Disclaimer: The original Patlabor series was created by
Masami Yuuki. This is a tribute to it, and thus is not
intended to step on his toes or the toes of anyone else
involved in its production. :)

Pervious episodes are archived at R&C Books, at the
following link:
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/1375/

As always, I appreciate any comments.

Bart Kelsey

*****

Patlabor Stateside
Episode #3: Never Piss Off a Woman with a Labor

     "Three more beers over here!"  Gabe waved his arm at
the waitress.
     Weaver was having a great time, although he had to
admit, deep down, he found the whole scene rather odd.  For
the most part, his drinking buddies in college had been
about his age, but there he was, sitting in a bar, getting
drunk with Ron Paccini, who was about thirty, and Gabe
Larson, who was about twenty years older than that.
     "So," Larson continued, "Bradley pops 'is hatch open
an' starts wavin' 'is arms at me, an' my radio was broke, so
I couldn' tell what he was sayin'.  Course, by that time, I
was all riled up 'cause I thought I was about to catch the
bastard, so I figure whatever Bradley's gotta say can wait
till after I get 'im!
     "Anyway, I pull out my gun an' fire twice, an' hit the
damn thing in the left leg.  The mech falls down an' starts
tumblin' all over the place an' finally stops.  I get outta
my labor, all proud a' myself, an' it turns out that after
the fight, the druggie'd run off down the street an' I'd
gotten mixed up an' been chasin' after some shipping
employee.  Poor guy broke three ribs when his labor hit the
ground!"
     The three of them then broke out into a fit of loud,
raucous, and not-entirely-sober laughter, which might have
drawn attention had the rest of the bar's patrons not been
acting in a similar fashion.
     "Well," Weaver spoke up over the racket, "wonder how
Laura and Miss Insurance Nightmare are doin' back at the
station."

*

     "Night shift sucks.  C-7, by the way."
     "Tell ya what," said Laura, "next time we're both off,
we can have a girls' night out."
     "Yeah, I could go for that."  Jody brushed her hair out
of her eyes and contemplated her playing board.  "So, did I
hit or miss?"
     "Yeah, you got my destroyer."
     "Can you tell how thrilled I am?"
     Laura nodded, her dark-blonde hair glinting slightly
under the dim, yellowish lamplight.
     "This is a dumb game."
     Laura shrugged.  "It was either this or Sports Trivia."
     "Hey, I know about sports."
     "...the 1979 Edition."
     "Oh."  Jody sat quietly for a moment.  "Hey, not to
change the subject, but what's this I keep hearing about
another labor being on order?"
     "The Nova, you mean?"
     "What's a Nova?"
     "It's a brand new high-end law enforcement labor.
Supposedly, in the hands of a good pilot, it can take on
military mechs."
     "Wow.  Must be--"
     "--expensive?  Yes, very much so.  It cost the
department more than this building and the two other labors
put together.  The down-payment was three million, non-
refundable."
     Jody blinked.  "Well, that explains why they didn't try
shut the department down after my little accident the other
day.  Better to spend six hundred thousand dollars than let
three million go to waste."
     "Pretty much.  Anyway, it's supposed to be shipped here
within a week, but Multicorp never ships anything on time if
they can help it."
     Jody lowered her voice, which was odd, because there
was no one else in the building either awake or within
earshot.  "Who do you think will get to pilot it?"
     "Seeing as how we have four pilots for three labors, I
assume we'll take turns."
     "Hey, Laura?"
     "What?"
     "Are we gonna finish this game?"

*

     Laura yawned.  "Morning, Weaver."
     "Mmfrmmnmumm."
     "Hung over?"
     "Mmm-hmm."
     "Oh well.  You enjoy yourself.  I need to get some
sleep."
     "Hrmph."
     Laura yawned again and trudged up the stairs, leaving a
decidedly ill Weaver alone in the mech bay.  He was joined a
few minutes later by Gabe Larson, who didn't look much
better.
     "Damn, why the hell's it so bright in here?"
     "Uhhmh."  Weaver shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
     "I hate mornings."  Gabe stretched, squinting at the
sunlight coming in through the open bay door.  "Is there any
aspirin around here, by any chance?"
     With a tremendous effort, Mitch Weaver managed to speak
coherently.  "There were four left.  I took all of them."
     "Hey guys."
     Gabe waved weakly.  "Morning, Ron.  How ya feelin'?"
     "Been better."
     "Say cheese, guys!"
     There was a sudden, bright flash of light.  Between the
three of them, they produced quite an impressive stream of
expletives.
     "Dammit, Jody," Mitch snapped.  "Shouldn't you be in
bed?"
     "That's where I was headed, but I had to stop and take
a picture.  You understand, don't you?"
     Weaver then explained to Jody exactly where he thought
she should shove her camera.
     "Weaver."
     Mitch winced at the sound of his name.
     "Are you gonna hose those labors down some time this
morning?"
     Through Mitch's headache, even Tony Allison's calm,
level voice was irritating.  Too tired to object to the head
mechanic's request, he trudged over to the north wall and
unrolled the hose, muttering something about four years of
engineering school.

*

     "CAMP Headquarters.  Styles here."  The captain rubbed
his left temple as he listened to the voice on the other end
of the line.  Seconds later he held the phone a few inches
away from his face and blinked incredulously at it, as if,
rather than the person on the other end of the line, the
phone itself had said the ridiculous thing he had just
heard.
     "I'm sorry," he spoke into the receiver, "but it
sounded to me like you just said you want to dispatch a
police labor to resolve a domestic dispute."
     A pause.
     "'Excessive' comes to mind."
     Another pause.
     "What exactly do you mean by atypical?  I thought all
domestic disputes were pretty much alike."
     Pause.
     "Oh.  In that case, we'll get right on it."
     Captain Todd Styles hung up the phone and took a big
swig from his coffee cup, then slowly leaned over to press
the button on his intercom.

*

     "All personnel currently on duty, please report to my
office."
     Mitch Weaver winced.  The PA system was exceptionally
loud this morning, and the captain's every syllable sent
shattering waves of agony through his skull, which then
traveled down to his stomach and sloshed around a bit before
finally petering out in his small intestine.
     Wiping the cold sweat off his brow, he closed the
nozzle of the hose, being careful not to move so fast as to
cause any sudden, unwanted reversals of flow in his
digestive system.
     He dizzily made his way across the labor bay, which
seemed somewhat larger than usual this morning, and stumbled
into the captain's office with the rest of the squad.
     Ron and Gabe were just hiding it better--but not so
well as to avoid the scrutiny of Captain Styles' all-seeing
eye.
     "Having a rough morning, gentlemen?"
     The Three Amigos put on their best I-don't-know-what-
you're-talking-about faces--a necessary formality, even
though all six of them (Tony and Tom had answered the
summons as well) knew damn well what the captain was talking
about.
     "Well," said Styles, "that aside, we have a bit of a
situation on East 10th Street.  Evidently--Laura, I thought
you were off duty."
     "I was, sir," said Laura, who had just come in, "but I
couldn't sleep."
     "Alright then.  At any rate, there's a woman in a mech
down on East 10th threatening to tear her boyfriend's house
down if he doesn't come outside.  The mech's a brand-new
general-purpose warehouse labor.  It's quick, but it's
unarmed and smaller than the Corwin, so you shouldn't have
any trouble apprehending it if the need arises."
     The six of them nodded.
     "Paccini, you're in the Apollo for this one, and Laura,
since you're awake, I'll send you in on backup.  Allison,
Harris, you two are driving.  Any questions?"  Styles
grinned to himself, noting that the best way to avoid dumb
questions was to give people an opportunity to ask them.
     "Go to it, then," he said, "and try not to screw up."
     Five minutes later, the CAMP task force was on the
road.  The two massive labor trucks pulled out of the
station and sped northward down High Street.  Motorists
pulled over for the police sirens and watched the transports
drive past.  After several minutes, Tom Harris, who was
leading the two-vehicle convoy, brought his rig to a stop
and picked up his transmitter.
     "Well, here's 10th Street.  The report came from two
blocks east of here.  If you're ready, I'm going to raise
the bed and detach your labor."
     "Roger that, Tom."  Laura powered up the Corwin's
engine and waited patiently for the truck to tip it
completely upright.
     "Detaching now."  Harris typed a command on the control
pad, releasing Laura's mech from its position on the back of
the truck.  The Corwin stumbled forward slightly as it
stepped down onto the street.
     "You ready, Laura?"  Ron's voice radioed in from the
Apollo.
     "Sure thing."
     The two police labors walked down the street, with a
growing crowd of onlookers running to keep up at a safe
distance behind them.  Presently, they came within view of
the labor the captain had described earlier.  Sleek and
freshly-painted, it looked as if it had never been heavily
used.  A woman's voice rang out over the labor's
loudspeaker.
     "You cheating scumbag!  I can't believe I ever let you
move in with me!  If you don't come out of there, by god,
I'm gonna take you out of there myself, and I'm liable to
smash you in the process!"
     The green labor flexed its fingers threateningly.  A
window opened in the front of the one-story house, and a
rather scruffy-looking dark-haired man poked his head out
and yelled an unflattering wisecrack about the labor
operator's lineage.
     "That does it!"  The labor bounded toward the house,
and its pilot began making good on her threat by attempting
to tear off the roof.  The Cheating Scumbag retreated from
the window, back into the house.

     Ron Paccini spoke into his headset.  "Suspect sighted.
It looks like she's...ripping the roof off of a house."
     "Roger that, Paccini," came Styles' reply.  "Move in at
your discretion."

     "...come back from work and find you in my own bed with
some little grade-school tramp!  Were you planning to take
her to her prom?"
     The enraged woman suspended her tirade long enough to
kick a hole into the garage door.  "You'd better start
running, you worthless son of a bitch, `cause if I catch
you, I'm gonna start pulling limbs off!"  With a tremendous
yank, the mech tore a chunk of roofing from the top of the
house, then leaned over the now-open residence and started
taking out furniture and tossing it back over its shoulder,
into the front lawn.
     All in all, the whole scene looked like a scaled-up
version of a child rummaging through a box of toys.
     Ron's voice rumbled out over the Apollo's loudspeaker.
"This is the police!  Power down your mech and step out with
your hands in the air!"
     "What, are you gonna shoot me or something?  That's
right.  Just go ahead and do it, pig!  You men are all
alike!"  The labor turned back and tore off another piece of
the roof.
     "I'm warning you."  Ron's labor reached for its gun,
but stopped as Laura came in over the radio.
     "Maybe I should handle this."
     "Why, what is it you're planning to do?"
     "Just trust me on this, Paccini."
     "Ok," said Ron skeptically, "go ahead.  I'll back you
up if you need anything."

*

     Back at CAMP headquarters, the captain's vigil over the
radio was interrupted by a knock at the front door.  Rather
than leaving his marginally qualified underlings on their
own, he pressed the button on his intercom.

     "Weaver, come out here and answer the door."
     Mitch moaned and rubbed his forehead, staggering out of
the mech bay and past the captain's office.  On the other
side of the glass door was a man about Mitch's age, holding
a leash that was attached to a big, brown, shaggy mutt.
     Mitch opened the door and poked his head out.  "Can I
help you with something?"
     "Ron Paccini here by any chance?"
     "No, he's out protecting the public right now.  Can I
give him a message?"
     "Yeah, tell him his brother Mark stopped by to drop off
his damn dog.  My apartment just isn't big enough for the
Piss Monster here, so if Ron wants him, he's gonna have to
find him another home or keep him around the station."
     "Well, seeing as how Ron isn't here right now, do you
think you could--"
     "Hell no!  This dog is not getting back into my car
with me."
     Weaver was too sick to argue.

     "Sir?"
     "Make it quick, Weaver.  I'm kinda busy, if you haven't
already picked up on that."
     "We have a dog now, Sir."

*

     "I know how bad they can be."  It was odd listening to
Laura's calm, soothing voice booming over the Corwin's
loudspeaker.  "My ex-husband walked out on me after six
years of marriage.  I wanted to do exactly the same thing
when it happened."
     By now, almost the entire roof was missing from the
house, and there were chairs, tables, major appliances, and
all manner of smaller odds and ends strewn out over the
lawn.  The woman piloting the labor continued rummaging
without a reply.
     "Listen, you're better than he is.  You don't have to
do this.  Let him go live his own life--you're way too good
for him!"
     She stopped.  "It's too late for that!  When I get out
of this labor, you and that other cop are gonna arrest me,
and I'll be jailed for life!"
     "Why would we do that?"
     "Because it's your job."
     "Well," said Laura shrewdly, "this is your own house,
correct?"
     "That's right."
     "And you told your boyfriend in there to get out, and
he hasn't, right?"
     "Yes."
     "Then you have a legal right to use force in order to
make him leave.  Of course, as an officer of the law, I'd
encourage you to call the police next time rather than using
a labor to rip your own house apart.  Now, if you'll just
wait here, I'll call the metro police and have them get him
out for you."
     The mech turned back toward the house and stood there
for a moment, then powered down.  A dark-haired woman in
jeans and a T-shirt crawled out of the hatch and jumped down
onto the grass.
     "Captain," said Laura into the radio, "did you get all
of that?"
     "Affirmative.  I'm calling Metro now."

     Jody Morisato walked downstairs into the mech bay just
as the doors were opening to let the two trucks back into
the station.  She rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked at
Mitch, who was sitting on a stool with his head in his
hands.  "What'd I miss?"
     "We just got a call about twenty minutes ago," Mitch
mumbled.  "Some woman trying to kill her boyfriend with a
labor or something."
     Jody blinked, afraid to look down at what was causing
the gradually expanding warm, wet spot on her right shin.
     "Oh," said Mitch, grinning despite his hangover, "and
Ron's brother Mark stopped by and dropped off his dog.
Jody, meet the Piss Monster."
     Jody shrieked.

     "Waldo!"  Ron climbed down off the boarding platform
and ran over to scratch his dog behind the ears.
     "Waldo?  That damn dog just pissed on my leg!"
     "Oh, yeah.  You kinda have to watch out for that.  If
you see him lining up, it's usually best to get out of the
way.  How'd he get here, anyway?"
     Weaver was still grinning.  "Your brother Mark dropped
him off while you were gone.  Said he was too much trouble
and his apartment was too small or something.  I tried to
have him come back later, but he was pretty adamant about
leaving the dog here."
     "Impressive work, Laura."  The captain stepped out of
his office.  Laura wasn't sure, but she thought she could
make out a slight smile on his face.
     "Thank you, Sir."
     "Now," said Styles, "what's this about somebody
dropping off a dog?"
     "That's my dog," said Ron.  "Is it alright with you if
I keep him around the station until I can find somebody to
take care of him?  Now that I'm here most of the time, I
really can't keep him back at my house."
     "Alright, go ahead...just clean up after him, alright?"
     "No problem, Captain."

Epilogue:  Twenty-six year old Wanda Towlyn was fined $48
for operating a mech in an unauthorized area.  Her cheating
scumbag ex-boyfriend was sentenced to three months in prison
for refusing to leave her property when she requested it.
The Piss Monster's signature remains on Jody Morisato's
jeans, despite the application of numerous detergents that
claim to Get Rid of Tough Stains Fast.