POLICE TRAINING
(565 words)
Experienced police officer Dan Drummond, having experienced several hours of captivity is left rope-tied and uncomfortable by his ex-school friend Harry Ansen.
Using his police training he tries to distract his mind.
Deal with the situation, damn it! That's what you were trained to do. Yes, I'd fucking deal with it ... and I'd deal with whatever Harry might have in mind to challenge me ... and if the bastard gave me half a chance I'd ... he'd better watch his step ... because if I got half a chance I'd fucking kill him. No! ... not kill him ... tie him down and make him suffer. Yes! He thinks he's so fucking good at tying rope. There's a pair of handcuffs in my drawer. I still remember enough of the hand holds and deliberately painful wrist locks ... stuff we'd all learned about arrest procedures at the different training colleges. Not that I've had to do any of that stuff for years ... but I bet I could. I bet I could take him on and get the better of him if Harry gave me one small chance.
My mind set about remembering the long-ago training sessions: hand grabs, neat twists of the wrist that could have you on your knees rather than risk a broken wrist. I'd been amazed at the skill of those instructors. They'd invite serious resistance ... and have you on your face or your knees and handcuffed before you could say Oo-ow aawcchh! I'd sort of got the hang of it, but was usually more energised when playing the victim in practice sessions. I remembered I'd welcome the opportunity to put up a struggle ... specially when it was the women PC's trying to get to grips with a counter-attack procedure ... and some of the blokes. I enjoyed giving the tougher lads a real struggle for their money. And the Instructors soon started to call on me when they wanted to demonstrate a new move. They really knew their stuff, and knew I'd make a seriously determined effort to resist. And they took pleasure from demonstrating they could soon have me giving the signal that I was ready to stop struggling. But even then, they'd often follow through and cuff me, or wrap me with plastic ties ... and sometimes, for devilment, leave me trussed ... and offer to let the girls have a bit of fun at my expense. There was always a sort of tactile ... physical ... intimacy in those training sessions ... just like in shower room horse-play; the sense of masculine, competitive, hands-on ... camaraderie ... or was there more to it than that? I'd always tried to enter into the spirit of that sort of horse-play ... but usually hung back. Why was that?
That's something I'd been missing since promotion. Some of the lads working under me now had been at Hendon; same time as me but different stream ... Clark and Prentice ... and others. Good men! Hard-nuts, up for anything. Some of them out on the stake-out ... still out on the street ... up for action. Since I'd become desk-bound I'd been missing ... my mind reminded me again of things I usually tried to forget. Is that why I'd broken my own rules and gone out into the field undercover ... in my old motorcycle gear? Bad move ... but I did miss ... ?
The sound of his oppressor returning brought Dan's mind sharply back to the uncomfortable present.