I'm Not A Bad Man*

"Drug bust, down behind the McDonald's, Billie said we should take it." Bob, the newbie, says, tossing me the keys to the cruiser. "You drive."
"Dammit," I whisper under my breath, rising from my creaky office chair.
"I heard that, Iero," my boss, Billie, shouts at me as I strap my gun to my hip and head out the door.
It's a routine run. Drug busts in this town are mainly junkies under a hundred pounds that are too far gone to even realize they're under arrest in the first place. But, the puckering and discoloration on my upper right arm the size and shape of a bullet reminds me that not everyone goes silently.
~•~
"There, by the trash can," Bob points out. And sure enough, there he is; medium height, skinny, with black, greasy hair. And he's holding a needle.
I get out of the car, gun at the ready, and shut the door. Immediately, his frightened eyes dart up to us. In a swift movement, he drops the needle from his arm and holds his hands up in a sign of surrender.
"P-please, oh god, please don't hurt me!" he yells, stepping away from his little alcove. His eyes, heavily dilated, grow even wider as he sees the gun in my hand. "Oh, god, please, shit, please don't- fuck. Don't shoot!" he's frantic now; clearly whatever he'd shot up was already in his system.
"Bob, get the drugs. Don't forget gloves," I say, never breaking eye contact with the man in front of me. My colleague rushes to cruiser, then over to the little alcove, grabbing much more than originally anticipated.
"Shit, Frank, there's a lot over here," Bob calls to me from his spot, as he pulls more and more and puts it all in a crime scene bag.
"Okay, sir, I'm going to need you to keep your hands in the air and make your way towards the cruiser," I say as I watch the man step towards my car. With slow, deliberate movement, I reach towards my belt and grab my handcuffs, replacing my gun back in its holster. "Put your hands on the hood," I order him. He does so, and I wrench each arm behind his back, cuff them, and keep him pressed against the back door.
Bob comes around carrying a massive bag of new and used needles in one hand and a rather large bag of heroine in the other. He shoves them in the trunk and goes around the car to the passenger seat, waiting for me to arrest the perp, recite the Miranda Rights, and get back to the station.
"Sir, you are under arrest for the consumption and possible dealing of an illegal substance."
"I-I wasn't dealing officer" he cuts in. "H-honest. I was just h-holding it f-for a frie-"
I cut him off, pressing the criminal tighter against the vehicle and eliciting a whimper of protest before he finally falls silent.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?" I recite in a monotone, robotic voice- as I had done many times in the past.
"Huh, this is just like in those movies-" I twist his arm tighter. "Ow, shit! Y-yeah, I underst-oh FUCK! Christ, I-I get it!”

Pulling him back, I reach to open the door, put my hand on his head, and push him into the back seat. I walk around the car to the driver’s side and slide into the seat. Locking my door and putting my key into the ignition, I turn my head enough to see the criminal in my periphery.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” I tell him. Not waiting for him to even attempt the task with the handcuffs impeding him, floor it and go speeding off to the station.

Notes

Haven't been on in a while- VERY sorry about that :/... Got the idea for this story a while back, so i finally decided to post it-enjoy!