The Fast and The Hard and The Long and The Thirsty

Sergeant Doyle entered the surveillance van with two cups of coffee, leaving a double trail of steam in the cold January air of New York City. Chief Parkinson shot him a side glance while keeping his face fixed on the sixteen monitors arranged in a square grid.

“Did you get me the sugar-free one? I’m on a diet,” he grumbled. “Nancy is back on my case, damn that witch.”

Sergeant Doyle crouched down and sat next to Chief Parkinson with an audible groan. He bumped his elbow, spilling hot liquid on the chief policeman.

“Fuckin’ fuck! For Christ’s sake!” yelled Parkinson.

“Well, at least it won’t be sticky, since it’s sugar-free,” responded Doyle.

“Goddammit, Doyle, how am I supposed to work in these conditions?” said Parkinson.

Sergeant Doyle handed a napkin to Parkinson with a weary look.

“Don’t vent your anger on me, chief. The district is busting your balls over this case, not me,” said Doyle.

“So, which ones have you spotted while I was gone?” he then asked, friendly.

“The hard and long ones so far,” replied Parkinson. “This fast guy is an elusive motherfucker.”

“I don’t think we’ve even seen the thirsty character,” said Doyle, leaning toward one of the screens and squinting.

“I’m checking all the bar entrances. We’ll see him roll out of one of them, don’t worry.”

There was a long, awkward silence interrupted only by radio chatter and the muffled sounds of cars passing outside. The black-and-white screens were mind-numbingly dull. After fifteen minutes with no activity, Doyle turned to Parkinson, stared at the beige stain on his uniform, and said, “What kind of burglars are these guys anyway?”

“Yeah, the Fast and the Hard and the Long and the Thirsty,” said Parkinson. “I wonder if it’s a reference of some kind. Like a frat house joke or something.”

“Chief, look at this,” said Doyle, suddenly standing up.

On one of the screens showing the bank entrance, a van suddenly stopped, leaving black skid marks on the gray concrete road. Its back doors swung open wide. Four men jumped out one by one, armed with guns and baseball bats. One carried a large duffel bag, but all of them wore thick rubber masks with distinctly shaped penises hanging at six o’clock where their noses would have been.

“The fast, the hard, the long, and the thirsty, indeed,” Doyle concluded slowly, sitting back down, discombobulated.