The Gun Did It

The detective was sitting at the table, head concealed by the folder that was inches from his face. His eyes scanned through the report, looking for more information on his suspect. A dim light shined from above while his fellow officers snickered behind the glass observation window.

"Alright Mr. Glock, where were you on the night of the fifteenth?" Detective Ruso asked.

Mr. Glock said nothing. The room was quiet like no one was there.

"Mr. Glock, you are the prime suspect in my murder investigation. You might want to start talking," he said, still transfixed by the report.

More silence followed. On the other side of the glass window, his fellow officers were in an uproar. 

"Okay Mr. Glock, according to this report you shot the victim three times. What do you have to say for yourself?" Detective Ruso asked, still not looking up.

No response.

"This is no time to be quiet. They are going to give you the chair for this. If you confess now, I can put a good word in with the DA's office."

The officers in the other room were in stitches, jumping around and pounding on the glass. Detective Ruso looked over to the window and shook his head disapprovingly. He didn't know what was going on in the other room, but he knew it was far from professional.

"I'm sorry Mr. Glock. Please don't pay any attention to the window over…" he said, stopping once he looked up from the report. 

Laying on the table was a Glock 17 with two googly eyes on the front that rocked back and forth. It even still had the evidence tag on it. 

"You've got to be shitting me," he said, turning to the window. "Really guys?"

The officers laughed and pointed at him. Although Detective Ruso could not see them, he knew they were laughing at him. He went over and picked up the gun. The gun spun around in his hand, googly eyes dancing around and cocked itself.

"I ain't going back to evidence," Mr. Glock said and shot a round through Detective Ruso's eye. 

Detective Ruso tossed Mr. Glock in the air and fell to the ground holding his eye. The other officers scrambled out of the observation room to get to Detective Ruso. Mr. Glock landed on the table and faced the door that swung open.

"You'll never take me alive!" Mr. Glock shot.

The officers filed in, guns drawn. Bullets flew in both directions. Ear splitting bangs echoed in the room. An officer fell to the ground. Then another. One officer dove low toward the table. Mr. Glock leaned over the edge, smoke sizzling off the barrel.

"Nice try,” Mr. Glock said, pointing at the helpless officer. Mr. Glock made a click sound. The officer sighed. Mr. Glock jumped off the table toward one of the downed officers. The officer scrambled to his knees and tackled Mr. Glock. 

"Let me go!" Mr. Glock said, squirming in the officer's grip, trying to point the hot barrel toward the officer's exposed skin.

The officer dismantled Mr. Glock, separating the slide from the frame. Mr. Glock screamed as the officer removed the spring and dumped the barrel from the frame. More officers rushed in to help their downed comrades. Mr. Glock's anger turned to grief. He was never going to be whole again and after this was surely going to be brought to The Grinder.

If only he kept his cool and didn't run off with the wrong crowd. He could have been an officer's gun. Protected by the law. Serving his purpose with dignity. What he would give to take it all back. To make the right decision all those years ago. But it was too late and he had to deal with the consequences. May The Forge have mercy upon his soul.