Lionel Kowalski (sniffoutcrime) wrote in cosmologies, @ 2011-05-12 22:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | lionel kowalski |
Who: Lionel Kowalski and Poole
When: Thursday, May 12th
Where: Choi’s Market
What: Riot fun times
Status: Narrative
Lionel didn’t really like the feel out on the street when he and Poole left their apartment. Poole had given him a sit and a long stare at the bottom of the stairs to show she didn’t like it much either. Just something in the air, like a bad smell. But he needed toilet paper, and there really wasn’t a way around that. Relatedly, Poole needed walkies, and even with the air she couldn’t deny that either, and screw it all if she was going to go on the floor.
With an occupied doggie bag in hand, Lionel and Poole headed over to Choi’s Market. A late night, small, family owned market run by the friendly and often too-friendly Old Man Choi, known as Chuck to his friends. Lionel deposited the doggie bag in the trash can outside of the market, and was about to tie Poole to the hoverbike rack when, after a thorough look around, decided the inside of the market seemed suspicious.
Old Man Choi was not smiling.
Lionel frowned and entered through the automatic doors slowly and with Poole at his side. Old Man Choi stood still, watching Lionel approach. His eyebrows came together worriedly, and eventually he raised his hands. A gunman appeared.
“Aw crap,” Lionel said softly to himself.
The gunman, well, was a gun kid. Probably still a teenager, hair in some ridiculous angle for the time, clothes that purposefully didn’t fit. He had his gun, small almost like a toy, pointed at Old Man Choi, and looked about as scared as he did. When he saw Lionel, he looked even more terrified.
“Stay back!” he yelled, his voice cracked.
“You alone?” Lionel asked.
“I said stay back!”
“Go."
Poole, despite her size and bulk and drool and skin, was a fast beast. The gunboy barely screamed before Poole had him on the ground, the bulk of her body on his face and her mouth around the wrist holding the gun, now pointed harmlessly toward the back of the store.
Old Man Choi ran off and Lionel ran to the gun, removed it from the screaming (or crying) boy’s hand. “This gun is loaded you idiot, you could have hurt someone.” He placed it in his own back pocket. “Poole, off.”
The giant dog got off the youth, who promptly sprung up and ran for his life. Lionel grabbed his arm and flung him to the floor in a move that would have made Mommy Kowalski the Olympic gold medal winning judoka proud. The youth screamed and Poole sat on him again.
Lionel picked up the phone that had fallen out of the boy’s pocket and sat on the boy’s kicking legs, keeping him firmly in place. “Have you called the police yet, Mr. Choi?” he called out, flipping through numbers on the phone.
“Yes!” a voice called out from behind a counter.
“Good. While we wait for them,” Lionel looked down at where the boy’s head would be on the other side of Poole. “I’m going to call your mother.”
The boy cried out.