Just a bird

I'm sitting under a small canopy...on a bench behind my building. I work the second floor, above the comm center and below the court rooms and jail. There's a tall fence a few feet away to keep people from hap-hazardly falling to their doom into the parking lot below. This is our designated smoking area and due to a lack of smokers I usually have this space to myself.

This is where I come to formulate my plans of action during investigations. Trying to decide who to talk to first, who to arrest first and when to arrest them. I attempt to find the best course of action to make the dominoes fall in my favor. It's sort of like playing a chess game in your head.

The sun is shining and it's a comfortable 75 degrees. A slight breeze blows across my face as I light my cigarette. In the distance I can hear the faint but distinctive sound of an ambulance racing through the city to some medical emergency or another. A sparrow flies in from somewhere and lands atop the fence. I watch as its head angles one way and then the other with a strange sort of bio mechanical precision, surveying the area to decide how safe it is from moment to moment. It raises then lowers its tail to maintain its balance.

I watch the bird and wonder what its purpose is. What is its reason for existence? Its head continues to move as its small black eyes constantly surveille. Is its sole existance the sole purpose for being survival?

I used to equate birds with flight and freedom. Seeing them used to make me want to shed my suit for more comfortable clothing, step out of the grinding machinery of my life, get into my truck and just drive to see where I might end up. As I watch the sparrow today it seems somewhat oppressive. What good is a life spent simply for survival? Constantly eyeing the area for dangers. Assessing everything around you. Existing in constant fear of being devoured. Simply existing to eat and fly. Never feeling any emotion, unable to appreciate your surroundings even for a moment. Living without the realization that you are a separate and unique creature form everything else. Blind to the fact that there are other ways to live. Never wondering what it would be like to be anything but a sparrow.

There again, perhaps the sparrow is freer than I imagine it to be. The sparrow isn't tortured with fear of illness or debt. It doesn't worry about disappointment in itself and in others. It's free to exist and be a bird. To eat and take flight. The sparrows only pressure is to survive.

The sparrow isn't concerned with being a dove or a robin and doesn't have the capacity to distinguish between the two. The sparrow doesn't feel hatred inwardly or outwardly. The sparrow doesn't have to worry about the details or think about tomorrow. He exists only in the current moment. His is a life free of complications or dilemma.

I stand up to put my snubbed cigarette into the ash can. The sparrow, fearing I may try to eat him, takes flight and is out of sight in an instant.

To him I'm already forgotten.

Make her happy

I was attending in-service training...all week last week. I think that only 24 hours of training is whats required by the state to maintain my certification, but we do it up right and that means over 40 hours of training.
I like training but my mind kept reverting to "My god, how many cases are piling up on my desk with leads going dry and stolen property getting further out of my reach?" I'm finding that although I enjoy the hunt and arrest, what I really like is recovering stolen property and getting confessions.

Fast forward one week. I'm sitting in my office arranging my cases, both old and new. I closed one last week it was a break-in and by the end of my interrogation I've got the suspect on video laughing and practically bragging about committing the crime. It was like he had completely forgotten he was confessing to a cop and was, instead, talking to his drinking buddy.

Anyway, I'm sifting through case files deciding which ones are most serious and which ones are most solvable. It's a host of stolen guns, cars, tools, extension cords, copper wire, four wheelers, you name it. Only two victims had any serial numbers to their missing property. I need to call the victims and let them know why their cases have been stagnant for a week before they start complaining to my bosses that I must be the laziest cop in the world, and wondering why nothings been done about their cases.

The Chief appears in my doorway with a sticky note. One of my victims must have called already. "Do you have Mrs. such and suches case?" he asks.

"Yes sir, I just finished reading that case file as a matter of fact." I say.

He holds the sticky note out looking somewhat grim. I can never tell what he thinks of me. I can't decide if he doesn't like me or if he's afraid that I'm about to snap and bite off one or more of his fingers. He's just one of the few people I just can't read at all and it makes me a bit nervous. His body language is conflicting itself.

"She called and wants to know what's going on with her case. She didn't seem happy. Call her and see if you can make her happy."

I take the sticky note and he leaves. It's a stolen 4-wheeler case. No VIN or description is listed on the vehicle, just a brand and motor size. I call her and she seems friendly enough as I explain that I have been in training for the past week. She tells me that her neighbor saw a vehicle leaving her house on the day the atv was stolen and that someone else tole her that the 4-wheeler has ended up at a crack house. I know which crack house she's talking about as she tries to describe where she thinks it might be, her directions suck but I know the neighborhood. If its gone there it didn't stay there long and the chances for recovery are slim to none. That dealer never keeps large items for more than a few hours, and over a week had passed since it was stolen.

I dig around a little bit and find out that a truck matching the suspect vehicle was stopped a few nights ago for not having insurance and that the truck had been towed to an unknown address on a certain road. I go to the road and drive looking at the houses until I see the truck in a driveway, and luckily its owner standing next to it. as I pull into the driveway I see a 4-wheeler next to the mobile home, it is the same make and engine size as the stolen one.

I get out while the guy tries to figure out if he's going to run or not, he decides not to. I introduce myself and ask "You know why I'm here?"

He looks at the four wheeler and shakes his head yes. He tells me a bunch of lies about buying it off sojme guy that rents a camper in his yard, yeah he let the guy borrow his truck and yeah when the guy came back the atv was in his truck but then he sold it ot me. I listen to his lies and have him write me a statement outlining everything he tells me so I can hang him with the lies later. He helps me load the atv on the sheriffs office pickup and I notice the VIN on the 4-wheeler has been scratched off by someone.

Four hours after I first talked to the victim I'm giving her 4-wheeler back to her. She asks if I've arrested the guy that stole it. I tell her I'm still working out the details but I hope to have charges filed by weeks end.

As I leave I hope I've made her happy. Or perhaps her next call to the chief will be to demand an explanation to why I found her 4-wheeler and haven't made an arrest yet.