"Domestic Disturbance"

Mick hated these calls. They were useless, stupid domestic disputes that reasonable adults should be able to talk out with each other without his having to be called in. Still, when a call came in via radio for a police officer to show up at somebody’s house for a noise complaint, Mick had to go.

There was a lot about being a cop that disappointed Mick. He had been a staunch defender of the boys in blue (although they never actually wore blue anymore in his city) as long as he could remember. He wanted to believe that they were always busy doing their best to stop the bad guys, busting down doors, putting their lives at risk to protect the citizenry from scumbags and evildoers. Instead, he spent most of his days flagging down speeders and people not wearing seatbelts. And answering stupid 911 phone calls like this one.

Mick straightened his black uniform, the excess starch rubbing off on his fingers. He may as well look respectable as he asked whoever lived in the two-story townhouse to keep it down. He rapped authoritatively on the door. “Chicago PD,” he announced.

No one answered. Then he heard the loud scream. At least it sounded like a scream, but then the sound dropped in frequency into something like a moan, or some other sound that an animal that was being killed might make. He gripped the handle of his weapon with his left hand and braced himself. This was it; this was his moment to shine. He kicked the door and it burst open with a crack.

Then it hit him–a wave of rancid stench like a punch in the nose. It was what Mick imagined rotten livers might smell like if they’d been left to sun on hot concrete, so the decomposing gases built up a nice bit of pressure within before causing the whole liver to pop like a fleshy black balloon.

Mick covered his nose, but it was too late. The stink clawed its way up his nose and caused such a tumult that his guts writhed and ejected their contents all over the front porch of the house. And twice more until Mick’s sense of smell was so smothered with bile and half-digested doughnuts that he couldn’t smell anything anymore. He steeled himself, wiped his face with the sleeve of his uniform, and pushed himself into the house, his gun drawn.