Mule’s Law II: Bray for Justice

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The shadowy figure slipped out the window and shimmied down the rope to the dark river of the alley below. He fell lightly to the dirty, wet pavement, the contents of his backpack jingling quietly. He stood listening. Silence. A smile grew beneath his black mask. Another sweet, sweet score–

“EEE-YONNNHHH!” The cry came, crashing through the night.

The figure in black dropped to a crouch, his hand to his belt, a pistol in it and up in a flash. Out of the dark, a long eared, thin-maned cyclone raged in. The thief fell back, firing–
BLAMBLAMBLAM!

A hoof like fur-coated lightning struck out shattering his hand and sending the gun flying.

“EEE-YONNNHHHH!” The cry came again, the criminals heart raced.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!” He cried, fighting to find breath among the throbs of pain.

A shape stepped from the gloom. The thief let out a low moan that was full of fear and sadness. It was big and well-muscled with a fine chestnut coat with a white belly and white circles around its eyes like the mask of the white shadow.

“I’m the ass that likes to kick ass,” it brayed, “law is my oats and order is my hay. Crime hits me like a bad case of Potomac Horse Fever. YOU are like a bad case of Potomac Horse Fever. You give me diarrhea!” Its tale blew back as it squirted out a torrent of angry flatulence. Its massive head lunged forward and giant square teeth clomped onto the quaking thief’s mask, pulling it from his head. The eyes in the pale face were wide with fear and wonder.

“Major Mule,” he whispered.

“THE ONE!” Major Mule shouted, “My dad was a donkey! My mama a mare! I ain’t no hinney, you greasy monkey, I’m a goddamn mule! Who lives for JUSTICE!”

“P-p-please, don’t hurt me,” the burglar, urine soaking his black combat trousers.

“I’m chomping at the bit to put my hoof fetlock deep up inside you, scumbag, but I ain’t gonna. This mule is gonna see you stand trial for your crime. EEEE-ONNNNHHHH!”

A siren neared, louder, and then echoed off the bricks, followed by the bright white glare of headlights and strobing red and blue. The squad car screeched to a halt and two uniformed policeman jumped from inside, guns drawn.

“Giddy-yap, Major Mule, what’d’we got ‘ere?” The jowly one said.

“Caught the dirty perp red-handed,” said Major Mule, he whipped over the thief’s backpack with his mouth. The baby faced cop grabbed it from the air and opened it up. In the wash of the car’s lights, a glitter and glamour of jewels of all pedigree showered from the bag.

“‘Oly moly, Major Mule, ye’ve gone a caught a serious fish ‘ere,” jowly said.

“See he gets the justice he deserves. Ever since that dirty muleskinner killed my wife I vowed to battle scumbaggery and crime until my hooves fell off. EEEE-ONNNNHHHH!” With a mighty kick, Major Mule jumped into the air, his tough, stubborn profile silhouetted against the full moon.

“GO MAJOR MULE GO!” The young rookie cop shouted.

 His elder partner chuckled, “Oh t’be young a’gun, and be seein’ that ol’ mule fer th’ first time. C’mon laddy, let’s book this twerp and git us a nip o’ draught.”

And on and over and into the night, citizens feared not of being robbed of their peace, as on the prowl, donkey kicking the underworld in the face, a mixed breed workaholic did his goddamn best.

EEEE-ONNNNHHHH!

 

 

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