Johnny Q. Pants

Johnny Quincy Pants is not your typical cop. In fact, he's hardly a cop at all. Sure, he's got a badge and graduated from police academy but other than that, he's a failure at his job. Now, his real name wasn't Johnny Q. Pants. He was born John Quincy Jones thirty-two years ago in a quiet little part of Queens. Tall and lanky, Johnny made an impression immediately. He was well-liked in school, though he was a bit sexually frustrated in his high school days. It was in high school that he got the name Johnny Q. Pants. Every day, Johnny came to school wearing a variety of bizarre types of pants. Cargo pants, Hammer pants, biker shorts, kilts, you name it, he wore it below the belt. No one ever knew why. He just did.

After high school, Johnny Q. Pants enrolled in police academy as he knew the pay was good and he wanted to help people. He did quite well in police academy and graduate with honors. But after he was sworn in by the 19th Precinct of New York City, that's when his work quality began to slip. He was okay in the early days but then things got a bit haywire on June 20th, 2005 when he came to work wearing a pair of his signature pants instead of the police issue pants. The chief, a gruff old man a few years from retirement, took notice of the pants, set Johnny aside and asked him a few questions.

"Why are you not wearing your regular pants?" asked the chief.

"Those pants were constricting," answered Johnny. "Besides, black isn't really my color."

"Blue," corrected the chief. "Your pants are navy blue."

"Black, navy blue," Johnny replied to the chief. "It's all the same to me."

"For the love of god, change your pants," pleaded the chief. "You're going to make a mockery of the precinct if you go on duty wearing those."

"Fine, fine," Johnny said as he was forced to relent to the demand. "I just thought I'd liven things up."

From that day on, Johnny's work began to suffer. He wasn't making arrests, he was still committing dress code violations, and he was unable to work in any sort of capacity among the force. But the chief couldn't fire him as he never missed work and always filled out his paperwork.

One day, the chief decided to bring in a detective from the vice division to keep tabs on Johnny. The detective, suave but cool under pressure, was only doing this for the money but he liked a challenge.

"Detective Seale, I need you to keep a tab one of my officers," the chief asked.

"It's The Pants, right?" asked Det. Seale.

"Yes, it's The Pants," answered the chief.

"You know why they call him The Pants, don't you?" Det. Seale added.

"It's because he wears those pants," answered the chief. "Did you know he has 133 dress code violations this year alone because of those?"

"No, it's not the pants," Det. Seale told the chief. "It's because he's really bad at his job. Well, that and the pants. There's a double meaning."

The chief then shooed Det. Seale away to start his job. Det. Seale then walked up to Johnny, who was wearing large orange pants with tiger stripes with his police shirt. Johnny was taking a nap while sitting on his desk chair.

"Johnny, wake up," prompted Det. Seale. "I'm going to be on a ride along with you, today."

Johnny woke up. "Yeah, okay," Johnny answered. "Give me five minutes."

Thirty minutes later, Johnny finally got to the car where Det. Seale had been waiting patiently.

"Who are you and why are you at my car?" asked Johnny.

"I'm Det. Seale," answered the detective. "We talked "five minutes ago"."

"We did?" replied Johnny. "I totally forgot."

"I'm riding along today," Det. Seale reminded Johnny.

"Okay, let's go," Johnny told Det. Seale. "I got shotgun."

"This is a police car," Det. Seale prompted Johnny, "You always get shotgun."

"Right," Johnny reminded himself.

It was a quiet spring Tuesday afternoon in the outer boroughs as Johnny and Det. Seale were enjoying the sights and just driving around. Johnny was telling some story about the time he wrestled a bobcat only to realize that he was drunk and that he was fighting his own shadow. Det. Seale was bewildered and trying to figure out what this had to do with anything. Finally, the radio kicked in.

"We have a 10-30B at Carter and Hernandez," the radio dispatcher spoke. "Please, Johnny Q. Pants. Do not answer this."

Johnny gives a smile at Det. Seale and begins to pick up the CB.

"Please, no," Det. Seale told Johnny.

Johnny picks up the CB and radios in.

"I'm on my way," Johnny answers.

"Oh, hell no," the dispatcher tells Johnny.

The way to the bank was about how you'd expect from a bad cop like Johnny. Three bystanders needed to be treated for scrapes and bruises, four cars crashed, many trash cans and fire hydrants were destroyed beyond all recognition and the area was certainly a lot noisier than before. A typical Captain Crash, Johnny was.

Johnny and Det. Seale finally got to the bank where a huge mob of people swarmed the scene. Johnny got out of the car, where he noticed Det. Seale looked pale as a ghost.

"You getting out?" asked Johnny.

"You go at it alone," answered Det. Seale. "I still need to regain my respect for drivers."

"It's your funeral," Johnny told Det. Seale.

Johnny walked into the bank, which he found was very silent except for the hostages that were down on the ground.

"Where's the robber?" Johnny asked.

The hostages all pointed to the big safe in the back, which made Johnny happy.

"Thank you," Johnny answered.

Johnny then walked into the big safe in the back where he saw an armed gunman wearing a leather jacket and a ski mask with a number of items on a pallet cart.

"So," Johnny said as he decided to intervene without violence, "did you rob the bank?"

"No," the robber answered. "It was like this when I got here."

"That's all I need to know," said Johnny, pleased with the answer. "Go on with your day."

Johnny then left the bank with the mob rushing to ask questions. Johnny blew them off as he walked to his car.

"False alarm," Johnny told Det. Seale, as he drove off and went on with his day.