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Police Acadamy 8: Big Apple Bust	By : vampmistress76 Category: M through R > Police Academy Views: 1882 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Police Academy movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Police Acadamy 8: Big Apple Bust
Authors: Rose & Christine
Emails: buffybot76@hotmail.com & sarracch@shu.edu

Classification: comedy/action/adventure
Summary: Sweetchuck travels to the Big Apple to visit family, but what he doesn't realize is that one relative has gotten hold of evidence against a corrupt police commissioner! Discovering this proves costly and gets him into a spot of trouble. And so, with a misled NYPD on his tail, it's all up to Mahoney and his posse of bumbling flatfeet to come to Sweetchuck's rescue!
Spoilers: Maybe some for the movies.
Distribution: FanFiction.Net. If anyone else wants it, just email me and ask.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: This is a test of the Emergency Disclaimer System. Should there be a situation where someone sues us for stealing the "Police Academy" characters, the alarm will sound and Tackleberry will appear to drag them away. Warner Bros., Inc. owns the rights to the "Police Academy" movies and characters; Jessica and Taryn are original characters born of creative genius. We are only fans showing our devotion to this series of seven comedies. Thank you for your patience during this test of the Emergency Disclaimer System. And now, back to our regularly-scheduled fic...
- Chapter 1 -
The sun was just beginning to set on the skyline of the city known as "the Big Apple" as Leonard Sweetchuck made his way into the multi-floored apartment complex that his cousin, Malcolm, lived in. After discovering the elevator out of service, Sweetchuck eyed the stairwell and sighed miserably. His cousin just *had* to live on the very top floor, didn't he? Knowing there was no other way, he straightened to his full height (an astounding five foot one) and began the ever-exhausting task of tackling the flight of stairs. After a few agonizingly extrenuous minutes, a panting Sweetchuck made it to the top floor.
'Finally!' he thought, as he leaned against the far wall of the landing, removing his glasses and wiping the sweat from his forehead. After catching his breath, he opened the door that led out into the hallway. Looking up and down the hall, he finally went right, seeing as the numbers on the doors increased as they went in that direction. His cousin lived in number 1012, and he was standing in front of 1001. He made it to his cousin's door and knocked, then placed his hands behind his back as he rocked back on his heels and waited for his cousin to answer.

While he stood there, Leonard�s mind went back to his trip across the country to the city: the metal detector at LAX giving him a hard time, causing him to nearly miss his flight; the rude attendant on the plane prior to him boarding another flight in Chicago; the exchange getting delayed for almost four hours before eventually taking off; the pilot taking a wrong turn and ending up in Toronto; getting a third flight that finally took Sweetchuck to LaGuardia Airport, then almost losing his luggage to another passenger who mistook the bags for their own after getting off the plane in New York; and the last step of the trip, taking a taxi in bumper-to-bumper traffic in lower Manhattan. But, he was just glad to have made it to his cousin�s place by day�s end. Presently, Sweetchuck heard the door being unlocked, and soon it swung open to reveal Cousin Malcolm.
�Malcolm?� The taller man, who was a near-carbon copy of Leonard, was thoroughly shocked to see his distant relative at his doorstep. �Cousin Malcolm, is that you?� The shorter of the two could barely contain his excitement.
�Uh, ah yes. Y-yes, it�s me,� stammered Malcolm. He squinted slightly at Sweetchuck from behind his thick-rimmed glasses. �L-Leonard? What�what b-brings you h-here?�
�I�m here to visit you,� Sweetchuck answered, his smile evidence of his extreme happiness at seeing his cousin again. �Don�t you think this is wonderful? I haven�t seen or heard from you in so long.�
�Why, uh, yes...it has. Um, are you in town for long?� Malcolm asked hesitantly, while looking over Sweuckuck's shoulder every so often, as if he were expecting somebody else.
�You bet. I'm here for the entire week. I was hoping you could use a room mate for that length of time,� Sweetchuck replied, still smiling, though it wavered as his cousin continued to look past him into the hallway every so often. Leonard turned to look behind him, wondering if there was something there to see, then he turned back to Malcolm. �So, Malcolm, how�s life in the Big Apple?� As he spoke, Sweetchuck shifted slightly in the direction that his cousin was leaning. �I bet it�s exciting, so much to see and do.�
�Well, um�pretty good, I guess,� came the nervous reply. Malcolm leaned slightly to the other side, still peering out at whatever he thought might be out in the hall. As he did so, the shorter cousin mirrored the motion. �H-how about you? What�re th-things like in, ah, L.A.?�
�Eh, not bad.� Gradually the smile on Sweetchuck�s face was vanishing, and was replaced by a mixed expression of confusion and concern. He continued to copy Malcolm�s constant shifting from one side to the other.
�Hey, are you a c-cop at all?� the taller of the two relatives asked. �I heard you went to the police academy. Did y-you graduate yet?� This time, Malcolm�s movement was more quick and sudden, though he still averted his gaze away from Sweetchuck and kept his eyes focused on the hallway.
�Yup. I made it all the way through and graduated as a full law enforcement officer,� Leonard said proudly as he leaned the same way Malcolm did, attempting to keep his attention. �I can show you my badge, if you like.� He went to put his hand in his jacket pocket to dig out his police badge and I.D.
�L-later,� Malcolm answered, still dodging to see around Sweetchuck. However, the little man was pretty quick and tried to figure out why his cousin kept up this ridiculous, incessant moving back and forth, as if there was something important outside that he needed to see.
�Cousin Malcolm,� Sweetchuck said, shifting back and forth in synchronization with his cousin. �I don�t mean to change the subject so suddenly, but�how�s your job going? Are you doing well as a computer technician?�
�Hm? Er, it�s g-� Malcolm suddenly realized that Leonard had mentioned his line of work, and in a panic grabbed his shorter relative by the front of his shirt and pulled him inside the apartment. It was a good thing Sweetchuck had his hands on his luggage, lest it got left in the hallway as he was jerked forward. He was, however, not fleet of foot, and wound up stumbling into the apartment with his travel bags, nearly getting a mouthful of plush shag carpet.

�Malcolm, what�s come over you?!� Sweetchuck cried in his most pathetic attempt at sounding angry at his cousin�s strange behavior.
"S-sorry, Lenny," Malcolm began, at last using the nickname he normally used when speaking to his cousin. "I didn't mean to pull that hard. You just....uh, wh-what were you saying about my career?" Sweetchuck opened his mouth to answer, but just as he began, a knock was issued at the door. Quick as a flash, Malcolm caught hold of the lapels of his jacket once again and quite promptly stuffed him inside of the broom closet! Attempting to make a protest, Sweetchuck felt a hand clamp over his mouth as his cousin leaned in close, hissing into his ear.

"Lenny, please listen to me. Just stay here and be quiet. I'll let you out in a few minutes, okay?" Sweetchuck nodded vigorously in agreement, resulting in Malcolm removing his hand and shutting the door firmly, casting his baffled cousin into total darkness. Straightening out his appearance, Malcolm approached the door, making himself look confident. In truth, he was scared to death, for he knew who had arrived at his apartment.
�Can I h-help you, sir?� he inquired as he opened the door a bit, peeking out at a huge man in a dark suit. The man was bald and had a scar running from his eyebrow down the right side of his face.
�Enough formalities! Where�s that chip you have information copied on?� was the sharp reply. The voice was deep, guttural, the big tough-guy type. This strange voice definitely did not belong to a wet noodle like Malcolm or Leonard. From inside the closet, Sweetchuck could make out some of the words that were exchanged on the other side of the door. He heard the front door slam as it swung open, his cousin very close to becoming part of the cream-colored wallpaper from the pressure of the door against him. Then there were footsteps; three bodyguards, in service of the police commissioner, entered the apartment, followed by Malcolm scurrying after them.
�Well? Where�s the evidence, Nerd-Man? We want that chip.� The same voice spoke again, derisively this time. Malcolm was becoming frantic now. How would he keep them from getting the chip? His mind scrabbled for a way to get out of the situation, but the odds were against him. Unless he produced the microchip containing the information he hacked-and fast-those men would kill him on the spot. From inside the broom closet, Leonard gasped slightly at what was being said. He couldn�t believe his ears: his own cousin was a hacker! Sweetchuck deduced it might be blackmail, or something related to it. But why would Malcolm need to keep this information a secret?
�I told you, I don�t know what you�re looking for!� he could hear Malcolm plead. �Why do you keep asking me for information I don�t have?!� Leonard�s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Cold shivers ran up and down his spine as he listened more closely, trying to make something of what was going on outside. The closet was made of slats, so Sweetchuck got on his knees and peeked out, trying to see what was happening. He took one look at the broad-shouldered men in the dark suits and immediately crab-walked to the back wall of his hiding place, quivering in fear.
�Hey, Frankie, check what we�ve got here,� another voice cut him off. This time, it was a younger man talking. �Looks like we got ourselves a would-be fugitive.� The agents had found Sweetchuck�s luggage and were mistaking it for Malcolm�s.
�So, trying to run out on us, huh, pipsqueak?� the deep-voiced bodyguard asked. This time, there was the sound of a gun hammer clicking as Frankie trained his .357 Magnum on Malcolm.
�NO!� Sweetchuck�s cousin protested, waving his hands wildly in front of him and shaking his head vehemently. �I�m not going anywhere! Really, I�m not! They�re-� The bald man with the scarred face did not move an inch, keeping his weapon locked on target, straight between the spectacled man�s eyes.
�Look, Four-Eyes, we don�t want no trouble from you,� continued Frankie, never letting up. �Either fork over the evidence or you�ll be going to sleep with the fishes in the East River. Got me, bub?� Inside of the small closet that served as Sweetchuck's haven, the timid man's mind was racing, desperately trying to think of a way to get himself and his cousin out of this predicament. If only he had his revolver...but no, that was safely tucked away in one of his luggage bags. Outside. With the bad guys.

Oh, great! What would Mahoney or Tackleberry say if they could see him now? He felt utterly useless, sitting here while his cousin was out there, probably pleading for his life!

Malcolm had subtly maneuvered the secret service agent known as Frankie, and the two other lackeys with him, away from the broom closet currently housing his surprise guest. Silently he cursed his luck. 'Why, oh why, out of all the times he could have arrived, did Lenny decide to come visit now?' Keeping his hands held up, palms outward in a warding gesture, Malcolm continued to babble, defending himself while trying to convince Frankie that a) he wasn't planning on running, b) he didn't have what they were looking for, and c) that Frankie really didn't need to point that gun so close to his head. He was intimidated enough as it was with just the three big men's presence.
�I-I�m sorry, but I c-can�t let you have th-the chip,� stammered Malcolm, now beginning to sweat as he slowly, carefully backed away from the bodyguards, keeping their attention away from the closet. �I-if I do, then I�ll on-l-ly be allowing y-your boss to per-p-petuate his corrupt p-practices.�
�Thank you for enlightening us to that fact, smart guy,� sneered tall, bald, and scarred Frankie. �Maybe that�s why we came here, to get that chip from you and keep our boss�s doings under wraps. Don�t you think so?� It was here that he cut the sarcasm and got serious.
�Now hand it over before I get really mad!� Meanwhile, Cousin Leonard was silently panicking, paranoid that the agents might search the place and find him. If they were intent on blasting his defenseless relative�s brains out, imagine what they might do to him! And Sweetchuck was much smaller and weaker than the former, which did not help in the slightest, although neither one was very strong or formidable.
'If they find me, I should give them the Clint Eastwood impression!' Sweetchuck thought quickly, suddenly finding a ray of hope in his bleak situation. 'That should scare them away!' Just as suddenly as it had come, the idea vanished. He could not fend the mafia guys off without his trusty revolver, and it was outside in one of his travel bags. The poor little man had two choices, and both were highly risky. He could either stay in the closet and do nothing, then perhaps be found a short time later-sans his weapon-after Malcolm was taken care of; or, he could attempt to sneak out, be caught by the bodyguards, then both he and his cousin would be shot without even a chance to fight back.

Leonard Sweetchuck�s brain was reeling, and he became so frenetic his body felt paralyzed, every one of his limbs unable to move at all. Any hope of escaping had gone out the window when the scarred man pulled out his handgun and aimed at Malcolm�s head. These secret service men were dangerous; to keep them from their work meant certain death to the one who dared to stand in their way, and the people closest to them would suffer the same fate.
'Mahoney! Tackleberry! Oh, I wish you were here to help!' Sweetchuck crawled back to the door just in time to peek through the slats and see Frankie and his cronies trap Malcolm against the wall opposite the closet. The three large men had the helpless computer geek surrounded with no way out.
�Listen up, you sneaky little hacker. I�m warning you for the last time here,� growled Frankie, now placing the cold metal barrel of his Magnum handgun against Malcolm�s forehead. Immediately, sweat began to bead up on the cowardly young man�s forehead. His breathing became more rapid, and his eyes flitted fearfully from the guy with the scarred face to the other two on either side of him. �The plan is simple: you give us the chip; our boss, the police commissioner, keeps his work secret; we let you go on with your pathetic little life. We act like nothing ever happened. You don�t give us what we want�� Here he clicked the hammer of the handgun again. Almost as if by mental synchronization, both Malcolm�s and Lenny�s eyes widened behind their identical thick-rimmed glasses.
"Game over." Frankie grinned malevolently, knowing he had the scrawny nerd right where he wanted him; it would not take much for him to crack and lead them to the microchip on which he had stored the information from a top-secret federal government database. Sweetchuck was frozen in horror: he�d dealt with a corrupt mayor, but a crooked police commissioner?! This was becoming too much for him to handle. He felt as if his mind was spinning out of control; the nightmare was becoming scarier with each passing minute. And then it got worse. As Sweetchuck timidly crawled forward once more, he heard the deep voice of one of the men above Cousin Malcolm's continued pleading.

"Alright, enough sweet talking, I'm getting just about fed up with you, Four-Eyes!" and with that, Malcolm was swung from the wall he'd been pinned against to the opposite side....where the closet in which poor Sweetchuck was hiding.
Malcolm's body hit the door with a thud, causing the wood to tremble--as if in fear--from the impact. Sweetchuck immediately recoiled, backing completely against the far wall of the closet.

"Now, I'm giving you to the count of three. You tell us where the chip is, you live. You don't tell us," the significant click of a bullet shifting into the chamber of the gun Sweetchuck knew was being directed threateningly at his cousin was heard. "then you die."
'Come on, Malcolm, just tell them!' Sweetchuck thought frantically. 'They're going to kill you if you don't!'

"One...."
Malcolm continued to keep the location of the chip hidden as he repeated over and over that he couldn't give it to them.
"Two..."
And it was true. He couldn't give it to them. Not without revealing his cousin's presence and possibly putting him in danger as well. If he was going to die, then Malcolm preferred his sacrifice to not be in vain. That microchip was too important and could not fall into the wrong hands. Silently he prayed that his cousin would find the little object he had slipped inside of his jacket pocket as he'd pushed him in the closet when he was away from here and hand it over to the right authorities....ones that were not corrupt.
"Three."
Malcolm closed his eyes, his final thought on his cousin. 'Please, please Lenny! Come through for me!'
BAM!
Inside the recesses of the closet, Sweetchuck jolted as the gun went off. Immediately, he felt something warm and wet douse his face and drip down his neck. He silently thanked God that it was dark, for he had the sinking feeling he knew what it was.

Blood.

~*~
Rose: Yeah, I know. Kinda dark for a PA fic, right? Well, don't worry, the mood will lighten up in the next couple of chapters.

~*~
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Police Acadamy 8: Big Apple Bust