So there I was…


Driving down the road in my cruiser, just leaving a domestic disturbance in which
nothing really happened.  I looked at the car in front of me, and immediately got the
“tingle.”  Cops who read my stories know exactly what I’m talking about ­ it’s that
sixth sense where you know this dirtbag needs our attention, but you can’t articulate
why.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and every internal instinct shouted
“GET HIM!  GET HIM!”  I just didn’t know what to get him for right then.


He stopped at a red light and I was right behind him.  It’s great having computers in
our cars these days, so I ran his license plate.  It came back expired in December
2006.  I know that the 2006 expiration sticker was yellow, and the 2007 sticker is
red.  His plate was displaying a red sticker, so I had probable cause to pull him
over.  It’s very common around here for dirtbags to steal someone else’s sticker
instead of just paying the registration, and it almost always leads to something
bigger.  Of course it’s illegal to do so, which is why I had legal reason to stop
him.


So, I pulled him over, and he drove into the Burger King parking lot and stopped.
Now that I think of it, I’m sure he did that on purpose.  Cops are taught to use our
lights to blind the driver in a suspect vehicle with our spot lights because it makes
it more difficult for them to shoot at us when we make our approach.  I’m always very
diligent about doing that, but being in a well-lit parking lot counteracted the
effects somewhat.


Once someone pulls over, I always pause for a few seconds to watch them before I get
out.  I look for “furtive movements” such as stashing the dope under the seat or
retrieving a gun.  This guy just stared at me in his side mirror, which is a very
uncommon response to being pulled over. He had a stone cold look of determination on
his face, and that made me nervous. Most “normal” people just sit and wait with their
hands on the steering wheel, and dirtbags who don’t make furtive movements usually
stare straight ahead (and you can smell their fear).  It made me nervous that he
could see me, which is because of the fact he stopped in a well-lit parking lot.  Had
we been out on the street, my spotlight would have blinded him.  Officers, DON’T EVER
DISREGARD YOUR INSTINCTS!  Here’s why:


I opened the door and got out.  As soon as my feet hit the ground, his car door came
flying open and he started charging towards me.  He was easily twice my size, and I
believe he had every intention of assaulting me (at least), or taking my gun and
killing me with it (at worst).


I slapped leather so fast Billy the Kid himself would have been amazed.  You know,
I’ve been a competitive pistol shooter for five years, and I’ve even won some things
doing it.  I also shot 100% at the police academy, which tied the department record.
But, in all that shooting, I’ve never cleared leather and got on target as fast as I
did last night.


“FRONT SIGHT, FRONT SIGHT, SQUEEEEEEEZE!” was all that was going through my head.  I
didn’t think about the fact that I was about to take a human life, I only thought
about making him stop.  My finger started taking up the slack on the trigger when
suddenly Mr. Dirtbag realized he was staring down a gun barrel.  He hadn’t counted on
me getting my gun out that fast, as he really had only covered about two steps before
I was on target.  In fact, I probably disproved Tueller last night (the “Tueller
drill” was developed to show that a trained shooter needs 21 feet of distance to draw
and fire twice at a person charging them).


So Mr. Dirtbag realized he was about to die, and his eyes grew to the size of
saucers.  His hands flew up in the air and he screamed something inaudible.  He
sounded like a little girl.  The look on his face was priceless, too.  For those of
you who watch “The Simpsons,” think of Homer’s face whenever he screams in fear ­ the
high pitched squeal and the way his tongue wags around like a dog’s tail.  That was
Mr. Dirtbag.


He turned around and started running away from me, and I shouted, “Stop now or I’ll
blow you away!”  Of course I wouldn’t have (no legal justification for it anymore, as
I had not seen any weapons in his hands), but it worked. He stopped running, but kept
screaming and planted himself down on the ground before I could even tell him to.  At
one point he buried his right hand under his body, and I thought he could be reaching
for a gun.  I yelled at him to show me his hands, and he refused.  So, I planted a
size 10 boot directly in the side of his ribs.  Heh.  That did the trick.  His hands
came out, empty, into plain view and I held him there at gunpoint until the cavalry
arrived.  It’s great hearing those sirens coming when you’re all by yourself.


So, the story ends happily.  Because he had used fictitious license plates, I had
legal reason to tow his car, which gave me legal reason to search it. What did I
find?  Two baggies of methamphetamine, five baggies of cocaine, a meth pipe, seven
fake ID’s with his picture and someone else’s personal information, stolen and forged
checks, stolen tools, and a trunk load of copper tubing.  We’ve been having a rash of
burglaries lately in which the criminals steal copper tubing from construction sites
so they can sell it for scrap.  Once, they even broke into the shopping mall, climbed
up on the roof, and cut all the copper tubing out of the cooling system ($350,000
worth).  Coincidence?  I think not.  I haven’t pinned the burglaries on him ­ YET ­
but I got him on the dope and identity theft.


Heh.  Not bad, eh?  A series of felony arrests and a lead to solving a rash of
burglaries, all because he displayed someone else’s expiration sticker on his license
plate.


DOOM ON YOU, DIRTBAG!