blares.
“All units, be on the look out for a black SUV. License is H-E-L-B-E-N-T….
“They never get original,” said Dexter over the radio.
I listened to the rest of the call, yet wondering who is not being original?
“… possible kidnapping. An innocent may be with suspect. Last seen in the area of Brighton heading north. Suspect is dangerous….”
“Call in,” said Dexter slowing to do a U-turn on an “Authorized Vehicle Only” lane. “We need to find the guy first.”
“We’re miles away,” I say.
“Call it in.”
So, I call it in that we are responding and several minutes later, Dexter takes the off-ramp and starts whizzing down some back roads. Its okay except he keeps closing his eyes for a second or two, like he’s tired and he’s going to black out.
We run through a stop sign. He had told me to leave the lights and siren off because we weren’t in any pursuit, but he slams the breaks with a curse.
“You drive.” He hops out of the car and runs around to my door.
“C’mon,” he yells. “We don’t have much time.”
I move to the driver’s seat and buckle up. I started to wonder if I was getting set up on some kind of prank, or if the rumors are true about the “Dex-man.”
“Okay,” he says. “Drive. Do what I tell you. Turn when I say turn. And hide when I say, and you’ll live.”
I gun the gas. I figure I’m screwed, but I might as well play along. He’s in the seat next to me with his eyes closed, but he’s mumbling something like a chant.
“Turn right,” he says, not opening his eyes.
“Where?”
“Turn right, now!”
Sure enough, an unmarked two lane appears in my headlights, and crank the wheel and we are shuffling down a dirt road.
“We are looking for…”
“A black SUV”
“Shut up,” snaps Dexter. “We are looking for an orange light, maybe even purple.”
I shake my head. I’m hot-rodding down a dirt road to find a light. Orange or maybe purple. And some night shift whack-o is mumbling crap, probably from one of the damn books in the back. I had enough. I hit the breaks hard.
I turn to Dexter to put an end to his bull when I see…light. Purple light.
Dexter gets out of the car and looks around. “Okay, kid. Great job.” He motions with his hands. “Now, stay put.”
Dexter dashes off toward the light without drawing his gun.
“Stupid ass,” I say and get out of the car. The air smells bad, like sulfur from a burnt match. I draw my gun and follow.
Part of me is still wondering if I’m being set up, but a bigger part of me is saying “this shit is real.” I stumble through some brush and trip. I fall to the ground at the edge of a small gully.
Now, here’s where it gets really freaky.
In the gully, Dexter is standing with arms upraised, a blue/white light is all around him like a force field or something. His arms are bare and ripped with muscles. His whole body seems taller and he’s standing like Stalone in Rocky. Lightning shoots from his hands and blast this thing that stood like a man yet had a bull’s head. Not far from the bull-guy is a purple ball of light.
Dexter hits the thing with another lightning blast, and it bellows like a bull, steam shooting from its snout, and jumps into the purple light. It flashes bright and disappears.
Dexter drops his arms and the light around him fades. He looks like an old pudgy cop again. I stand up and scramble down beside him. I pick up his hat, brush it off, and hand it to him as he is catching his breath. I am doing my best to play it cool, like I see wizards and demons everyday. But I’m busting inside.
“Go call it in” he said. “We found the black SUV.” Then, he swore. “I’ll check for a victim.” He ran toward the truck.
I stood at the bottom of the gully ready to sprint. Dexter checked the back of the truck.
“She’s alive,” he yelled. “Call it in. Get an ambulance here, now.”

It was five hours later before all was said and done and processed and filed when Dexter says to me, “We got to talk.”
We end up in this little diner on a back street somewhere called, ironically, The Round Table. It’s a bit hazy and I’m tired because the waitress looks like an elf, you know, thin frame, almond eyes and pointed ears. I ordered bacon, eggs, and toast. Dexter just nods and says, “The same.”
So off goes the elf, or pixie, I get things mixed up and Dexter pulls out the leather bound books I had left in my locker. He looks me in the eye. I shrug, trying to play it cool, yet wondering how the hell did he get them.
Defensively, I change the subject. “So, are you some kind of wizard or something?”
“Something?” said Dexter. “I am a Paladin.”
I run the word through my brain. It has been a few year since I had the Science Fiction/Fantasy class in high school. I took it because the teacher, some wild haired dude, was said to be pretty cool. He was, and the class was pretty cool too. What was his name? His last name was a first name sounding name.
“Some kind of holy knight,” I said. Then nodded, sure of my answer.
Dexter gives a half shrug. “Close enough. We are called to serve the greater good. There are some who debate the holy angle.”
“So I have been called?”
“Yes.”
“Was the girl we saved, someone important?”
“Depends how you look at it.”
“Meaning?” I ask, hoping he wasn’t going to go all cryptic and speak in riddles.
“She will write a poem called ‘Demon in the Night’ in her journal. It will inspire her great grand-daughter to become a writer and write a story based on the poem. Three centuries later, the story will give courage to a shy boy to fight for what he believes in and his family line will …”
“Lead to a descendant that will make the final choice between Light and Dark.” I rub my eyes. “It sounds like something I read back in high school.”
“Listen, Wart,” Dexter eyes became intense. “His family line will continue on four generations and become the friend of the descendant who will make the Choice.”
“We are protecting the prophecy of the sidekick?” Oddly, my voice held disbelief.
Dexter was still. He blinked and leaned back. “I never thought of it that way.” He started to laugh. “Maybe that’s why the book of Nostradamus is just predictions from his second cousin, instead of the actual Nostradamus.”
Again, my face showed disbelief. I was recruited to protect the family line of the sidekick using a minor prophecy from a second cousin. I looked at Dexter unable to speak. He shrugged.
I sat back as the waitress with the almond eyes comes back with our food and a smirk. She winks and goes away.
“Does she know?” I nod my head toward the waitress.
“Yes,” said Dexter. “Elves know about a lot of things. But, usually they mind their own business. They only get involved with the big cases.”
I nod, like I knew that about elves. Then I shake my head because I’m back to nodding.
Dexter chuckles. “Too much?”
I shrug and nod. “Sort of.”
“Sorry,” said Dexter. “ We need to make up for lost time. So, I’m kind of throwing you into the fire rather quick.”
“Lost time?”
“Well, according to the prophecy. You’re late.”
I must be tired because I’m not phased. Or it could have been that I saw Dexter dueling with a demon. Or that I’m being waited on by an elf who, in actuality, only works the big cases.
“Sorry,” I said. “I would have been here sooner if someone had dropped me a note.”
Dexter grins. “Yes, I know. You missed two or three of your messages. You were suppose to become a police officer five years ago.”
“Huh?”
“In high school, you took a class with a Mr. Clark ….”
“That’s his name.” I pounded on the table.
Dexter paused, then continued. “He inspired you to look more into … possibilities. Possibilities of other dimensions. Right?”
“Yeah… yes.”
“Then, back in ’95, you had fallen asleep at the wheel of your car. You had a vision of a man in blue. Then in ’98, you step on a toy police car nine different times at your brother’s house and kept wondering how it kept turning up even after you had thrown it away.”
“Those were signs?”
“Yes.”
“Not very good ones.” I was miffed for some reason. But, it all clicked. I knew it deep inside he was right.
“I’ll let the PR department know.”
I looked at Dexter hard. He stared back. I nodded. Then we both laughed.