While other boys played Cops and Robbers,
our gang played games of Good Cop/Bad Cop,
which does create some limits when
there are only three of you to start with.
My turn for Bad Cop came around.
I dragged my Joint Best Friend inside
on yet another trumped-up charge:
possession of a
younger sister.
‘I haven’t got a younger sister,’
he huffed, convincingly indignant.
‘Bich! Yo!’ I hollered in his face,
then pistol-whipped him with a cap-gun.
This compromised his space helmet,
(we often played in outer space),
and Joint Best Friend collapsed on to
the floor in gasping, choking breaths.
Enter Good Cop, smoking a pencil,
a Jackie Year Book in his hand.
‘I like the picture of your sister
on page eleven. Very glam.’
‘Really?’ said Joint Best Friend. ‘Let’s see!’
but Good Cop passed the book to me,
already opened at the page.
‘They could be twins,’ I said, and laughed.
‘Admit your guilt, we’ll let you walk,’
said Good Cop as I aimed the cap gun
at Joint Best Friend’s helmetted head.
‘Or not,’ I sneered, and pulled the trigger.
‘Nice work,’ said Good Cop as we cleaned
the brains off the page, revealing
the picture of a sparkly hairbrush
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