Editor's Page
YM Artists' Page
"Skeeter", the Official YM Mascot
YM Guidelines
Contact Us & Links to Other Sites
Phantom Pain-Fiction by Phillip Thompson
I'm a Fat Policeman-Fiction by William Kitcher
The Mass-Fiction by Rick McQuiston
Circle Quirk-Fiction by John J. Dillon
Every Night I Tell Him-Fiction by Bobby Mathews
Closure-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
All That Glitters-Fiction by Bruce Harris
Klepto-Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Big Nasty-Fiction by J. B. Stevens
Pendelton Products, Inc.-Fiction by Michael Dority
The Apprentice Thug-Fiction by A. Kanach
The Invitation-Fiction by Michael Steven
Your Time is My Time-Fiction by Walter Giersbach
Charity Begins at Home-Fiction by David Hagerty
Stay on the Path-Flash Fiction by Daniel G. Snethen
Killer's E-Mail-Flash Fiction by Andrew Ricchiuti
The Family Business-Flash Fiction by James Blakey
Weird Reasons to Be Grateful-Flash Fiction by Dini Armstrong
The Disappearance of Snethen-Poem by Daniel Snethen
Boom FM-Poem by Mark Young
Dwindling Knight-Poem by Michael Keshigian
Landlord-Poem by Michael Keshigian
A Day-Poem by Marc Carver
Idiotka-Poem by Marc Carver
Kent Railway Station-Poem by John Doyle
Jennifer-Poem by John Doyle
The Door in the Old House in Bizarro County-Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
The Season of the Apocalypse-Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
A Boy in a Graveyard-Poem by John Grey
Poem by the ManWho was Shot by His Wife-Poem by John Grey
The House on Wellington Court-Poem by John Grey
Close Your Eyes-Christopher Hivner
Say My Name-Poem by Christopher Hivner
When the Sun Turns to Sorcery-Poem by Christopher Hivner
Fading Twilight Sky-Poem by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
Landlocked in Dry Dock-Poem by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
Like a Child's Drawing-Poem by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
As a Dark Shadow-Poem by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

Art by Steve Cartwright © 2021

I’m A Fat Policeman


by William Kitcher


Friday 11:38 PM

          The summer night is hot and sticky like bubbling fudge, and the station is especially busy. The long weekend has just started, and the citizenry is out in full force, inquiring about their rights. There must be twenty people at the front desk, arguing and complaining. From what I can see, they’re all guilty, but I’m no desk sergeant. Fortunately, no one notices me sidling along the back wall to the squad room, so I’m not confronted. An eight-hour shift is enough work for me without having to deal with people in my off-hours.

11:46 PM

          My partner Jack comes into the squad room, his shirt torn and a mouse starting to grow under his left eye. He had been carrying a chocolate bar when he came into work and absent-mindedly went past the front desk. Some people never learn.

11:57 PM

          The precinct captain enters the squad room. Usually, we have to draw to see who gets the squad cars or the van, but Captain McMurphy gives the van to Jack and me since we’ve fallen behind in arrests over the last week. The captain tells all of us to stick around after our shift ends in the morning because someone from the government is coming to talk to us. Jack asks if we’ll get overtime but the captain glares at him, and tells him his waistline is looking mildly criminal. That gets a good laugh from the guys.

Saturday 12:06 AM

          We go down to the garage. I beat Jack to the driver’s side of the van, so I get to drive the first half of the shift. I’d like to drive all the time because Jack is a rotten driver. Once, he ran over one of our suspects. He said he didn’t notice him which is quite ridiculous if you ever saw the suspect. Jack didn’t even realize we’re behind in arrests this week, so I inform him we have to make sixteen just to reach the minimum quota. I don’t like the quota system, but those are the rules in the Social Improvement Act, and you don’t argue with the rules in this business. Jack once asked me why a warning wouldn’t work just as well. I told him that he couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

12:24 AM

          We start our patrol on Clark St., the city’s famous restaurant row, where there is always a lot of crime. I park the van and we start walking. The first restaurant we go into, Dave’s Pizza, checks out. Dave had been busted before so he’s been keeping his nose clean. He gives us each a slice of pizza before we leave.

12:32 AM

          We go into The Beef and Reef, a surf’n’turf place, and hit a gold mine. Several people try to make a break for the rear exit, but I pull out my gun and yell, “Freeze!” They do. I walk over to one table where two men and two women sit. They are well over 200 pounds each. One of the women tries to cram a piece of steak into her mouth, but I shoot the fork out of her hand and say to her, “Ma’am, I think you’ve had enough.” She raises her hands over her head and comes along without any fuss. We round up the other offenders and lock them in the back of the van. It’s a good haul, seven obies in one restaurant.

12:39 AM

          We get one more in a donut shop. He is in the middle of an éclair when Jack and I burst in. “Drop it,” says Jack. I wonder aloud why someone would sit by the window in a restaurant. Perhaps he had a sub-conscious desire to get caught. I don’t know. I’m no psychologist.

12:51 AM

          I stay in the van while Jack checks out The Sunflower Seed, a health food joint. He comes out empty-handed. I’m not surprised. There aren’t many calories in celery.

1:49 AM

          On a hunch, I drive to the outskirts of the city, and, with sirens blaring, pull into A.J.’s Burgers. We catch one man just as he’s starting on his hot dog. We also arrest one of the employees. You might be saying that A.J.’s was out of our jurisdiction. Perhaps that’s so, but I, for one, firmly believe that the execution of the law has no borders.

2:06 AM

          We drop off the criminals at headquarters, and wait around to watch the transport truck take them away. It’s apparently a slow night as only about three dozen people board the truck for the weight-loss camp north of the city. I’ve never seen a camp, but am told that anyone who comes out of one never wants to go back. The inmates are given rigorous exercise schedules and strict diets. It doesn’t sound like anything I would ever want to experience.

2:55 AM

          Practically all of the restaurants are closed, so we know it won’t be easy filling our quota. We comb the streets, residential, commercial, industrial, looking for offenders. We search the waterfront, the railroad tracks, the parks, under bridges, in storm sewers, but we come up empty. Jack suggests we start breaking into houses, but I insist on doing that only as a last resort.

3:08 AM

          We get a break. One of our stoolies, a clerk in a 24-hour convenience store, phoned the precinct station, and got us an obie. They’re talking in the store when Jack and I get there. The mark has no idea he’s been set up. A stoolie’s life is a funny one. They’re always living on the edge, one step ahead of the people they have to betray. We had this particular clerk dead to rights a couple of months ago at 310 pounds, so he made a deal with us. So far, he’s kept up his end of the bargain and delivered some real heavyweights to us. Not only that, but he’s lost about eighty pounds. It’s a hard life being a police informer, and quite dangerous, but no one ever said life was a bowl of cherries.

3:40 AM

          We find an old bum rummaging through some garbage behind a supermarket, so we stop him from doing that. He’s not fat or anything. In fact, he’s almost emaciated, but the idea of people looking through garbage for food makes my skin crawl.

4:00 AM

          Jack and I head back to the station for lunch. The cooks have fixed up a terrific meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, turnips, squash, peas, dumplings, and Yorkshire pudding. For dessert, I have cherry pie, and Jack has chocolate cake. We also have some very nice wine, the name of which escapes me. After some coffee and a cigar, we pronounce the meal a complete success.

4:47 AM

          We get an urgent call for help from one of the squad cars. We rush to the scene immediately.

5:04 AM

          There’s quite a disturbance going on. Two officers try to drag a woman away, while two other men try to prevent this from happening. There is much arguing and yelling, and it would have erupted into violence had not Jack and I arrived. I calm everyone down and patiently listen to the points of view of everyone concerned.

5:28 AM

          Jack and I drive the pregnant woman and her friends home.

6:11 AM

          We see some fat people jogging in a park. Jack wants to bust them, but I feel that some discretion is part of our job. They are making an effort, and that’s the important thing. Jack reminds me about our quota. I remember, but decide to let it pass. For some reason, I feel it won’t make any difference.

6:47 AM

          Jack spots a fat beagle, and asks me if animals are part of our jurisdiction. I really don’t know, so we chase after the little fellow. We never catch him.

7:12 AM

          The only people on the streets are slim, well-conditioned ones. We double back to the park in the hope of finding the joggers, but we can’t see them. Perhaps they sensed something, and went into hiding.

7:19 AM

          I see the ugliest person I have ever seen in my entire life. I can’t tell whether it’s a man or a woman. He/she isn’t fat, though. I make a note to myself to suggest to the captain that we expand our patrol to include ugly people. In many ways, they’re more dangerous than fat people. However, it may be a case of comparing apples and oranges.

7:49 AM

          We arrest five people. They’re not exactly what you’d call fat. They’re not even what you’d call pudgy, but they are definitely not skinny. No, definitely not skinny. One of them has quite fat fingers, although the rest of him is quite normal, but we must check these things out thoroughly. Another has a stomach you wouldn’t believe. He’s quite skinny, but has an appalling beer belly. It’s not very nice at all. Jack says he looks like me, but... Well, hell, I earned mine. I work for a living.

8:04 AM

          We find out that we’re not getting overtime for this meeting. We also find out that the government man is going to be late.

8:28 AM

          The representative from the government drops a bomb on us. After commending us for doing a fine job, he tells us that all of the fat units have been cut. It had nothing to do with the opposition to our methods on the part of some of the public. That opposition was discounted by the fact that the obies are returning to society healthier and happier people. The reason the units are being disbanded is the most fundamental of all human reasons - economics. And it’s not even the economics of maintaining a fat unit. Those costs are negligible compared to the results according to the government man. No, the economic problem came about because the units were putting certain businesses in dire financial straits, and thus, they’re not able to pay as much tax to the government. These businesses included weight-loss clinics, junk food companies, exercise and health spas, restaurants, farms, medical practices (physiology and psychiatry), and clothing manufacturers. Jack asks the man how the government could compromise its ideals for the sake of economics, but withdraws the question as soon as he realizes what he has said.

9:30 AM

          At home, I try to make myself breakfast, but it’s a disaster. The sausages are burnt, the scrambled eggs have bits of shell in them, the orange juice is pulpy, the coffee is too strong. Ah well, I’m no cook. I’m a fat policeman... I used to be a fat policeman...

Three Weeks Later

          I’m still out of work. I can’t find anything that suits my particular talents. They’ve turned the station house into a restaurant. It serves excellent Lobster Newburg.

Bill’s stories, plays, and comedy sketches have been published and/or produced in Canada, Holland, Ireland, India, the UK, and the U.S.

It's well known that an artist becomes more popular by dying, so our pal Steve Cartwright is typing his bio with one hand while pummeling his head with a frozen mackerel with the other. Stop, Steve! Death by mackerel is no way to go! He (Steve, not the mackerel) has a collection of spooky toons, Suddenly Halloween!, available at Amazon.com.    He's done art for several magazines, newspapers, websites, commercial and governmental clients, books, and scribbling - but mostly drooling - on tavern napkins. He also creates art pro bono for several animal rescue groups. He was awarded the 2004 James Award for his cover art for Champagne Shivers. He recently illustrated the Cimarron Review, Stories for Children, and Still Crazy magazine covers. Take a gander ( or a goose ) at his online gallery: www.angelfire.com/sc2/cartoonsbycartwright . And please hurry with your response - that mackerel's killin' your pal, Steve Cartwright.

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications © 2021