A one-shot by Andrew J. Talon
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Officer Cole Phelps was sitting back in the seat of his patrol car, the CB radio reduced to background noise. In the darkness of the cab his partner Ralph Dunn sipped coffee from a thermos. Both officers regarded the nighttime stretch of road, but with different levels of attention.
"Don't see why we're getting punished," Dunn muttered.
"It's not a punishment, I volunteered us for the night shift," Phelps said.
"Volunteered us? What for?" Dunn asked flatly. Phelps shrugged.
"Gillespie's got family trouble. I let him take the night off."
"Always gotta be the hero, huh Phelps?" Dunn laughed. The older cop shrugged.
"No harm in doing a good turn..."
"All right Father Phelps, but the least you could have done is let me listen to the game! The Rams are on tonight!"
"Eh, they're having a lousy season and they're up against the Bears. I don't think it'll be a good game," Phelps said.
"You're crazy Phelps, they could-"
Three loud sonic booms filled the air. Dunn yelped in shock as Phelps ducked down, instinct taking over. A second later, a silvery vehicle passed by, zipping along the highway towards the city.
"Wha... What the hell was that?" Dunn gasped.
"No clue... But they're pushing 70," Phelps said. He put on the siren and started the car, coming around and gunning it after the whatever it was.
A few moments later, they gained on the vehicle. It slowed down and came to a stop on the side of the road, and Phelps parked right behind it.
The two officers stared in disbelief at the... Car, now that they could get a good look at it.
"What... The hell is that?" Dunn asked. Phelps shook his head and got out, flashlight in hand. Procedure came into play, and he walked up to the driver's side window. The thing, whatever it was, seemed to at least be manned-The window rolled down and a young man with messy brown hair peeked out.
"Uh... There a problem officer?" The driver asked.
"Yeah... You were pushing 70 back there," Phelps said. He looked over the car. "And... Your license plate..."
"I assure you officer, it is perfectly legal," an old, wild haired man said from the passenger seat. He smiled politely. "Could you possibly tell us what the date is, and where we are?"
"Er..." Phelps looked back at the strange, spacecraft-like car, and back to the passengers. "You're in Los Angeles... It's November 16th..."
"And the year?" The old man further queried.
"1947?" Phelps said very slowly. The old man smacked his forehead.
"Great Scott! We overshot!"
"I think we need to work out the kinks in this thing... Uh... It's a prototype, officer," the teenaged driver quickly said.
"Prototype?" Phelps asked.
"Yes, very top secret," the old man said gravely. "Your government would appreciate it if you were to keep this to yourself?"
Phelps looked the vehicle over again, looked up at the sky, and finally sighed. He cocked a smirk.
"All right... I'll let you off with a warning this time. But there had better not be a next time, got it?"
"Not a problem officer, it's all cool," the teenager said.
Phelps nodded, and stepped back. He waved the car off, which rolled up it's window and drove away. Phelps walked back to the patrol car and sat back down.
"So... What was it?" Dunn asked, who had been gripping the dash of the car this whole time and trying not to look nervous.
"Nothing to worry about," Phelps said. "We're not going to report it."
"Are you kidding? Look at that damn thing! We've gotta tell some-!"
The car reappeared, screaming down the highway right back the way it came, lit up like a Christmas tree. In a loud boom, it exploded into light and vanished, leaving only two fire tracks in it's wake. The two officers stared at the firetrails in silence for a long time, before slowly looking back at the road ahead.
"... Nothing happened," Dunn said.
"Absolutely nothing," Phelps agreed.