So there I was…


I came into work for the first time last night after Ken was murdered in the line of
duty.  It had been ten days since I last worked a regular patrol shift, because I
had been scheduled to go on vacation the day after Ken died.  I had spent the last
ten days with Ken’s family, picking them up at the airport, escorting them to the
scene, meeting them at the funeral home to help with arrangements, taking them to
meet the District Attorney, going to the funeral, etc.  I had been in uniform for
all of that, but this was different ­ I was actually getting back into doing real
police work, and that somewhat frightened me.


I had been through similar events during combat, but this was the first time I had a
friend murdered.  I had doubts about my own ability to cope, to keep my cool when
some gangbanger bragged about how his friend had killed mine, or to not freeze up
when I was needed to act quickly.  Those doubts would soon be laid to rest, however.


I walked into the line-up room and picked up a “detail.”  The detail lists every
officer on the shift and what sector they’ll be working, among other things.  I
quickly noted that I was to be paired up (what we call a “baker car”) with another
friend of mine, Scott.  Scott is a large man and a great cop, and he has a
reputation for “taking care of business” when it’s necessary.  Don’t get me wrong,
I’ve never seen him go overboard on anyone but when the chips are down, the dude can
lay the smack down.  He prefers to do things the “old fashioned way,” relying on his
huge hands rather than the tools we’re given.


I also have a reputation for taking care of business when it’s needed, but Scott and
I differ on our approach.  I’m only an average sized guy, and I wholeheartedly
believe you never know what weapons a suspect may be hiding on his person or what
he’s going to do next.  Relying on my hands can be dangerous, six years of boxing
experience notwithstanding.  Probably one-fourth of the people I arrest are severely
hardened criminals with lots of time in prison, and they could literally murder me
in a hands versus hands fight.  Therefore, when the chips are down I use my tools.
As soon as I realize that I’m going to need to use force I go to a tool, usually a
Taser, but sometimes OC spray or even one of several guns I have access to.  
Guess what?  There will never be a picture of me at the Training Academy or a
procession of cars mourning my loss.  That I promise.


I found Scott a few minutes later, and told him, “Dude, we’re together
tonight…someone’s getting their arse kicked.”  He laughed, probably because he knew
it was true.


So I was driving and Scott was riding shotgun.  About an hour into our shift, we
were heading up Murray Blvd. looking for a meth dealer I’ve been hunting down, when
some moron pulled out in front of us off of E. Bijou, which has a stop sign.  I
slammed on the brakes and barely avoided a collision, then turned on my overheads to
pull the moron over and give her a ticket (I didn’t know it was a woman yet).  I’ve
never crashed a cruiser yet, and I’m not about to start.


Ms. Moron had also slammed on her brakes, stopping perpendicular to my cruiser.
Instead of making the turn and pulling over to the right ­ like any rational person
would do ­ she tried to make a U-turn the wrong way.  
She turned to the right, which faced her front end towards our cruiser.  I think
every cop in the country in a similar situation, no matter how gangridden or mundane
the area they work, could only interpret that one way ­ she was going to ram us.


Instead of backing up, I actually drove closer to her so the impact would be
lessened.  Lucky for me, she didn’t have enough room to complete the turn and
slammed into the curb.  I then saw her reverse lights come on, and moved behind the
car to block her in.  Scott got out of the car, drew his handgun, and yelled for her
to stop.  However, she drove forward over the curb and into a parking lot.  Scott
ran alongside her driver’s side window, pounding on the window and telling her to
stop.  Tires squealing and rubber smoking, I drove to the north end of the parking
lot and turned in, so my cruiser was pointed directly at her car.


I later learned that she had actually steered the car into Scott, striking him hard
enough to ruin his handgun holster.  Remember what I said about Scott when the chips
are down?  Well, when you run into a cop with your car trying to get away, the chips
are down.  So Scott smashed out her window with his handgun, then grabbed her hair
and started to yank her out of the car.  The car was still moving forward, though,
heading right towards me in the cruiser.  I did the “rapid lane change” maneuver
they taught us in the academy, and avoided yet another collision.  Her car stopped
to my right, with about six inches of space between our cars.  Her front bumper was
about three feet behind my front bumper, meaning that we would have smacked pretty
good had I not done some performance driving.


I got out and drew my handgun, only to see Scott with a handful of hair come flying
out the driver’s side window with a lady attached to the hair.  Then she did a face
plant on the concrete and I handcuffed her.  It was like watching professional
wrestling.


Our dispatcher wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but she heard Scott call out
our location for a traffic stop, then screaming like a little schoolgirl about a red
car not stopping. When a cop starts screaming, you can almost hear the cavalry bugle
as other cops flip on the lights and sirens and charge.  So, I radioed, “3B58 we
have one in custody.  Slow everyone down.  We’re code 4.”
Scott’s hand was cut up a little from going through her window, but it wasn’t
anything that kept him from finishing the shift.


Later, as we were transporting Ms. Moron to jail, she claimed that, “God told me to
lie to y’all.”  You see, I found a huge scratch / dent down the driver’s side of her
brand new red Mercedes.  I wanted to make sure it had come from her collision with
Scott, so I asked her if there was any damage to her car before the incident.  She
told me she had just bought the car one day prior, and there was no damage at all.
That coupled with the pictures I took of the damage and Scott’s destroyed holster
proved that she had collided with Scott.  When I informed her of such, she recanted
and said the scratch was already there.  That’s when she told me God had instructed
her to lie to us, “because he sometimes pulls pranks on me.”


Ok lady.  Make sure you mention anything else God tells you to do in court.