#jake harker

[korionfray]

August 2014 Prompt Call #2 - "Dodgeball"

In my complete inability to write something for Rich that doesn't deal with Jake Harker, I'm writing about him, this time to Rich's prompt of "A childhood grudge is settled years later, as two college students finish it the way it began; through dodgeball." Someday I should make him a canon universe. Currently 147 words.

“I've got a score to settle with you.”

Jake blinked at the young woman at his door. “I...hey, Taylor. I didn't even know you were home from school. How--”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No time for small talk, Harker. This feud started ten years ago and I'm about to finish it. Got it?”

All right, talking is out. She's always been focused, but this... “Tay, I'm lost. What are you talking about?”

“Fifth grade. Gym class. You know what I'm talking about.”

It took him a second, but he got there. “Jesus, this is about that?”

“Yes. And we're going to finish this the way it began.” She held up a lone red foam ball. “I've got a date with the gym at the high school. You up for it, or are you a chicken like you were back then?”

-

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[korionfray]

March Call #3 - "Waste of Time"

Written for richardpriest's prompt of "Officer Harker answers a domestic dispute call, leading to a shooting that he should not have walked away from.". Back into the world of Officer Harker again, of course. This one got a little long on me - but you'll see why. 414 words.

This is a waste of my time.

Jake had been the nearest car on patrol when the call came in, so he'd been forced to go down and see what the mess was all about. The neighbor who had called it in, a short Latino woman who usually spoke English, was very emphatic that if “she had to hear those gringos screamin' at each other one more night she was gonna take a baseball bat to their door, yes sir.”

Just what he needed. Intent of assault on top of domestic abuse. It was his lucky night.

He'd knocked on the door, hearing the argument cease abruptly. “Hello? Police; open up.”

The door opened about a foot, a tired man who had clearly seen his better days walk out on him a decade or two ago in the gap. “Can I help you, Officer?”

Jake showed his badge. “Officer Jake Harker, sir. I got a call about some shouting over here; everything alright?”

“Open the damn door, Jerry,” a woman's voice barked from inside, and the door opened further. “Yes, Officer, it's about time someone showed up.”

And now it was this woman's turn to yell toward him. This is my life. My career. This is what I've been reduced to. From the sounds of it, the fight was over the couple's son, age unclear. What the son was doing Jake couldn't tell, but since it didn't appear to be illegal it wasn't his place to find out.

He spoke again once he could. “Ma'am, I'm sorry that you're having trouble with your son – young men have a way of acting out as they get older. I'm sure he'll grow out of it.” The words were a script – he'd said them too many times before, dropping drunk high-schoolers off at home. “In the meantime, I'm going to have to ask you to keep your voices down so that your neighbors don't get alarmed enough to call the cops in the future.”

“You sure you can't throw 'im in jail for a night, Officer?” the boy's father asked. “Might sober 'im up a bit.”

“Your son hasn't done anything illegal, sir. While disrespecting one's parents isn't nice, it's not illegal yet.” He wished them both a good night, tipping his hat, and walked back to the car.

It wasn't the gunshot that stopped him in his tracks, though it did startle him.

It was the name the woman from the house shrieked.

“Soren?!”