The company we keep

Have you ever seen that movie?...
You know the one. The possession of Emily Rose. That's who's sitting in front of me on the hospital bed. Her dark hair is a snarled tangle of dirty brown. She looks like a skeleton. She looks broken, but her eyes are alive with a wild crack induced fire. She's high and can hardly sit still. Her arms wave in strange contortions as she tells me about the gunshot wound to her wrist.

Her first name is Deanna and she has at least four different last names that I know of. In another life she wanted to be a cop. She even attended the Law Enforcement academy. The same facility I graduated from.

She was married and has two children that someone else has raised. Now the only thing she cares about is crack.

As I look at her I am convinced she would smoke a two hundred pound rock if she could stuff it into a crack pipe. I've never in all the years I've dealt with her seen her anything but high.

I talk to her a bit about her life before asking her how she was shot. I've already looked at the wound. It's superficial. Just grazed her wrist and it's already stopped bleeding. She's very lucky.

We talk about her kids and her ex-husband. Her kids are doing well she tells me. I don't know how she would know that. She says her daughter is studying to be a nurse and will maybe go on to be a doctor.

I tell Deanna I saw her mom a few days ago.

"My mom?"

"Yep, she was drunk but she talked about you. She worries about you."

"She's always drunk." Deanna says, while her arms flail around excessively in strange archs and swoons.

The doctor peaks into the room and Deanna asks for a xanax to "calm her nerves." I cynically wonder if she didn't hurt her wrist herself so she could come to the emergency room and get some pain meds.

In my experience dealing with crack heads, Xanax and crack seem to go together like peanut butter and chocolate.

"You got crack in my xanax, you got xanax in my crack" I think to myself in a dark humorous sort of way. Dark humor seems to take the edge out of dealing with the human condition day in and day out. You just have to be careful with it. Not everyone understands it.

I finally ask her how she got shot. She tells me that a bunch of guys were at the house drinking and began to argue. She said several of the guys started shooting at each other and a bullet grazed her wrist as she dove to the ground....No she didn't know who any of the guys doing the shooting were, and really she's fine.

I ask her if she isn't getting tired of her life. She says she is. I don't talk to her about changing her life as I know a pep talk about a better, crack free, life will do her no good.

she simply says she wants off crack, and we leave it at that.

"Where is Louis?" she asks me. I tell her I don't know.

Louis is her boyfriend. Louis doesn't use crack. She says she and Louis have been fighting a lot lately about her drug addiction.

Louis wants her off crack. Louis wants her in rehab. Louis loves her.

Ironically Louis is the biggest dealer of Crack cocaine in the area. He is so big in fact people often come from out of state and the surrounding counties to buy from him.

Louis is big time and knows how to play the game.

Louis is respectful to law enforcement.

Louis is one of the smartest men in his chosen profession that I have met thus far.

I've had long conversations with Louis late at night while he sat in his cell block the last time he was locked up.

Louis didn't rat anyone out last time he got caught.

Louis did his time quietly, serving his sentence and never complaining about anything.

Louis knows what the game is about.

Louis is a millionaire and to look at him you would never know it.

The feds never found his money. Neither did we.

Louis is a smart man.

One time several years ago, a crack head came to the house Louis dealt out of with no money. Just a bad crack habit and a shotgun. He put the gun against Louis' chest and demanded cocaine and money...

...Louis promptly took the man's shotgun away from him and beat him into the hospital with it. To my knowledge no one has tried to rob Louis again.

I try to be the best cop that I can be and Louis tries to be the best drug dealer he can be. I have a sort of morbid respect for that.

Louis comes into the room. Louis smiles at me. "Hey how are you man?" he asks. He looks at me as if I'm an old friend. I guess in a weird sort of way we are. A sort of way where what we do is nothing personal. It's just what we do.

It's just part of the game.

We shake hands and chat for a moment. He's worried about Deanna and is relieved when I tell him she's fine.

She's discharged, still high and wild. We all shake hands again and say our goodbyes, knowing next time we meet we might all be trying to kill each other. We stand there. Deanna. Louis. Me.

She thanks me for talking to her like a real person. No one's done that in a very long time she says. Especially a cop.

We all leave.

As I drive my squad car out of the parking lot I begin to think of how bizarre the encounter was, or must have seemed to an outsider.

Deanna...High on crack.

Louis...A well known drug dealer.

Me...A cop.

Just talking in a civil manner about anything but our differences.

All of us knowing it's just part of the game.

Off in the distance

Two A.M. I got off work two hours ago...
I sit on the porch, smoking a cigarette and this is one of those rare times I'm drinking a beer.

As I smoke my Marlboro and drink my drink I wonder how I have gotten to this particular moment in my life.

As I smoke my smoke and drink my drink wondering how I've gotten to this point in my life, somewhere off in the distance, a lonely dog barks a deep lonely song.

And while the dog, alone n the cold, barks his song I wonder what else my life could be and who else I could have been under a different set of circumstances.

And as I smoke my smoke and drink my drink listening to the lonely song of the dog while wondering how I got where I am and became who I am and who I could have been it occurs to me that I might have, with a tweak in upbringing, been a drunk or a drug addict.

I could be beating a wife, who in her twisted sensibilities, needs the beatings.

And as I smoke my smoke and drink my drink listening to the lonesome barking dog, realizing that I could be a wife beating drunk I think that, perhaps, if that was my life then my son would probably be watching.

And as I smoke my smoke and drink my drink, off in the distance a second dog begins barking with the first and as I think of how, in another circumstance, I could be teaching my son how to drink and angrily beat a woman, there is a high probability that I wouldn't take any accountability, or perceive this cycle at all and to me, my perception would be that I was the victim. That everything in my life had made me this way, a victim every day of my life, and that everyone I lashed out at in some way was to blame for my abuse of them.

And as I smoke my smoke and drink my drink and think about who I might have been and the life I could be living, with a small tweak in my upbringing, a third dog joins the barking night time song and it no longer sounds very lonely. I realize that my life doesn't seem so askew.

I'll go to bed, wake up in the morning and face the same problems I went to bed with. I'll be thankful that my upbringing gives me the strength and fortitude to do so.

Twenty random facts

Twenty random facts about me...


1) My biggest regret in life is having been a boy scout for years and never applying myself to earn the rank of eagle scout.

2) I deathly detest maggots. They make me gag nearly every time I see them.

3) I am an insomniac. I often live on only three hours of sleep a night.

4) I want to ride my bicycle a hundred miles in a day without stopping.

5) I like to sit on my porch late at night and watch cars go by.

6) If I could be anything other than a cop I would get into graphic design.

7) I've never in my life been on a real vacation or left the country.

8) I used to regret having never been in combat when I was in the Marine Corps.

9) I'm now thankful that I never had to go to combat.

10) I believe that most (but not all) people who report being of crime against their person are full of Bologna and most true victims never report being victimized.

11) I have a recurring dream that I am sitting in a white room at a steel table and across from me sits someone (varies who from dream to dream) that I find elicits, in real life, very strong emotions of hatred and disdain. In the dream I feel only content and we sit across from each other talking about our lives and, for that moment we are just two people talking like friends.

12) For years I dated women who reminded me of my first girlfriend. I enventually realized what I was doing and stopped.

13) I married my wife in large part, and against my better judgment because it would have felt to me like a failure to not marry her.

14) One of the most rewarding things I've ever done is carve a jack-o-lantern at my son's school with a little girl who's father didn't show up to do so even though he had assured the school on two previous occasions that he would. When I heard the father's name I realized he was someone frequently arrested and was notorious for fighting the police.

15) On a domestic between a meth/crack addict man and woman, I played catch for a few moments in the driveway with a cute, withdrawn, blonde haired three year old boy. The boy was the nephew of the young man my wife was having an affair with. The child's place in life made me very sad.

16)I get teary eyed when I watch Lance Armstrong's Nike commercial entitled "Magnet". Especially the part where he rides by the hospital and the cancer laden children inside flock to the window to watch as he peddles by holding his fist up urging them to defy the disease and be freed from the I.V.'s they drag to the window with them.

17) I secretly envy coast to coast truck drivers.

18) I find ducks wildly funny with their angrily quacking, waddling social structures.

19) The first book I ever read was Stephen King's Pet cemetery.

20) I like to hold the door for other people but feel uncomfortable when the door is held open for me.

Summer 1995

It was a humid Saturday night...
and we had the keg set up in Joe's front yard. It must have rained the night before because I can remember there being a large mud puddle in his driveway.

I was two years into my contract serving with the Marine Corps. Joe had just gotten orders to be sent to Japan and we were celebrating his impending departure. The local P.D. had already responded to Joe's house for our loud music that night. Each time we turned the music down and apologized but the music seemed to return to full volume a few minutes after the cops left. We were, after all, twenty five or so half drunken young Marines and I'm sure they didn't particularly want to start a big brouhaha over some loud music.

There were about nine guys drinking beer across the street and we invited them over to our party to share our keg. We didn't know these guys as they were from a different unit. Those guys were already pretty tore up, they had started drinking waaaaaaaay before we began our festivities.

The dude that lived across the street began yelling at everyone and generally being a large pain in the ass. He started calling his wife a "Stupid Bitch!!!" and promptly pushed her down into the mud puddle, then threw a lit cigarette into her face. Joe's wife told the guy he needed to leave and he began yelling at her and spit on her.

I snatched old boy up, threw him over my shoulder and began to run down the road with him. I was telling him to calm down and go home to sleep it off, we didn't want any trouble at our party. He began screaming profanities in my ear and started tearing the belt loops off my pants. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by seven or so of his boozed up pals. They began punching me in the head telling me to let their friend go. I took the guy on my shoulder to the ground sending him face first into the pavement, he went unconscious upon eating the road. One of his buddies dragged him out of the circle while the rest of them kicked and stomped me.

I don't remember feeling any pain. All I remember is the ferocity and relentlessness of their attack and wondering how a group of people could be so animalistic. I got to my feet with them still kicking and punching at me, managed to punch a couple of them in their grimy mouths and then hearing someone yelling that they had called the police. The attackers ran away.

I walked back to Joe's house with a new realization that I've carried with me since. Sometimes you have to fight like hell for what's right even when the odds are stacked against you. You have to go for your enemies throat with as much ferocity as they are coming at yours. That is all they respect and understand.
Incidentally that guys wife called me a "Mother fucker!!!" for knocking her husband unconscious. Welcome to the wide world of helping out the victimized.

I'll sue you

A while back I arrested this guy.
I don't remember his name or even what I arrested him for. All I remember is what a belligerent jack-ass he was. Cursing and yelling. He was compliant enough to not get himself into any more trouble than he was already in, but he would not stop running his mouth.

I'm not an emotional person but he was really irritating me and other than getting his biographical information I didn't talk to him. While waiting to see the magistrate he continued his litany of verbal abuse as I wearily rolled my eyes in an attempt to find my happy place. Finally he says "I'm gonna sue your ass." Not a new or original threat by any means, everyone threatens cops with civil litigation. I just leaned close to him and whispered into his grimy little ear "I hope you do."

He stops talking and just looks confused as I explain "I'll counter sue your dumb ass, You'll be so in debt to me I'll own your children's children."

....????....???....

I guess he didn't know what to make of either the statement as a whole or the calm natured delivery, but he shut up for the first time since I had picked him up. He couldn't do anything but stare at the floor the rest of our time together.

Summer 2001

I wiggle my legs to make sure they're still attached.

My car has finally stopped and landed, upside down. I realize I'm hung in a tree. My car teeters forward then back. I'm hanging by my seatbelt. I move my arms, wiggle my fingers.

I exhale.

My airbag has deployed and deflated. A white powder fills the passenger area and collects on the roof below my head. I see the ground six feet beneath me.

My career is over, I think as I sweep the mic off the roof underneath me to call it in.

I'm speeding down the road, blue lights flashing, siren screaming. A burglary in progress. I cross the narrow bridge. The road is unfamiliar to me. I near the address I'm headed to and turn my emergency equipment off.

My heart is Racing. Pure adrenalin. Two cars enroute to back me up. I come into a turn. My tires find the loose gravel in the road and I begin to fishtail. I turn into it but begin to swing wildly in the other direction. I try to correct, and spin all the way around. After three wide fishtails I turn into and and just lock the steering wheel. I'm now in the wrong lane of traffic, 70 MPH and traveling backwards. I hear crunching metal as I hit the guardrail. That's good it will slow me down, I think as my car leaves the ground. It's so slow. I watch the steering wheel break open as it expels the airbag. Like riding a roller coaster, I think to myself. The airbag slowly inflates. I watch as it nears my chest. My car twists through the air. I see the guard rail beneath me through my drivers side window. It's sliding by impossibly slowly. The airbag wiggles and slowly begins to deflate. My car goes over the guard rail. Time speeds up. I hear a loud CRUNCH and my car abruptly stops. I collect my thoughts. I wiggle my legs to make sure they're still attached.

Slow night, I think as I pass a 24 hour gas station. I wave at the clerk. She waves back. The call comes in, a burglary in progress. I've never heard of the road this call is on. I use our car to car channel to get directions. Two cars check enroute to back me up. I'm speeding down the road, blue lights flashing siren screaming.

Dead in a ditch

I can smell the putrescent decay from here...

I'm at least a hundred and fifty yards away and I can Still smell it. It's hot and humid today. The end of July always is in the south. "I hate the summer here" I think as I stretch the yellow DO NOT CROSS. CRIME SCENE. tape between the weathered fence posts on either side of the road.

I see my Sergeant down there. He's motioning for me. I respect my sergeant. He's a smart, loyal man. He looks, to me, like agent fox mulder from the x-files show. I duck under the crime scene tape and walk towards him. The gravel crunches and puffs of dust spiral into the air under my feet as I take each step on the gravel back road. The sergeant walks toward me holding his nose. "Can you stay down here for a minute?" he asks. "I need to get some fresh air."
"Sure. Where is it?" I say.
He just points at the woods as he continues walking to my car.

What smells unpleasant at a hundred and fifty yards has become unbearable in the ten feet of separation I now have between myself and the body. I walk to the edge of the woods and there it is.

"MY GOD!" I think. It doesn't even look human any more and I wonder how long its been here, festering in the hot sun and humid air.

It is black, charred looking and splotched with large yellow pockets of what I imagine to be puss. It's bloated to near bursting and seems to be bent in half. It might be laying face down, but it's hard to tell what's what.

It's full of maggots. The body writhes with them just under the slick skin's surface. I can't tell if they're trying to eat their way further in or make their way back out. I decide maybe they are happy where they are. Feasting. There are a few of them squirming hungrily on top of the skin. Trying to eat their way in to join their brothers and aid in the natural order of life and death.

I know that when they move the body it will split open and fall apart gushing a mixture of thick ooze and maggots onto the ground. I'm glad my shift is near end and I won't be here for those festivities.

The body is neither recognizable as male or female. Indistinguishable as to race. I wonder who it was in life. I imagine someone has been missing them. Somewhere I imagine a child, spouse, mother, father or all of the above is hoping their loved one isn't lying dead in this ditch, perhaps they've been pacing the floor waiting on this corpse to walk in the door any minute now. Hoping. Praying.

Whoever this is has become the cliche parents try to scare their teenagers with. The time tested "You'll end up in a ditch dead somewhere."

I wonder what this person did that was so unforgivable they had to be ended like this. I imagine it is one of our local drug addicts.

My shift ends and I go home, talk to my six year old son about the evils of drugs. He rolls his eyes and says "I know all this already daddy. You already told me about it." I give him a hug and he goes to his room to play with his toys and I worry, knowing that someday someone will offer him drugs. I hope at that moment he remembers all the talks we've had about this and he makes the right decision. I don't ever want to pace the floors wondering if he's in a ditch somewhere on a dirty back road. My baby discarded like an animal.

Four years in a nutshell

August 2002. Thank God for the voice command feature on my cell phone...
I think as I speak the name of the person I want to call into the phones speaker. In the last 9 hours I have managed to go completely blind. All I can see is an ugly grey fog. The line begins to ring and I hear a voice say "Hello"
"I'm blind."
"What?"
"I'm blind lieutenant. I don't know what's wrong but I can't see anything. I have an MRI scheduled for tomorrow, I need the day off."
"You can't see anything?"
""Nope. It's like my eyes won't work, all there is is a dark shade of grey with a few black blobs in it."
"Sure yeah, If you need more time off after tomorrow you got it just ask."
"Thanks I really appreciate it."
"Call me after your scan and let me know what they say alright?"
"I will. Thanks again."
"No problem. If I can do anything for you just let me know."
"Alright. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"O.K. talk to you then."

I hit the end button. I don't know what;s wrong with me. I can only imagine it's something serious if it has caused me to go sightless in a few short hours. It has to be pretty bad to warrant the doctor sheduling a brain scan. I know they are sending me for the procedure to look for brain tumors even though the doctors wouldn't say that. I sit and I wonder if I'll wake up tomorrow. I sit and wonder if I'm dying. I sit and think that I am so grateful this is happening to me and not to...

...My wife and son walk into the room.
"How do you feel?" she asks me.
"O.K." I lie.
She is thinking the same thing as me. Wondering if it is a brain tumor. Wondering what the scan will reveal. I hold my hand a few inches from my sightless eyes. I try to will them to focus enough to see something, anything but they refuse.
I've been so tired lately it's been a struggle just to stay awake and I always feel like I'm about to lose consciousness. I hear this awful raging noise in my ears. It feels like my brain is being crushed to jelly with water. I put my hands against the sides of...

...My head slides into the large white machine, slowly trailing is the rest of my body. My arms are held closely against my sides. It's such a tight fit in the machine I can feel it rub against me as I am pulled into it. It begins to make a series of clicking noises. It sounds like a fully automatic electric stapler. I'm scared. I close my blind eyes and imagine...

I'm six years old. My little sister and I are at the top of an immense hill. We're looking down at the spillway at the resavouir. The sun is shining brightly. It's early afternoon and the grass looks so lush and green, speckled with a bright yellow explosion of dandelions. The breeze is blowing, gently ruffling my fine blond six year old hair. I'm giggling as I look at my kid sister who is standing next to me.
"Are you ready?" I ask her.
She smiles and says "yes."
We let go of each others hand as we lie down in the grass next to each other and start rolling down the hill at what seems like a breakneck speed at least to a four and six year old. The world is a blur of ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky. Light, dark, light, dark faster and faster we tumble side by side squealing and laughing until we reach the bottom.
We stand up all grass stains and smiles. I grab her hand as I hear my six year old voice ask "Sister are you..."

"...Alright?" I hear the tech ask as the machine whirs and clicks.
"I'm fine." I answer in my now twenty six year old voice.
"Just hang in there for a few more minutes. We're almost done, then we'll get you out of there." She says.
My two year old son sits on my wife's lap in the next room. They are watching me through a plexi-glass window. I know she's worried and I can't wait to get out of this narrow hole and go to them. After what seems to be an eternity, The machine powers down and I feel my body being slid, slowly, back out of the inhumanely narrow tube.
I sit up and feel my wife gently take my hand. I can't see anything as she guides me back to the room they had been sitting in. I ask the question that has been plaguing everyone's mind, but no one wants to ask.
"Is it a tumor?"
"I'm not a physician and technically I'm not qualified to read the scan." Says the technician."but I've ran a lot of these scans and I've seen a lot of abnormalities so I have a pretty good idea what to look for and looking at your scan I think I can safely say that I..."

"...I do" I hear my twenty two year old voice say as I gaze into the eyes of the woman I have fallen in love with. I'm nervous and she looks so beautiful in her white dress. I'm holding her hands in mine.

They're trembling. So are hers.

"You may kiss the bride." Our preacher tells me. His voice is distant as I've become lost in her dark brown eyes. We lean close and I feel her soft lips press firmly against mine. The room erupts in applause. Her mother st arts...

...Crying as the tech tells us "I didn't see anything that would suggest a tumor."
"Oh thank God." My wife sobs as she draws a deep breath of relief.
My wife leads me through the corridors of the hospital to the exit saying "There's a door just up ahead." I love my wife more than ever at this moment. I know it's been...

...Hard on her. She had spent the last month with me not knowing what was wrong with me. She had been by my side both day and night the entire nine days I was in the hospital. She was there and held my hand gently when the doctors stuck a long needle into my spine and drained out a large amount of spinal fluid to analyze. She stood by me when they put another needle into me femoral artery and injected dye into my brain. She went back to the job she hated because we didn't know if I would ever be well enough to work and my sick time was running out. Our future was so uncertain then. She watched as I blindly gave myself shots of louvenox into my stomach, which was covered in large yellow and purple bruises due to the many sites of injection. She cried often as she gave me my medicine twice daily because I couldn't see well enough to tell them apart.
"I love you so much." She whispered into my ear every night.
"I love you to." I would say before drifting of off to sleep. "She cried nearly every night before she went ot sleep.
Then one day things shifted. I was now seeing a little better, things were divided into blurry shades of black in the grey that my world was.
She was leaving for work, "I love you." I said and leaned in to kiss her. She turned her face away and I felt her cheek against my lips instead of her mouth. "Love you to." she said flatly as she got into her new truck and pulled out of the driveway. A few hours later the phone rang began ringing. My son was playing with toys I couldn't see well enough to tell what they were. I followed my ears to the phone. I debated whether or not to answer because I had been getting a lot of hang up calls. Those were mostly at night though after my wife returned home from work.
"Who was it?" she'd ask.
"don't know. They hung up." Afew minutes later she would retreat to our bedroom with the phone where she would stay for nearly an hour at times. I would hear giddy laughter resonate from the bedroom while she talked to whoever was on the other line, in a hushed voice. I was happy she was laughing again. She seemed happier than she had since I'd gotten sick. I loved her with all my heart.
I picked up the phone..."Hello?"
"Hi this is Mr.green from Green ford. I'm trying to reach your wife to follow up with her about a truck she looked at a few days ago."
"She's at work. I can give you that number."
Several moments of silence.
"Ummm...I called her at work and they said she was on vacation this week."
Somewhat confused "No, she left for work this morning."
"I'm sorry. I'll try that number again. I'm sure they were mistaken then."

I hung up and called her work. "She's not here today. She's still on vacation. Can I take a message?"

"No thanks." I hung up. My son standing near me. "Daddy, can we go outside?"

I'm sitting on the porch watching the indistinguishable grey blob that is my two year old son ride his big wheel on the driveway. It occurs to me that if my vision doesn't return I'll never be able to teach him how to bait a fish hook when he turns five, or when he's sixteen how to drive. I think of all the normal and special moments I'll never share with him. I think that I will never know what shape his face has taken when he has become a man, or be able to tell him how pretty his first girlfriend is. I begin to cry for the first time in my adult life. I feel the large tears drizzle down my cheeks. My son walks over to me and having never have seen his big strong daddy cry before puts his tiny little two year old hand on my knee and in a tiny quivering voice verging on tears asks me...

"...What's wrong?" She asks. "Nothing, I'm just thankful to be your husband. How was work today?" I ask her, wiping tears from my cheeks.

"Fine!" She screams as she hangs the phone up angrily. My house is dark and empty since she moved in with her mother across the street after revealing to me that she had been having an affair with a much younger man.

I stare at the phone sadly, wondering how we'd come to this. Passionately fighting over property neither of us cared about. I would look across the street and see his car parked in her driveway all night and into morning. I would stare, insane with jealousy at the thought of him lying in bed with my wife while my son slept in his bedroom.

One day I told her "I'm moving..."

"...into my new house. I'm filled with a mixture of sorrow and excitement. My new house is bigger and has hardwood floors. I have arranged the furniture in the same way it was in the old house, so it will seem more familiar to my now three year old son. My vision has returned to 20/20 and I've returned to patrol after an excrutiating year long stint working in the jail. I've actually been promoted too.

"What do you think buddy?" I ask my son.

"I like it daddy!" he exclaims before he takes off running through the house. I begin to date again as my now ex-wifes relationship with her boyfriend begins to crumble.

I pick my son up from his mother's house after school. He is now five and doesn't even remember a time when he I and his mom all lived together, I think. As we drive by our old house I he is looking at it through the trucks window, and he says "Daddy. I miss when we lived at our old..."

House, I think as I drive by. It's two in the morning and I'm patrolling my old neighborhood. It's a good neighborhood. Quiet. I patrol it more as a sentimental thing rather than a necessity. I remember four years ago. Standing at the kitchen sink watching my wife watch our son play with the little girl who lived next door. She was talking to the girls mother. The sun is going down and it casts an orange glow on my wife's face.

She's smiling. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I stand there feeling like the luckiest man in the world as, unbeknownst to them, I gaze at my family. Hoping that they will come inside soon. some cheesy love song is playing on the...

...Radio the telecommunicator is telling me that there is a domestic in progress I need to respond to. I tell them I'm enroute and as I drive to the call I wonder how I ended up here. What have I done to deserve the terrific son I have. The nice house I live in and the beautiful caring girlfriend I now share my life with.

Once upon a time...

According to a tip given to social services, the meth lab was supposed to be in one of the kitchen cabinets...She kept telling me it had been in the bathroom cabinet.

She was very skinny and had the appearance of a drug addict. Her speech was slow and her eyelids half closed, but didn't seem to be impaired.

Finding nothing more than grocery items in the kitchen cabinets I asked her to show me the bathroom cabinet, which turned out to be completely bare. "When I moved in it was in here." she said pointing at the cabinet.

"It was leaking some kind of watery stuff when I found it." She said that she called her landlord/slumlord and told him about it.
He gave her a trashbag and a wet/dry vac and told her to "clean it up" which she did. She also found a few baggies with "crystals" in it. She called our agency and the officer that responded collected it for disposal and left.

The woman invited me to search the rest of the of the trailer. We started in her children's room. I didn't find anything there either, but I noticed a picture of Mr. And Mrs. George W. Bush framed and hanging on the wall.

"That's an odd thing to see in a kid's room." I remarked. She pointed to a framed letter from the president next to it and further down the wall in another frame was a child's color pencil drawing of a large flag with an eagle's head amidst the stripes. At the top written in the careful scrawling of a kid's handwriting was the word.."FREEDOM"..

"My son drew that for a contest at school and they sent it to the president." She said proudly. "They sent him back the letter and photo." She finished.

She then took me to her room and I searched it finding nothing. She showed me two "escape hatches" that had been cut into the floor of her bedroom closet by the mobile homes previous occupants. She had placed plywood over the holes and stacked several plastic totes containing various odds and ends over the plywood to keep out intruders.

The house smelled overwhelmingly like some type of chemicals, but she had been cleaning the trailer like crazy and I saw the bleach and pine sol along with scrub brushes and other cleaning supplies, on the kitchen floor.

She told me she had just moved in about a week ago and that the dogs she kept inside had been barking all night. She thought she heard movement under her house and in her closet area.

She said she was afraid that whoever had lived there before her was trying to break in and get the drugs they had left behind.

This would be consistent meth addict behavior I knew. I thought about my son sleeping in his room at night while I lay in my room staring at my closet all night, waiting to see if the noise under my house would give way to a paranoid meth addict crawling through the floor and into my bedroom.

She looked very tired. I told her about contacting the housing authority and how they would make her landlord basically either remodel the entire trailer or condemn it. She told me that her landlord/slumlord only charged her 250 dollars a month for the trailer and had told her it was a reduced rate for tennents who "didn't make any trouble for him" and she couldn't afford to live anywhere else. She had already lain new carpet over the old and had begun replacing the interior paneling of the walls.

The children were talkative, brite and seemed to be pretty well taken care of. The little girl was six and had blonde hair. Her brother was 11 and small for his age. He had brown hair cut into a little mullet. His little sister kept smiling and rubbing the top of his head asking me if I thought she did a good job of "Spiking brothers hair?"

"Did you fix his hair?" I asked her smiling.
"Yep." She said proudly.
"You sure did." I said.
She beamed at me and put her hands on her hips. She looked as though she had just topped Mt. Everest.

The social worker was outside in her van waiting for me to tell her it was safe for her to come inside. I told mom I was going to give the worker the green light to come in.
"O.K." Mom said, but seemed worried and trepidicious. She had had her children placed by social services twice before and wasn't exactly looking forward to DSS being involved in her life again.

Even people with drug problems love their children in their fashion and their children love them in return, no matter how bad the situation is. I saw moms defenses start to rise as I walked out of the trailer and into the driveway.

"Hi, I'm Dana, with the department of Social Services." The worker said to mom while shaking her hand. I could see the invisible wall mom had erected between her and the worker. Her eyes were cold, she had closed body posture and avoided eye contact. She was preparing for battle.

Mom and Dana sat on the couch while Dana arranged her paperwork to begin the interview. While mom and Dana talked I spoke to the children. My lips were starting to feel numb and my mouth was slightly burning. I began to imagine all the health problems I would likely have if I was breathing in old meth fumes.

I watched the children.

The little girl was telling me how much she liked "potted meat" while her brother wrinkled his nose and said he thought it was "gross."

As if to prove her point the girl went into the kitchen and climbed up onto an overturned milk crate to retrieve a can of potted meat which she opened and began eating. She smiled at me as she spooned some of the dish into her mouth and asked if I wanted some.
I told her "No thank you, I'm more of a spam fan."
"Spams icky!" she giggled.

Her brother showed me an armful of trophies and medals he had won in academic contests at the three schools he had last attended.
"You guys move a lot huh?" I asked.
"Yep." said the boy. "I hope we stay here for a while though."

He then showed me a book he had gotten from scholastic.com about spies and spy cameras. He told me about the devices and how to write in secret codes.

He told me that when the mailman drops the book off he isn't allowed to put it n the mailbox, but instead has to walk it up to the door and have someone sign for it.
He looks around the living room to make sure no one is listening, then tells me quietly "That's how serious this spy book is."

I ask him if he is ready for school to start back. Not really he tells me, he likes school but he gets bullied a lot. He's sure this year will be different though. I think it's too bad that school is about learning your order in the social structure as much as it is about learning your abc's and mathematics.

His little sister tells me that she will be starting the first grade this year, and when she tells me the name of her school I tell her that my son is in the same grade at the same school and they may even be in the same class.
Her eyes grow large as she asks "Does he have a really big head?" I laugh at the question and say "No, but he's got really big ears."

She covers her mouth snickering and turns to her mom "Momma!" She exclaims "His son has really big ears."
Her mother smiles at her.

I hear the social worker ask mom about her criminal history and past involvement with DSS.
My lips are still numb and now my mouth has really started burning. No one else seems to be bothered.

The social worker finishes with mom and starts to talk with the little girl. "How does your mom discipline you and your brother?" Dana asks. "Sometimes she spanks us when we fight with each other." she answers.
I begin talking to mom so Dana can do her thing without interjections.

Mom tells me about the last city she lived in and how bad the neighborhood was. That she was the only one in the area that had a phone, so her neighbors were always using it to call the police.
"I know every cop in that town." She says smiling.

It strikes me that she has a very pretty smile. For a moment I can see how pretty she probably used to be and I wonder what chain of events led her to her current position in life.

She tells me she had a garden at her old house and the neighborhood kids were over every day helping her tend it. She shows me several very good landscapes that she and her four children painted together, and I can tell that a large part of her longs for those days.

She's proud of her children. She takes a portrait from the wall and shows it to me. She looks sad as she runs her fingertips over it and tells me it was taken two years ago.

she is in the picture, wearing a green sweater and smiling. She isn't boney, she looks healthy. Her children surround her and are caught giving her an eternal hug by the photographer. They are all smiling.

Once upon a time they were happy together...A family.

I leave the house and sincerely hope with all my heart that things get straightened out for them and that they will once again become the people in that photograph.

My old car

I saw my old car the other day...

I pulled into the driveway to serve a trespass summons and there it was. The old grey mustang. It was battered, badly. I started to get out of my car when this rather large pit bull began barking wildly and running towards me. I could see that it was loosely tied to a tree and I was pretty sure it couldn't reach me. I walked past the slobbering dog to the steps of the trailer and knocked on the door.

As I waited I kept half an eye on the dog until I heard the thud thud thud of someone coming to the door. The door opened and this really overweight girl came to the door wearing a way too small pink bikini. My eyes instinctually darted away as I asked "Is your mother here?"

the girl just stared at me for what seemed like forever before looking back into the trailer and yelling "MOMMAAA, PO-LEEECE IS HERE!" The girl then disappeared into the trailer.

Finally momma comes to the door. Momma looks like an even fatter version of the girl. Momma is wearing a moo moo and missing several teeth. "Is Mr. such and such here?" I ask the woman, as I step into the trailer.

The trailer is grimy and the floor is littered with God knows what. There is some guy who looks to be in his fifties sleeping on the couch in a bundle of blankets. He looks as if he is in the process of dying.

"No sir, he lived at lot 2."

I look around and notice this is the only trailer on the property.
All I can think to say is "ummmm." as I'm still trying to get the frightening image of her daughter out of my head. Finally the woman points to a camper in the back yard. "He done been gone bout a week." She says.

"I told detective such and such that she better hurry or he'd be gone"
The detective she referred to is our sex crimes investigator and curiosity finally got the better of me.

"What was going on that you contacted her?" I ask.
The woman shoos her children away and leans in as if to tell me a secret.
"He done molested both my youngins." She says.

I try to change the subject by asking her about the car. "We bought that off'n a guy fer a thousand dollars." She says, as though it was the bargain of the century.

"Really?" I ask. "That used to be my car." I tell her.

"Yeah, she was a pretty good ole car bafore we wrecked her." The woman says while scratching in a place better not mentioned.

About this time her son, who looks to be about 7 years old, walks over to me and stands toe to toe with me. I'm not kidding this kids toes were literally touching the end of my shoes. He's staring up at me with this blank look on his face.

"How are you buddy?" I ask him. He just keeps staring, I don't think he was able to talk. I begin to feel awkward when suddenly the boy wraps both arms around my legs as tightly as he could and just buries his face into my leg. He continues to hug me for several seconds and finally lets go. Still standing toe to toe with me he looks up with this expression in his eyes, as if he is begging me to pleeeeaaaaaaase take him with me. His mother calls him back to the porch telling him that "he's lucky I didn't take him to jail fer assaultin' a officer."

The boy is still looking at me as I say "Nah, hugs aren't considered an assault. Everyone loves hugs." I wave to the woman and wish her good luck, and that I hope things work out for her.

I walk past my old car, and peek inside. The interior has been ruined and there is about a four foot deep stack of beer cans and other trash littering the floorboards and seats. The dash has been split open. And I have this strange feeling of sadness as I get back into my cruiser and pull off.

There are a lot of old memories attached to that car. My ex-wife and I picked it out about a year after we had gotten married. We drove it more than once from North Carolina to Indiana. When I was sick it took me to the hospital in Winston Salem without fail.

I picked my wife and son up from the hospital after his birth in that car. I can see them both in the car laughing and having a good time, him in the back being upset because he said he thought his "feet smelled like stinky vinegar pickles." Us sitting in the front seats laughing at him as he said that.

And it makes me sad, it was a time when things seemed new and exciting, the future was wide open with possibilities, and My son, ex-wife and I were all happy together.

Thank you sir...May I have another?

I pulled up just in time to see Tommy go into the trailer...
I parked my car along side the road and walked through the yard towards the trailer. There were five guys sitting on the steps and in the yard. They were all bleeding or had swollen eyes, one guy was holding his arm and moaning.

"You better get in there and help your partner" one of the guys says. "Jakes in there, been beating his girlfriend in the bathroom. We tried to stop him but he took us all out."

Jake must be one tough dude, I think as I enter the trailer.
The trailer stinks. There are beer cans and cigarette butts all over the floors. Some type of animal has crapped and urinated all over the carpet.

I navigate the narrow hall leading into the bathroom. I see Tommy standing in the doorway telling someone I can't see to come out and let the girl go.

I position myself so I can see what is going on without getting in the way, God this hall is narrow. In the bathroom I see a younger girl, maybe 19, standing against the wall, her head is lowered and she is holding her face.

Between her and Tommy stands Jake. He has part of the girls shirt clenched in one fist while he shakes the other at Tommy shouting profanities and telling us to get out of the house.

After talking to him for a few more seconds Tommy reaches in and grabs the guy pulling him out into the hallway and presses him against the wall with one hand. The girl sees her chance and runs from the trailer and out the door. Jake raises both fist at Tommy.

"Put your hands behind your back, you're under arrest." says Tommy.
Jake starts trying to twist free. I see Tommy unholster his tazer. I wonder if there is even enough room in the hall to taze the guy. "Put your hands behind your back." Tommy says calmly.

"Fuck you son of a bitch, fucking pig get out of my house and mind your business!" The guy yells pulling one of his fists back.

I hear a small pop followed by a sound I know all to well. cack cack cack.
The guy screams and falls to the ground kicking his legs wildly into everything in the hallway. I put one knee on the ground and the other across the guys mid section. He is laying face down screaming as I try to subdue him without getting myself tangled on the wires.

I begin telling the guy that this will last for five seconds and when it stops he needs to put his hands behind his back and calm down, but I doubt it registered with him.

After five seconds the tazer stops and I tell the again to put his hands behind his back. Instead he begins telling me he will kick our asses and he starts trying to get up.

"We will deploy the tazer again if you don't comply" I say.

"Fuck you guys!! Pussys!!!" He begins yelling.

"Give him five more." I tell Tommy.
The guy hears this and what he says goes something like this:
"Fuck you guys! Oh no Oh God I'AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

cack cack cack cack "This will last for five seconds.." cack cack cack "When it stops you need to put your hands behind your back." cack cack cack.

He screams and kicks the whole five seconds. It sounds like a tornado in the trailer. The tazer ends its cycle and the guy immediately puts his hands behind his back. We handcuff him and take him out past all the guys who had their butts kicked by this guy and put him in Tommy's cruiser. I take the appropriate pictures and Tommy carts the guy off to the stoney lonesome.

I go back towards the trailer to get some of the AFID tags from the hallway floor and everyone stares at me silently. Finally one of the guys says "Thanks a lot sir. I don't know what you guys did to him in there but it sounded like the trailer was coming apart. He was just too much for us to handle."

He follows me inside and as I begin to collect the small pieces of colored paper to enter into evidence with the tazer cartridge, he gets a worried look on his face and says "Sir I swear to God I don't know where those things came from. I can tell you their not mine though." As if I had just found a kilo of cocaine or something.

"Have a good night." I tell them. I get in my patrol car and head towards the office to help Tommy with all the paperwork and entry of evidence.

Domestic violence court

What I saw in domestic violence court this week was both interesting and disturbing.

I saw a defense attorney follow the assistant district attorney around staring at her butt and salivating. I saw a 17 year old drug addict mouth the word mother fucker to his father while his father testified against him. The kid was stoned as he stood before the judge, his eyes half closed and bloodshot. He swayed crazily and could barely stand.

I saw a 48 year old man accused of assaulting a female request a court appointed lawyer to handle his case.

"Do you work?" asked the judge

"No sir" he said to the female judge

"How do you earn your living?" she inquired.

"I live with my mom." He said. Pointing her out as she sat in the peanut gallery

"What does your mom do for a living?" she asks.

"She's disabled" He replies

I saw a rather muscular young lad plead guilty to assault inflicting serious injury, only to have the judge tell him she wouldn't accept his plea.

WTF!!!! I think to myself. The man's attorney, a crotchety old guy who got irate and yelled at me one time when I started laughing at him as he tried to intimidate me on a dwi case (which he plead his client guilty to after "talking" to me in private) was overjoyed.

I waited for an explanation as to why the judge did this after the man's tiny very pregnant wife told a story of how her "loving" husband beat her so badly she was put in I.C.U. for three days. This girl was sooooo small and he was soooooo big, she had to be at least eight months pregnant.

"I did the protective order hearing on this case a few weeks ago and I've never seen a woman that had been beaten so badly before" Says the judge. "I don't feel I can be fair and impartial in sentencing the defendant." Declares the Judge.

"WHAT !?!?!?!?" I think to myself. "finally a judge sees first hand the monstrosities these guys inflict on someone. And she found the beating so repugnant she can't fairly sentence him?" Hello structured sentencing! You can sentence him to the max, the minimum, or the middle. "SEND THAT ASS TO PRISON FOR A WHILE" I think to myself. Not even a question of guilt or innocence he told you he's guilty.

Any way the judge recuses the guilty verdict and reschedules the case to be heard by another judge.

The crotchety old lawyer salivates as he lowers his yellow smile to the defendant's ear and whispers not so quietly "you need to fight this. You'll go to prison if your found guilty. Your wife and unborn child need you."

My skin crawls because I know next time he will plea 'not guilty.'

I wonder what would be said if I refused to go to a domestic, because "I had been there before and knew that the guy always beats her into a bloody mess and I don't think I can be impartial." Maybe he has been telling the truth about her running into his fists all this time after all.

Laughing hysterically inside at this point because I figure it's better than crying.

I can hear the dispatchers talking to this woman on the phone as her husband bludgeons her with a rolling pin..."I'm sorry ma'am, we can no longer send any officers out to help you. They've all been there too many times and we have determined that they can no longer be impartial. If someone other than your husband beats you please call and we can possibly assist you. Have a nice day ma'am."

I watched as another girl (also pregnant) begged the judge to the charge against her boyfriend and lift the protective order that she had placed on him. In her purse she has pictures of her black eyes, and her back covered entirely in bruises, from where she curled up over her infant child to protect it while her "man" punched and kicked her severely in the back and ribs. The judge will never see the pictures though, because she agrees to dismiss the criminal charge and lift the protective order.

The girls boyfriend stands behind the defendants table with his mouth gaping open and his tongue lazily hanging halfway down to his chin. I notice he is drooling slightly. He looks about as smart as a retarded tree sloth.

They leave the court room together. About 20 seconds later the sloth and his babies mommas momma are drug back into the court room by two bailiffs. It seems babies mommas momma was none to happy about this guy getting away with beating her daughter and commenced to layeth the smack down on sloth boy in the lobby. The judge lets the sloth go and sternly shakes her finger at babies mommas momma and lets her go as well.

The judge calls a ten minute recess. I go down stairs to stretch my legs. I see a long haired, face and neck tattooed freak from court who just had a protective issue ordered against him standing at the magistrates door. I don't know what he's up to but I' sure it involves some retaliatory abuse of the system. I try to get away before he can corner me and ask me some stupid question or tell me how I can help him. I'm too slow, crap, here he comes.

"Hey man." he says as he approaches me.

"Man?" I think. "since when am I this guys drinking buddy. In the words of the famous luda "git back! git back! You don't know me like that!" I think. I smile inside. I'm due back in court in like two minutes.

"My wife just took a protective order out against me. She stole my xanax like two months ago. I tried to get a warrant but the magistrate said I had to talk to an officer and have it investigated"

His mommy is with him. He's a grown man and his mommy has to come to court with him.

"Well" says I "If you go to that window over there and tell that woman what you need someone will come to help you. I have to get back to court." I finish.

"k" he says as he and his mommy slime off and around the corner. I go back to court and sit for three more hours watching the idiocy and drama play out. I watch a woman argue with her husband about what they were arguing about the fifteenth of the prior month, in open court. The peanut gallery is laughing at the couple. Every one but them can see how ridiculous they are.

finally the A.D.A. tells me they will have to reschedule my case. They put it on a day I work night shift. "Buety" I think.

I make my get away as the judge and A.D.A. apologize for making me sit in court for the last six hours. At least the court room is air conditioned I think as I leave.

I get to my car and before I can leave I catch the eye of a guy I can only describe as a maggot. He is obviously irate over some form of perceived injustice. He strides over aggressively. Fists balled, chest sticking out, brow furrowed to the point his eyebrows have disappeared. He was in d.v. court and had a protective order issued against him. By looking at him He needs to have one out against him.

"Hey man I was just in court and my girl had a protective order issued against me!"

"O.k." I say.

"And she brought this other guy to court with her!" he says enraged.

"O.k." I say

"Why the fuck isn't he in jail?!?" the maggot demands to know.

"He was making faces at me an' shit the whole time we were in court. Tryin to punk me out!" He blares.

"O.k." I say

"Why the FUCK isn't he in jail!" maggot asks again.

"What did he do to go to jail?" I ask

"He grows weed man, fucking weed!"

"where at?" I inquire

"At his house man but the fuckin cops already came and took the shit" says maggot.

"Oooooaaaky, and they didn't arrest him?" I ask

"No man they can't fuckin find him" reports maggot

"Are there warrants on him?" I ask

"Yeah" states maggot

I refer him to the same window as mommas boy and tell him to tell her what he needs help with.

I then go to arbys with big red machine thinking I am away from the consolidated weirdos and will at least eat in peace. I get my food and sit down. Adjacent to me sits an older woman.

She looks at me and informs me that "she's been arrested for assault before, but it was all bologna. A big mistake. A mis-justice."

"That's unfortunate " I say. As I begin to choke down my dry roast beef sandwich. I can barely hear her as she continues on, telling me the specifics of her case, and what REALLY happened instead of the lies that were told about her in court.

"Neato" I think as I eat as fast as I can.

Put me in the middle of a disorderly mob duking it out.

Fun!!

Tell me about your drama

Nyet.

Crack Addict

It had been a long hot day, But thankfully the sun was going down and the high temperatures were giving way to a more tolerable climate as night was descending. I had jsut cleared a vehicle stop and was headed to the truck stop via dixon school road. As I crossed the overpass spanning
I-85 I saw a woman walking in the opposite direction. She was wearing blue jeans and a black shirt. She was carrying a tan backpack with a water bottle poking out of the top. She had blonde hair that looked as though it hadn't been washed in this decade.
Her face was wrinkled, creased and unattractive. She was so skinny her clothes looked as if they were about to fall off of her body. I didn't know who she was but I could tell by her appearance she was a crack addict probably looking for a truck driver to pimp herself out to for drug money.

As I passed her she would not look at me, instead she looked over the bridge almost as if she was considering jumping. I drove on to the truck stop and turned around to give her time to cross the bridge onto more stable ground. I pulled up behind her. She stopped and as I got out of my car to talk to her I could see in her face that she desperately hated the way she lived. Her life was one of desperation. In her world crack cocaine was God and all men cared about was having their dick's sucked. I imagine she has been beaten down one way or another her entire life.
"Hi, how are you?" I asked.
"GODDAMNIT!!" She yells at me.
"WHY ARE YOU FUCKERS ALWAYS STOPPING ME?!?" She ranted.
"ALL I'M DOIN' IS WALKIN' UP THE FUCKIN' ROAD!!"
"Ma'am, I don't know you, I've never met you before. We get a lot of complaints about prostitution in this area, at the truck stop in particular and it's a little odd to see a woman walking down this road alone. Are you o.k.?" I ask.
"I don't need no fuckin' ride." She replied, even though I hadn't offered her one.
"Besides, I'm more concerned with murderers and child molestors!" She said inferring that I should be bothering them instead of her.
"Yes ma'am, so am I." I said.
"I can't fuckin' tell." She chortled while glaring at me.
"You're not afraid of someone getting you into their car and killing you?" I asked.
"I don't give a fuck!" she replied.

"Well I do, I don't want to find you dead in a ditch two days from now. Just because you don't think your life is worth anything doesn't mean that's the case."
She softened a bit and looked at the ground, but just for a flicker of a moment.
"Where are you headed?" I ask.
"Up the road." she said coldly.
"Where are you coming from?" I ask.
"Down the road." She said, nodding towards the truck stop.
"Do you have any I.D. on you?" I ask.
She digs in her pocket and thrusts an I.D. card at me.
"Yeah I got fuckin' I.D." she says, adding "I aint got no fuckin' 29's on me either!"

I recognize her name immediately. She has been checked for warrants by officers in other agencies nearly every night this week. I know she isn't wanted.
"If you say you don't have any warrants I'll take your word for it and not waste our time checking." I say.
"Here's your I.D." I say holding it out to her.
She snatches it away and stuffs it back in her pocket, bellowing out one last"GODDAMN!!"
"Thanks for talking with me, have a good night." I say.
She turns and walks into the encroaching darkness. I return to my car and have her logged in the area as a suspicious person.

Several hours later we get a call from the truck stop to check out a woman loitering for prostitution in the truck staging area. She is described as a white female, blonde hair, wearing blue jeans, a black shirt and carrying a tan bag.

The suicide machine churns on...

As long as there are people on earth, suicide will be a reality...

I was on my was to a suicide attempt call. We respond to a lot of these. The call comes in initially for an ambulance, usually from a family member or a friend, but we have to make sure things are safe at the scene before E.M.S can enter. Suicidal people often don't want to go alone. Supposedly this woman had cut herself. I didn't imagine it was anything serious, as nine times out of ten it seems to be over dramatized and when you get there you find someone who has scratched the top of their arm to gain attention from their family. I had never been to this house before and that concerned me. This was possibly going to be a new set of players. I would adapt to the situation as it unfolded though.
It didn't take me long to get there and I passed the area the ambulance was standing by at before I pulled into the driveway. It was a neat little home with a well coifed yard. There was a large wooden deck leading to the front door. Several people, all older than me were standing on the porch. As I pulled into the driveway they all ran to my car. All they would say over and over is "She's in the kitchen, she's in the kitchen." They were frantic but I did manage to get one of them to answer the most pressing question on my mind. "Does she still have the knife?" They told me she did. I went into the house and saw a women in her late fifties standing in the kitchen staring blankly at a wall. I could only see her face as she was very short. "Are you alright?" I asked. No response. It was as if this woman was made of stone. She did not speak nor did she move. She wasn't even blinking. My skin began to break out in goosebumps just looking at the face of this woman. I wasn't sure where she was but I could tell she wasn't in this house anymore.
I began to slowly walk towards her and around the counter so I could get a better view of her hands. I didn't want her to snap to, holding a butcher knife and go crazy on me. It was hot that day. I was sweating under my vest, due to the heat and my nervousness. As I rounded the corner I saw that she did indeed still have the knife, and it was a large butcher knife, but it wasn't in her hand, I stood for a split second marveling over what I was seeing.
The knife was stuck all the way up to the handle in the center of her chest. "Hey lady." I said. "You need some help....Are you going to let me help you?" No response just that blank stare. I walked closer and touched her arm hoping that would snap her out of whatever daze she was in. I was really wishing for backup at that moment but knew they wouldn't be there for several more minutes. I was beginning to wonder if she hadn't been stabbed by someone else, and whether or not that someone might be creeping up on me from some other room. I couldn't imagine someone doing that to themselves. It looked as though the knife had actually gone through the bone in the center of her chest. I wondered how badly she was bleeding internally. I knew time was of the essence and I certainly didn't want this woman dying in front of me. The moment my arm made contact with hers, she jerked violently and looked at me. She then looked down quizzically at the knife handle protruding from her chest with an expression on her face that said, how did that get there? She then looked at me holding her head at an angle seeming to ask if I knew.
There was a kitchen chair next to us. "Why don't you sit down here and wait for E.M.S. with me ma'am." She turned her gaze slowly to see the chair. I stepped back and began to move the chair for her. She reached for the handle of the knife. "No!" I said "You need to..." Before I could finish my sentence she had pulled the knife back out of her chest and dropped it on the floor. It landed in a small pool of blood on the tile. Satisfied with what she had just done she came to me and sat down on the chair, going back into her dazed state. I secured the knife in a plastic bag, and radioed for E.M.S. To get there fast. I told them what happened and they began treating the wound, secured her to a gurney and transported her to the hospital. My backup arrived as the ambulance was leaving and we interviewed the family. The woman had been diagnosed as schizophrenic, and was in early stages of alzheimers disease. She hadn't taken her medication in several months and the family had moved her in so they could take care of her. The woman's daughter said she was in the bedroom making the woman's bed. When she finished she went into the kitchen and saw her mother with the knife against her chest. She said she became fearful and called 911, just as the woman had stabbed herself.
I followed up on this and talked to her treating physician to tie up loose ends and make sure the angle of the knifes entry supported a suicide attempt. He said it did and that the woman had, amazingly enough, missed every vital organ in the chest cavity, and would be released in the next few days. I never saw this woman or her family again.

The Basement

The Basement

The world is like a tall building. One layer atop another. There are no stairs, but there is a single elevator that sits in an empty marble tiled lobby. The majority of people live on the first few floors. They go about their lives oblivious to the basement. They know there are a select few that live in the penthouses above them. They break their backs trying to work their way into one of the penthouses. The people that live in the penthouses are vaguely aware of the basement and the people who reside there. They see the basement dwellers as poor creatures who need to be helped, but they never venture into the hellish depths of the basement.
The people in the basement are evil creatures who feed on each other. They were born in its' acrid oily depths, and for them the only way to get to the penthouse is to kill its' owner and take it. These loathsome creatures live on a diet of drugs and alcohol. Occasionally they will persuade the youth of the people on the other floors to meet them in the lobby. They will introduce these young people to a life of mind altering substances and crime, then drag them back to the basement where they will remain. Sometimes they make it back to the floors they came from long enough to eat and steal from the people that care about them. The people who toil in their back breaking jobs. The parents hearts break as they watch their children self destruct and die.
There are a few of us who have a key to the elevator that grants us access from the top to the bottom. The elevator, it sometimes seems, is the only thing in the building that isn't broken. I imagine it's that way because it is a heartless piece of machinery who's only purpose in existing is to transport people.
I have gone from the first floor to the penthouse when I am called to do so. As you ride the elevator you can hear the whining of the pulleys and the steady drone of its mechanical engine. Most of the time it is drowned out by the silent screams and shattering of lives as it passes between floors.
As I traverse the levels going up I am certain of only one thing. Whoever I talk to and whatever their situation I will find the solution by going into the basement.
After a while you get to know the basement down to its every darkened corner. You know its inhabitants by name and you know where they hide. I know that every trip to the basement brings resolution to someone. I know that to protect the rest of the people in the building you often have to remove the dangerous creature from the sub-level, taking them out of the building entirely and locking them in a cage.
Some of us die in the basement while trying to help the people in the building, but when one is killed thirty more go down and light the whole place up. After we get our man, we will grieve, at least, until we to succumb to the basement.

All the murderers I know

All the murderers I know

I was recently reflecting on how many murderers I have known and dealt with before they murdered someone. I can't remember the number I came up with but it was more than I can count on one hand. There are a couple that stand out in my mind though. One was a young man who's family I had dealt with many times. I used to arrest this guys dad all the time. I was always catching him driving drunk or with a revoked license. A few times I caught him passed out in his car at the side of the road with his marijuana and pipes either sitting in his lap or in the passenger seat. I remember I used to tell him he was going to wreck and kill himself or someone else, but he never seemed to believe me. He ended up driving a motorcycle while he was drunk wearing a bicycle helmet and wrecked. The accident paralyzed him from the neck down and he now lives in a health care facility. I saw him and his wife at the mall one day when I was off and stopped to talk to him. Before I left he became teary eyed and told me that he wished he had listened to me all those times. Anyway, back to his son. I used to have fatherly talks with him when I would deal with him. He had been arrested a few times for breaking into homes and stealing things. I used to talk to him about going to college and moving away from the area. I really hoped as young as he was he would do it, he always acted like he wanted to. I remember one time he was accused by one of his criminal buddies of shooting up their house. I caught up with him shortly after taking the report (I could find no shell casings or see anything that had actually been shot at the scene). I stopped his truck and saw a pistol lying in the passenger seat, I removed and unloaded the weapon, then checked to make sure it wasn't stolen. I talked to him about the incident and that he was being investigated. I told him to sell the gun before he killed somebody or himself. He assured me that wasn't going to happen. He kept out of trouble for several months and then he, his mother and one of his friends murdered a man, stuffed his body into the man's car and drove it just over our county line into the adjoining county.
All three were convicted of the murder. The irony is that the victim hadn't been shot, but rather had been beaten to death with a set of golf clubs. I wonder what the scene was like. How they could beat him repeatedly while he screamed in agony. Blood spewing out onto everything with every swing of the club, until finally the frenzy was over and the man lie dead. The three of them sitting down to figure out what to do with the body. One of them actually driving the car with the body in it to the spot where they left it to be found. Then going on about their lives the next day as if nothing had happened.
There is another that springs to mind also. I had arrested a drunk man one night who was in the road threatening people. He cussed at me, urinated on himself and the back seat of my car. A very nasty man. I charged him with disorderly conduct. He served eighteen days in the jail pre-trial and at court the judge gave him time served and let him go. He left the courthouse, went to a house that was in the same area I had arrested him at and murdered an elderly man in his home. The suspect fled the area and it took several weeks to find him and bring him to justice. There are more, but these two seem to jump to mind for some reason I can't explain. Sometimes I think about these guys while I am on night shift stopping cars or patrolling high crime areas and I wonder if that car I'm about to stop for not having a tag light is being driven by someone transporting the body of a person they have just murdered and I get nervous for a moment. It all passes.