This is a terrific story!
Police Officer Phyllis Tillman
The Cop was no Lady
Phyllis Tillman was a mom and a cop. She took no crap from life and less from the turds she chased on the streets in the city she loved. Each day in her black and white cruiser was a new story, a new adventure, a story of life and death with no central plot. That was police work, love it or leave it. She loved it.
She was not the most politically correct mom on her block. She has been quoted as having said, "Swearing is good for the soul. It sweeps away the bullshit and gets to the heart of the matter."
She believed that criminals should pay the piper even if the courts, the judges and the politicians preferred to write laws giving greater protection to the villians than to the victims. Inasmuch, she felt it her duty to occasionally administer suitable justice, on the spot, at the time of the apprehension.
CHAPTER ONE
Discord at Home
“Finish your cereal.”
“Mom, I hate Cheerios. I want Fruit Loops,” son Tad answered.
“We’re out of Fruit Loops, eat your cereal!”
Then shifting from female frustration to mentoring mother, “Tad, who do you think you are, a hick from Kentucky? Get your elbows off the table! And sit up straight! You look like a dog scarfing up food scraps!”
Mom was not in a good mood. There had been no Honey, Sweetheart, or Dears in her vocabulary all morning.
“You’re gonna be late. Finish your breakfast and get out there so you don’t miss your bus.”
“Dad can take us if we do.”
“No he can’t, not this morning.”
Phyllis Tillman wasn’t usually curt in the mornings so the kids knew something was up and knew better than to push her too far.
But daughter Jennifer did anyway, “Why can’t Daddy take us?”
“Because, and that’s ALL you need to know.”
Again Mom was emphasizing words, unusual for her to do that.
Husband Warren walked into the room and poured himself some black coffee.
“Jesus H. Christ, Warren, do you have come in wearing your boxers and that dirty
T-shirt? At least put on a robe.”
Each time he raised his arm to take a sip, the long black hairs in his arm pit sent body odor throughout the room killing the sweet smell of the sausage.
“Damn it Warren, go spray yourself with something. You’re making us all sick!”
Warren left the room, coffee in hand and flopped in the family room and turned on the TV. He kept his back to his wife of 15 years to avoid seeing ‘the look.’
“Jenny, I want you home right after school to start the laundry.”
“But Mom, I have practice and won’t be home ‘till 4:30.”
“That’s right,” she mumbled.
“Dear,” she shouted toward the family room with the hint of puke in the word Dear.
“Pick up Jennifer at 4:30.”
There was no response from Warren.
“Warren, pick up Jennifer at 4:30”
Warren waved one hand in a manner suggesting that she had interrupted his show. At least he had nodded that he had heard her instruction.
“OK kids, off you go. And Tad, the next time you end up in detention, No Nintendo for a week! Do you understand me?”
“Yeaaaaah.”
“Good. Now off you go. Love you”
While closing the door behind the kids, Phyllis hollered, “Warren! Turn off the TV.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because we need to talk, that’s why.”
Mentally Warren thought, ‘Oh shit, first the look now the talk!’
“Who’s the red head?” she demanded.
Taken completely by surprise Warren asked, “What?”
“Who’s the fuckin’ red head?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied without making eye contact.
“The fuck you don’t you bastard. Who’s the fucking red head?”
Warren’s brain went into overload. He was fighting for an answer or an excuse whichever came first.
“What red head?” was the best he could do?
“The goddamn red head you met at the motel over on 16th!”
Warren was screwed and he knew it.
“Just someone; it doesn’t really mean anything.”
“The fuck it doesn’t, you asshole.”
“She doesn’t mean a thing to me, honest, Sweetheart.”
“Don’t Sweetheart me you lying son-of-a-bitch. You’ve been meeting her every Tuesday for a month.”
“But…” was all he could say because she cut him off mid-sentence.
“You are the stupidest, asshole the world has ever seen. You fucker, you put the motel charges on our Master Card.”
He got out another “But”, but she cut him off again.
“You have no right to jeopardize this family’s future on some cheap pussy. Damn it Warren, I’m a cop. Doesn’t it register in your teeny-tiny pea brain that I can read a Master Card bill and follow your lily white ass to a goddamn motel?”
With a lowered voice Warren asked, “Do you want a divorce?”
“Buster Brown, you’re not getting off THAT easy. NO I don’t want a divorce. You’re going to stay in this marriage, get off your ass and get a job, help pay the bills and be a father to our children. We will never speak of this to the children. You will never fuck me again and if I catch you fucking another woman, I’ll shoot off your balls and make it look like I was cleaning my gun. Do you read me?”
He nodded.
“Don’t give me that nod shit! Say yes Ma’am, get off your ass and take a shower. Move it asshole!"”
Without hesitation, he did as he was told.
Phyllis finished putting on her uniform and holstered her Glock pistol just as Warren came out of the shower.
Warren had worked construction. When the economy went into the toilet he lost his job and went on unemployment. He did not belong to a union so he got no help there. He had half-heartedly been looking for work but preferred to drink beer and watch re-runs on TV. Phyllis had had it.
“Get on some decent clothes and find a job today!” she emphasized.
“There’s nothing out there for me,” was his answer.
“Bull fuckin’ shit,” she said looking him straight in the eye. “Arby’s has a HIREING sign in the window. When I drive by there two hours from now, that sign better be gone.
Do you read me loud and clear?”
He answered with a weak yet obedient “Yes.”
With her black shoes, leather accessories all gleaming with a high polish, Warren’s wife, the cop, left the house slamming the door behind her.
The door opened again, “And don’t forget to pick up Jennifer!”
The door slammed again.
Cmdr. Hardesty
CHAPTER TWO
Roll Call
Roll Call was important because everyone was brought up to date on the latest crap going on the streets.
“OK everybody, listen up,” the Watch Commander said. Marion Hardesty was a Vietnam vet, been with the force for 20 years, took no shit from anyone and stood tall and proud before his men and women in blue. His clothes were immaculate and absent of the several decorations he had earned. He was not an ostentatious person; it just wasn't his style. His shirts had hard pressed military creases; shoes were polished leather, not the patent leather crap worn by his superiors.
His department issued Glock model 23 holding 17 rounds of .40 caliber ammunition had no scratches on the outside and there was no spent powder in the barrel even though he shot 200 rounds every week at his own expense. According to a report published by the New York Police Department, 80%-90% of shots fired in law enforcement situations fail to even hit the target. Hardesty knew that the problem lay with the lack of practice. His department issued only 200 rounds annually for target practice. Each week he’d pick someone from his squad to accompany him to the range and paid for his or her ammo. His troopers would willingly die for him and him for them. It was a tight crew, the best in the city, bar none.
“Here’s the deal,” he continued. “You clean up all the crime in this precinct in the next 24 yours and you all get to go to Disney World.”
Everyone chuckled. Then a joker way in the back hollered, “If we do it in 18 hours can we take our families with us?”
Hardesty pretended not to hear the jeer.
“Pay attention! We’ve had several reports of home burglaries…ok home invasions, what ever the politically correct crap word is today.”
Everyone smiled because they knew their leader was ‘old school.’ “Fuck sensitivity training,” he’d say. “If he’s black, call him black. But if he’s a Nigger, call the son-of-a-bitch a Nigger.” The same goes for “Beaners” too…but not you Washington and Rodriquez.” Everyone laughed even Washington and Rodriquez who, as a team, had the highest arrest record three months running. Having been black since he was a baby, it was obvious that Hardesty would know who is black and who is a nigger.
“OK, hold it down, hold it down. We think its kids but we’re not sure. And they may be armed because a .22 bullet was found at one of the homes and the owners don’t own any guns. So watch each other’s back. GOT ME?
“YES SIR!” everyone shouted.
“If any of you get hurt, you’ll answer to me. Is that understood?”
“YES SIR,” again.
“Williams and Tesler…you cruise the elementary school. We had two phone calls from parents saying they think drug peddlers are pushing their shit in the area again. Got it?"
“Yes sir!” the two answered in unison.
“Tillman! Where are you?”
Phyllis stood up, looking sharp as she always did, fingers crossed behind her back hoping to be assigned to horse patrol again.
“Tillman, I’m not giving you a horse today so you can uncross your fingers. I’m giving you a trainee instead. His name is Jamison. He’s just graduated from the academy and still has his training wheels on and needs to be broken in. So Please don’t ride him too hard.”
The room broke into a roar. Then they all stomped their feet as if at a rodeo hollering, “Tillman, Tillman, she’s our gal. If she can’t break him, no one can.”
“Ok you guys, knock it off. Tilly, he’s green. We all were there once so don’t give him more than he can chew.”
Hardesty’s second unintended sexual innuendo broke the room into laughter again.
“When you children are done, I’d like to get you out of here so I can take a nap.”
They all knew better; Hardesty never took a nap. He was out there too, cruising in his unmarked car with with two partners: his personal 1955 Model 29 Smith & Wesson .44 magnum with an eight inch barrel and a department issued Mossberg 12 gauge pump lethally loaded with slugs. He explained his reason for carrying such massive firepower this way, "I don't want to simply piss off the scum bags, I want to send them directly to the funeral home without passing GO and without collecting $200. Everyone knew that he had their backs.
“Questions?”
No one spoke.
“Ten-hut! Dismissed”
Roll Call
Roll Call was important because everyone was brought up to date on the latest crap going on the streets.
“OK everybody, listen up,” the Watch Commander said. Marion Hardesty was a Vietnam vet, been with the force for 20 years, took no shit from anyone and stood tall and proud before his men and women in blue. His clothes were immaculate and absent of the several decorations he had earned. He was not an ostentatious person; it just wasn't his style. His shirts had hard pressed military creases; shoes were polished leather, not the patent leather crap worn by his superiors.
His department issued Glock model 23 holding 17 rounds of .40 caliber ammunition had no scratches on the outside and there was no spent powder in the barrel even though he shot 200 rounds every week at his own expense. According to a report published by the New York Police Department, 80%-90% of shots fired in law enforcement situations fail to even hit the target. Hardesty knew that the problem lay with the lack of practice. His department issued only 200 rounds annually for target practice. Each week he’d pick someone from his squad to accompany him to the range and paid for his or her ammo. His troopers would willingly die for him and him for them. It was a tight crew, the best in the city, bar none.
“Here’s the deal,” he continued. “You clean up all the crime in this precinct in the next 24 yours and you all get to go to Disney World.”
Everyone chuckled. Then a joker way in the back hollered, “If we do it in 18 hours can we take our families with us?”
Hardesty pretended not to hear the jeer.
“Pay attention! We’ve had several reports of home burglaries…ok home invasions, what ever the politically correct crap word is today.”
Everyone smiled because they knew their leader was ‘old school.’ “Fuck sensitivity training,” he’d say. “If he’s black, call him black. But if he’s a Nigger, call the son-of-a-bitch a Nigger.” The same goes for “Beaners” too…but not you Washington and Rodriquez.” Everyone laughed even Washington and Rodriquez who, as a team, had the highest arrest record three months running. Having been black since he was a baby, it was obvious that Hardesty would know who is black and who is a nigger.
“OK, hold it down, hold it down. We think its kids but we’re not sure. And they may be armed because a .22 bullet was found at one of the homes and the owners don’t own any guns. So watch each other’s back. GOT ME?
“YES SIR!” everyone shouted.
“If any of you get hurt, you’ll answer to me. Is that understood?”
“YES SIR,” again.
“Williams and Tesler…you cruise the elementary school. We had two phone calls from parents saying they think drug peddlers are pushing their shit in the area again. Got it?"
“Yes sir!” the two answered in unison.
“Tillman! Where are you?”
Phyllis stood up, looking sharp as she always did, fingers crossed behind her back hoping to be assigned to horse patrol again.
“Tillman, I’m not giving you a horse today so you can uncross your fingers. I’m giving you a trainee instead. His name is Jamison. He’s just graduated from the academy and still has his training wheels on and needs to be broken in. So Please don’t ride him too hard.”
The room broke into a roar. Then they all stomped their feet as if at a rodeo hollering, “Tillman, Tillman, she’s our gal. If she can’t break him, no one can.”
“Ok you guys, knock it off. Tilly, he’s green. We all were there once so don’t give him more than he can chew.”
Hardesty’s second unintended sexual innuendo broke the room into laughter again.
“When you children are done, I’d like to get you out of here so I can take a nap.”
They all knew better; Hardesty never took a nap. He was out there too, cruising in his unmarked car with with two partners: his personal 1955 Model 29 Smith & Wesson .44 magnum with an eight inch barrel and a department issued Mossberg 12 gauge pump lethally loaded with slugs. He explained his reason for carrying such massive firepower this way, "I don't want to simply piss off the scum bags, I want to send them directly to the funeral home without passing GO and without collecting $200. Everyone knew that he had their backs.
“Questions?”
No one spoke.
“Ten-hut! Dismissed”
CHAPTER THREE
Life on the Street
Rookie Thomas Jamison was waiting for her at the squad car.
After exchanging pleasantries Phyllis said, “Let’s check out your gear.”
A bit surprised, Jamison said OK but thought it unnecessary because he had graduated fifth in his class of 25.
“Tie? OK. Shoes? Need more shine. Leather accessories? Need more shine."
Then she snapped, " Weapon?”
Not knowing what she meant, Jamision hesitated.
“Let me see your weapon.”
He handed it to her butt first. She was pleased. Then she pulled back the slide and a cartridge sprang out.
“What the fuck you trying to do, kill one of us?’
Completely taken aback he answered, “I thought we should carry loaded guns.”
“In the magazine; not the chamber dummy! You’ll know when to chamber a round. Well, maybe you won’t.”
Completely embarrassed, Jamison flipped out the magazine, pulled back the receiver and let it fall back onto the empty chamber. Then he slid in the magazine until he heard it click. As an extra measure, he bumped it up into the handle with the heel of his left hand.
Phyllis watched his technique with a critical eye. “Good,” she said. “Get in.”
As if to make amends and to prove that even though he was only 24 years old, he started to walk around the car to open her door.
“What the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
Without a word, Rookie Jamison, fifth in his class of 25, retreated back to his side of the car, got in, shut the door, buckled up and looked straight ahead.
“Call me Tillman or Tilly, whichever flips your switch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned south out of the parking lot toward the neighborhood where more frequent home invasions were occurring.
“I don’t expect to see anything going on,” after explaining her intent, “but you never know. We might get lucky.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“OK. Let’s cut the yes ma’am shit. Just say OK, I understand or something like that.
“OK?”
“Yeah…OK”
“You don’t know which precinct that you’ll be assigned to but it’s necessary that you know the whole city. You may be in one precinct and have to answer a call in another. Memorize the streets. On your days and nights off as you’re driving around, take different routes to your destination. Learn where all of the alleys and dead end streets are. Learn which industrial gates are closed and or locked. Someday your life or your partner’s may depend on your judgment. Got it?”
“Yes. I really appreciate the advice. Thanks”
She thought, ‘God I hate being patronized.’
Once in the area they were to cruise, Jamison noticed the Crime Watch signs posted every now and then.
“Looks like the neighbors take care of one another around here,” he said off hand.
“That’s bullshit, kid. Once a year they have a Neighborhood Watch meeting in the school’s gym. Everyone gets all hyped up, buy walkie-talkie radios at Radio Shack and pretends to be some Vigilante Committee out to save the world. After a couple of weeks everyone gets tired of playing ‘cowboy’, go back in their houses and watch TV. That’s why we’re here.”
“Oh!” The radio blared, Code 10-31 at 1521 Elmhusrt. Any car in the area.
Jamison looked puzzlingly at Tillman. She grabbed the mike, “Unit 12. We’ve got it!” Unit 12, Roger. All other units 10-8.
“10-31,” Phyllis said to her partner. “Someone has called for help.”
Jamison nodded that he understood and was waiting for her instructions.
“We’ll just have to wait ‘till we get there; probably a domestic disturbance call. They’re the worst. Just when you think you’ve got things under control the spouse or significant other comes to the aid of the person you’re cuffing and beats on you. Also FYI, when serving warrants, always has a round in the chamber. Got it?”
Jamison nodded again. He’d never thought that a situation like that could be a potential hazard for a cop.
“We lost two brothers last year serving warrants,” she added.
The squad car abruptly stopped in front of 1521 Elmhurst. Noise was coming from the house. First there were banging sounds then a woman screamed. On the run, Tillman chambered a round and Jamison did the same.
With no warrant in hand the pair had to stop at the door and knock.
“POLICE! OPEN UP!”
The loud noises from inside stopped.
“POLICE! OPEN UP!”
The door opened a crack and a slightly built woman opened the door, her left eye was red and her cheekbone had a welt on it.
“We received a call for help. Did you phone?”
The woman nodded.
“May we come in, please?”
The door opened slowly and the two in blue stepped cautiously into the room. It was a mess. There was a broken lamp, one curtain rod hung at only one end, and a pair of leather driving gloves lay on the coffee table. They had blood smears on them.
“Are you alone?” Tillman asked.
The woman nodded to the rear indicating that someone was in a back room.
“Is he armed?” Tillman asked.
The woman shook her head “No”.
“Stay here,” she told Jamison. “Stay with the lady.”
Her Glock 23, with a round chambered and carried by her side, Tillman stepped ever so cautiously into the back room. She could see a bed through the half open door but no one was in sight.
“POLICE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
After about ten seconds the door finished opening and a brute of a fellow and hairy chested stepped into the hallway.
“NAME?”
No answer.
“NAME?”
“Phillips. My name is Curtis Phillips.”
“Mr. Phillips, it looks like you’ve been using this woman for a punching bag.”
With a smirk, Phillips said, “She must have fallen down some stairs.”
“Don’t get smart with me, smart ass. This is a one-story house and you’re nothing but a creep. I don’t like creeps. I’ve never liked creeps. They ought to pass a law against creeps. Do you get my meaning Mister Phillips?”
“Walk ahead of me Creep, to the living room and let’s get this mess straightened out.”
Phillips did as he was told still holding his empty hands in plain sight.
Addressing the women she asked, “Are you Mrs. Phillips?”
“No.”
“What is your name, Honey?”
“Stacie.”
“Stacie what, Honey?”
“Stacie Hep.”
“What is your relationship with this man?”
“He lives with me.”
“Does he have a job?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He’s a janitor at the plant.”
“Do you work?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At the plant.”
“What do you do there?”
“I drive a fork lift.”
“So you make more money than he does, huh?”
“Yes. After I pay the rent, the bills and the car and truck payments there ain't much left. He looses most of his paycheck playing darts at the pub. And when we don’t have any money left, he beats on me.”
“Do you want to file charges?”
“No.”
“NO?”
“I can’t. What little he does bring home, we need just for food. We never even go to a movie.”
“Ma’am, you need put this bastard behind bars. Please file charges!”
“No.”
“Jamison, go the car and get the first aid kit. Fix up this nice lady and stay with her while I have a little talk with Mr. Phillips here.”
Jamison jogged to and from the car, sat the injured woman on the sofa, got on his knees and treated her face as best he could.
“Mr. Phillips, let’s you and me step outside and have a little chat. What do you think? Wouldn’t that be a really nice idea?”
“Mr. Phillips, I’d like to make a deal with you. This is my beat. I don’t like to leave the nice cozy doughnut shop to answer calls because big assholes are beating up on nice little ladies. Get the picture?”
Phillips nodded.
Now that they were out of sight from the street and possible prying eyes from neighbors, Tillman put a knee in Phillips’ groin. He grabbed his balls with both hands and bent over.
“Straighten up, Mister Phillips. I want you to look me in the eye while were discussing your future with the nice lady inside.”
Fear engulfed Phillips’ eyes.
As Tillman stepped toward him, Phillips backed up stopping only when his back banged into the house. Tillman slowly withdrew her ASP nightstick and pressed the blunt end into his kidney.
“Do I have your attention Mister Phillips?”
He muttered a weak “Yes.”
“Mister Phillips, the very nice and lovely lady inside said that she didn’t want to press charges against you.” When she said the word ‘press’ she pressed the Billy club harder into his kidney.
“Personally, Mister Phillips, I think she should press charges but she said that she needs your support but you prefer to gamble it away playing darts. Did she describe the picture somewhat accurately, Mister Phillips?”
Again he answered with another weak “Yes.”
Pushing hard again on the club causing the man to wince and grimace, she said, “I think I’ll make it my mission to drive by here every now and then just to see how things look from the street. My, my, the grass seems a bit tall, doesn’t it Mister Phillips?” The word ‘tall’ brought another iddy-biddy push on the baton.
“Mister Phillips, the nice lady inside works very hard and you seem to be a bit of an anchor. What do you think you should do about it?”
“Perhaps I should leave?” he answered with a question.
“Oh no, Mister Phillips. Leaving is a very bad idea. That would leave the nice lady inside who works so hard to make a life for her in a very bad financial position. Is that your truck Mister Phillips?”
He nodded “Yes.”
“Well then, Mister Phillips, I would hope that except during working hours I would see that truck, sitting there in the gravel driveway washed nice and shiny next to the well cared for lawn. Don ‘t you think that would be a very nice idea, Mister Phillips?”
Another shove of her nightstick to the kidney brought the eye watering “Yes” she was looking for.
“Now, Mister Phillips, before I leave I will jot down, as a courtesy to you understand, the plate and VIN numbers of your truck in case you decide to abandon the nice lady inside. I don’t extend such courtesies to just anyone but you’re special to me. I want to see you two succeed. Have you ever met such a nice cop like me before, Mister Phillips?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Now let’s all go inside, get all of our ducks in a row and then me and my partner can go back to the doughnut shop and finish our coffee.”
“Ms. Hep, here’s my card. My personal cell number is on the back. Call me day or night if you need to. But, I think that your life is going to change for the better. Right Mister Phillips?”
Walking back to the car, Tillman cleared the chamber in her pistol. Rookie Jamison followed suit and asked, “What did you two talk about outside?”
Without looking at him she answered, “Nothing.”
Before putting the car in gear Tillman picked up the mike and reported them back into service, “Unit 12, 10-8.”
The radio cracked back, “Unit 12, 10-8, Roger.”
Needing time to decompress, Tillman called in again, “HQ, Unit 12.”
The response was “Unit 12, Go.”
Tillman pressed the mikes key and said, “Unit 12, 10-48” temporarily taking them out of service.
She drove to the children’s park, turned off the ignition and watched the kids playing. Rookie Jamison sat quietly.
Twenty minutes went by before Officer Tillman punched the mike again,
“HQ, Unit 12.”
“Unit 12, HQ.”
“HQ, Unit 12, 10-8.” She was ready to roll.
The afternoon crept by and other unites were given assignments.
Then a call came in, “Unit 12, HQ.”
“HQ, Unit 12, Go.”
“11-12 at Rochester and Ross.”
“HQ, Unit 12, Roger.”
With an all-knowing grin on her face she turned to Jamison and said, “This case is yours.” She knew that 11-12 meant that there was a dead animal in the street that needed to be moved elsewhere so animal control could pick it up later.
Arriving at the intersection she pulled over to the curb and said, “You’ll need the tool in the trunk.”
“What?” he asked.
“See that cat over there, the dead one? He’s all yours. Get the shovel from the trunk and scoop him up.” Then she added, “I hear fresh road kill is edible. Wanna take him home?”
Jamison knew that scooping up dead animals is part of a cop's job and accepted the assignment.
Back on the road again, the veteran and the rookie were nearing the end of their shift. Tillman pulled the car into a parking lot and told Jamison to drive.
“Just slow-drive back to the barn, Kid,” she said.
Without a word, the super-dooper cat shoveler drove back to HQ while Officer Phyllis Tillman lay back against the head rest, let out a deep breath then watched the trees and the building skid by.
Arriving home after her shift, Phyllis saw the kids doing their homework. Warren was sweeping out the garage and there was an Arby’s cap and apron on the kitchen table. Now maybe, just maybe, life could take on some form of order and balance.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jamison was Still Her Ward
At the next day’s roll call, Commander Hardesty addressed Phyllis. “Tilly, Officer Jamison says you’re the best.”
“Thank you sir.”
“Well now mother,” he let the word mother sink in while wearing a possum eatin’ shit grin on his face, “I thought you should take him out again to see if his training wheels will hold up another day.”
“By the way,” still grinning from ear to ear, “did you give him your recipe for road kill?”
She glared at him but couldn’t make her own grin go away.
“OK you knuckle heads, listen up. We had four burglaries last night all in the same neighborhood. We have a partial description of one of the suspects. She’s young, maybe 14 or 15, dark hair, jeans, pink sweatshirt, and Nike sneakers. All of this is a maybe! I emphasize maybe because our eyewitness is an old lady and she was looking through the curtains from her upstairs window as the girl bolted from the house next door. She said there was one other person also running but she couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. Sorry guys, that’s all we’ve got but it’s more than we had yesterday.”
“What did they get?” someone asked from the group.
“Costume jewelry, some cash…maybe five dollars or so and a credit card. That may be their undoing because if they try to charge anything, we’ve notified the bank and they have a red flag on the account and will call our hot line if anything turns up.”
“Also we have an award to present today. Officer Jamison …please step forward and be recognized.”
Stunned, Jamison snapped to attention before Hardesty and gave the officer his
best-practiced salute.
“At ease Jamison. On behalf of the entire department, the Chief of Police and the Assistant to the Deputy Mayor, it gives me great pleasure to present you with this Certificate of Merit for swiftly and deftly handling the 11-12 yesterday. Please note the gold shovel in the upper right hand corner. Officer Jamison, it is not every day that rookies such as yourself handle themselves with such a calm demeanor as you did yesterday. Officer Tillman’s report of your action glowed with praise. It is our pleasure to welcome you into exclusive club known as The Golden Shovel.”
Jamison was stunned. He didn’t know what to do. Was this a joke or was it real? Not taking any chances, he snapped another salute, which Hardesty returned. After performing a precise about face, all of the other officers rose in unison and applauded. One lady officer standing near the chalkboard appeared to wipe a tear from her eye. With proper aplomb, Jamison smartly returned to his seat still not knowing what to make of the ceremony. But he knew he’d call his mom when he got off duty.
Before reporting to the squad car to meet Tillman, Jamison stored his first award in his locker hoping that there would be many to follow in the years to come.
When he reached the car, he noticed that his lady mentor seemed to be in a better mood than she was the day before. Today she was smiling and had a glint in her eye.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, barely able to stifle her ear to ear grin then faced the other way.
Tillman didn’t say much in route to their beat. When she did she talked about the burglaries.
“It’s Saturday. If kids are doing the break-ins, this is the day for it. They’re out of school, need money for jeans, cosmetics and drugs. Stay alert.”
Jamison nodded in agreement.
Suddenly a soccer ball flashed in front of the car. Tillman hit the breaks pushing her and Jamison hard into their shoulder straps. Then, a boy, who looked to be about six, ran after the ball. Tillman took a deep breath, exhaled through her nose then moved the car slowly ahead but not before giving the siren two ear piercing weeep-weeep’s to let the kids know that they should be more careful.
After a couple of hours of slow cruising, Tillman asked, “Coffee?”
Jamison said, “Sure.”
“Where,” she asked.
“Dunkin’s?” Jamison responded questioningly.
Tillman rolled her eyes and thought, “You’ve got to be kidding.” With a smile in her voice she radioed in a 10-48 (out for coffee or whatever) then headed over to Broadmore Ave. Tillman had coffee with light cream. Jamison used both cream and sugar along with an iced doughnut with sprinkles.
Back in service, 10-8, they cruised lazily through the streets looking for anything suspicious. Nada, zilch, just kids being kids on a Saturday afternoon.
The radio: Any car…10-107 (possible home invasion!) Code 2 (proceed with lights but no siren). 1077 Forrest!
Tillman hit the lights. Jamison keyed the mike, “Unit 12, we’re on it.”
Officer Tillman looked at her ward and gave him a wink. He got her ‘atta-boy’. He chambered a round. She nodded approval.
Fortunately traffic was light enough that she could make good time. She knew the address because she had been in the area before looking for clues to the recent break-ins but had no luck. “This time…” she said to herself.
Just before coming to a full stop, Jamison radioed in, “10-97” (arrived at scene).
They exited the car at the same time. “Take the back!” she yelled.
Jamison hopped over a bush like he was running the high hurdles. Zero, no one in sight. Then, the front door of the house opened and two kids ran out. “Jamison!” she hollered. Her partner could have won the gold medal for sprinting to her aid. Tillman grabbed the girl by her pigtail and pulled her to the ground with a thud.
Suddenly Jamison yelled, “Tilly,” as he saw the young boy pull a small revolver from his waistband and point it at her. He leaped between the two. The kid got off one shot just before Jamison horse collared him to the ground. In a flash he secured the cuffs. He rolled off the kid then ended up with his face toward the clouds. With the taste of victory on his lips he said, “We got ‘em.” He blinked once, then once again causing a Niagara of tears to cascade down his cheeks.
Alarmed, Tilly ran to her partner’s side. A .22 hollow point bullet flying at 704 miles per hour had missed his body armor and painlessly severed a carotid artery in his neck. A fountain of blood was turning his gleaming white shirt into a sickening scarlet rag. She pressed her index finger hard on the bullet hole, keyed her portable radio with her other hand, “10-108, (officer down) and “11-41” (send ambulance).
Jamison wiggled a finger for her to bend down. She leaned in to his lips; “Make sure Mom gets my Certificate.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sunday at Home
Being a cop is stressful enough but when a fellow cop buys the farm, it takes a lot out of one. Phyllis lost more than a fellow cop; she lost a young man who was put in her trust. A man died and she was in remorse.
It was not a good time for her kids to want this and want that. And when Warren approached her in the kitchen and purposely bumped her affectionately stinking of Brut, she told him, “I told you, asshole that you aren’t getting in my pants ever again. Go fuck the cardboard tube in the toilet paper roll.”
She needed to decompress. In the past she and the family went together to the mall, the movies, and zoo and just palled around together. It was nice but that was before Ms. Redhead. Things were different now and young Thomas Jamison would never be old Thomas Jamison.
She went into the living room to check on son Tad. “I’m fine Mom, thanks for checking.”
Jennifer was in her room experimenting with different shades of lip-gloss, makeup, and trying on outfits. “Hi Mom. Yeah, I’m fine. Just hanging out.”
Warren was piddling around in the garage trying to look as though he was doing something important.
Without saying a word to anyone, she hopped in her car and took off to nowhere. She ran the light at Emerson and Quail, which caught the attention of Officer Quinton in his black and white cruiser. A couple of sharp weep-weeps on his siren made her look in her mirror. “Oh shit, what did I do?”
She pulled over, opened the glove box, and pulled out the registration, proof of insurance and her badge.
“Hello ma’am…oh it’s you Tilly! Headed for the mall?”
“No, just driving. Had cabin fever and needed to blow out some cobwebs.”
“Yeah,” he answered, “been there, done that. A car ran a light back there but I’m not quite sure that it was you. Same color car but I think it was a Toyota. I guess my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”
Knowing that he was letting her off the hook she responded, “Yeah, I think one passed me.”
“Sorry about the rookie. Have a great day, Tilly.”
“Thanks,” as if she needed to be reminded about Thomas.
She shifted into Drive and pulled out from the curb when a box truck nearly slammed into her.
“Jesus H. Christ asshole. Where are you going in such a hurry, to get Bruce Springsteen tickets? I hope Quinton gets him.” He did. She waved at him as she drove by. He pointed to the truck driver and gave her a thumb’s up. He had seen it all happen.
Without giving her driving much thought, she found herself at the Dunkin’s Doughnuts on Broadmore Ave. She ordered coffee, cream with sugar and an iced doughnut with sprinkles.
An hour later she was moving hangers around in the blouse section at the Fashion Boutique in the mall. Normally she wore size large, which was more PC for a married woman of her age. Today she picked out a medium Ann Taylor. It was a bit tight but, “What the Hell,” she said to herself.
It was after four but she still had time to mosey around before fixing supper for the kids and the man who lived in her house. Plenty of time for another coffee, this time in the food court.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she murmured while looking at what the teens were wearing, “the kids today have no pride in their clothes.”
“I agree,” she heard someone say from behind.
“Quinton! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”
“Pleasant I hope,” he answered.
“Pleasant what?”
“Pleasant surprise I meant.”
“Oh. Oh yeah, well, yeah,” she answered.
“Join you?”
“Sure.”
“Wanna talk about the kid?”
“No.”
“OK.”
Wanna talk about black holes in the Milky Way galaxy?”
“Sure,” she said laughingly.
“Well according to Einstein…” she cut him off.
“OK wise guy, knock it off.”
“Did the driving around today help?”
She nodded.
“Good.” Then he asked, “How’s the kids and Warren?”
“Fine.”
“That’s it? Just fine?”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
"Ok then, ask me what I bought today,” Quinton said.
“Ok, wha'd you buy today?”
“A Harley!”
“You’re shittin’ me!”
“No, really a Harley. It’s a big sum-bitch and as black as Hardesty's ass.”
“God damn, Quinton. Have you gone completely bananas? You could get killed on one of those things.”
“I could get killed tomorrow wearing my uniform too.”
“Yeah. Isn’t that the mother fuckin’ truth?”
Quinton’s chair screeched as he scooted it a bit closer. “Hey, I don’t know but maybe you might want to take a ride sometime, emphazing the word ride."
"Oh my God," she thought, "I'm listening to a high school freshman with a hard on."
Doing her best not to laugh she replied simply, “Not a good idea. Sorry.”
“Right. You’re right of course. Sure.”
He wobbled his chair back to its original position.
“Hey,” she said, “the kids need their supper. Thanks for sharing the table with me.”
“No sweat,” he answered, meekly waving bye-bye and looking for a hole to crawl into.
CHAPTER SIX
Just another Day as Uber Cop
Commander Hardesty said, “Officer Tillman!”
“Sir!” she answered.
“Tilly I’ve got a new partner for you. Name’s Adrian Peoples. Worked behind the lines in Iraq. He don’t take no shit. Think you can handle him?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Peoples!”
“Sir!” Peoples answered.
“Meet Officer Tillman. She don’t take no shit either. I think you two will get along just fine.”
“Sir! I look forward to working with Officer Tillman, Sir!”
Hardesty smiled at Peoples’ patronage then continued with the briefing.
“Boys and girls, we have a problem. It seems that our senior citizens are being robbed and accosted coming home from banks and grocery stores. I don’t like that. My mother is a senior citizen. And I have an aunt who also is a senior citizen. In a few years, I’ll be a senior citizen. Therefore I don’t like it when our senior citizens can’t walk our streets without looking over their shoulder all the time. So I’m making it my mission to stop all that horse shit in this precinct. If you, boys and girls in blue, can clear up this situation in the next 30 days, I’ll send you all to Disney World.” Everyone chuckled at his same-o, same-o joke, everybody except Peoples. It was his first day.
“Call me Tilly,” she told Peoples once they were buckled in.
“Peoples works fine for me,” he responded.
“So…you worked behind the lines in Iraq. Ever do any water boarding?”
He answered, “Water boarding? You’ve got to be kidding! That’s all the media found out about. Water boarding is pissy-ass compared to what we did…all authorized by the White House’s attorneys, of course.”
“Tell me more.”
“Maybe when we know each other better. OK?”
“Sure. Ok that’s fine.”
Tilly gave her usual speech about learning all the streets, blah-blah-blah. Peoples listened. He was no rookie; nevertheless, he respected authority and was willing to learn anything new.
“The Commander wants us to concentrate in the older neighborhoods, as you heard in the briefing. We’ll cruise by there for a look-see. There is no single day that is any better or worse for seniors being robbed because their social security and pension checks come at different times.”
She was interrupted by the radio: “Unit 12, HQ.”
“Unit 12, Go!”
“Unit 12, 10-21,” (call home).
“HQ, 10-4.”
Tilly pulled the car over to the curb, turned on the flashers and reached for her cell phone. ”Hello Honey?” She addressed her husband as Honey because there was no need for Peoples to know that her husband was an asshole.
Warren told her the story.
“You’ll have to handle it, Sweetheart," she said. "Well, call your shift supervisor and tell her that you’ll be late because you have to go to school because your son is in the Principal’s office and you’ll get there just as soon as you can. What? If you loose your job, you’ll get another one, Darling. No. No I can’t leave my post. No I’m on a special assignment with 10 other cops right now and I can’t leave the team. Thank you, dear. I’ll see you when I get home. Luuuve you..”
She keyed the mike, “Unit 10-8”, back in service then killed the flashing red and blues.
“Now, where were we?” she asked.
While cruising around in the cruiser, Tilly filled Peoples in on a lot of stuff. With his experience, she knew she didn’t have to spoon feed him.
“The cats wearing the green T-shirts are the Beaners, the Latino gang members. The Caucasians with the red bandanas are the Nazi’s. They also have shaved heads and wear their black baseball caps at a 45-degree angle. When we get a call that they’re going at it with each other, we don’t really hurry too much to get there. We wait until we are one or two blocks away before we turn on the sirens. We're not allowed to kill ‘em so we let them kill off each other”
Peoples asked, “Much trouble?”
“Not as much as on the coasts and in major cities,” she answered. “But they’re gaining in numbers as the economy gets worse. No jobs, no money for drugs, you get the picture.”
Peoples nodded.
“Shootings are harder to prosecute now too.”
“Oh, why?”
She said, “They have switched from using semi-autos to .22 caliber revolvers because they don’t leave any spent shells lying around. And they’re shooting them through empty
water bottles to silence the noise. They file off the front sights so the bottle slips right down the barrel then duct tape it into place.”
“Mother-fuckin’ shit!” he exclaimed.
“Right on, Buster Brown.”
“Where did they pick up that little tid-bit, “he asked.
“I heard that some asshole put it on his blog and it spread all over the Internet.”
“They ought to cut off his balls!”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, then he could sing in the girl’s choir.” They both laughed at that one.
“Unit 12, HQ”
“Unit 12,” Peoples answered.
“11-8, 412 Edwards, person down.
“Unit 12,” Peoples responded then hit the siren and lights as Tilly hit the gas.
Before the black and white came to a full stop, Peoples radioed in, “10-97” (arrived at scene).
An old lady lay face down in the grass her groceries were strewn across the lawn. Tilly dropped to her knees and asked if she was hurt.
Crying, she said, “No.”
"What's your name?"
"Mildred Webster."
“Come on Dear. Sit up and tell me what happened.”
Ms. Webster, shaking from fear said, “I was coming home from the grocery. This nice young man wearing a green T-shirt asked if he could help. I handed him one of the bags and we walked about two blocks when we got right here, he hit me. He hit me hard. I fell down and that's when he grabbed at my purse.”
Tilly told her to slow down because she was trembling and needed to take in some air. Once calmer, she told the woman to continue.
“Thank you Officer. You’re sooooo kind. I just don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Thank you ma’am but please continue with what happened.”
"Well, like I said, he grabbed at my purse but I held on. I held on tight but he was just too strong for me. After he kicked me in the face, I had to let go. He got my money. He got all of my money. My next check won’t come for three and a half weeks. What am I going to do?”
“Everything’s going to be all right, now. Just you don’t worry about a thing. It’s all right, it’s all right now.”
“Thank you young lady. I know you’re just trying to comfort me and I appreciate that but what am I going to do?”
“I’ll call someone for you. Don’t you worry about a thing, hear? ”
“Peoples, call 744-5394. Ask for Dr. Livingston.”
Peoples’ eyes got as big as dollars, “Who?”
Momentarily Tilly wondered why Peoples asked ‘who’ then understood his perplexity.
Chuckling she said, “Dr. Livingston is the minister at St. Methodist Church. Give him Mildred’s name and address.” She handed him Mildred’s photo ID card. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Now Mrs. Webster, let’s get you up on your feet, straighten your clothes and fix your hair up a bit.”
After that was done, Tilly asked some more questions.
"Mrs. Webster, is Mr. Webster at home waiting?”
“Oh, Dearie, Mr. Webster died four years and three months ago. I live alone now. It’s just me and Bruce.”
“Who’s Bruce?”
“He’s my bird.”
“Oh shit,” Tilly thought. “Never get old people talking about their kids or pets. They never shut up.”
“Yes ma’am. Now, what can you tell me about the man who robbed you?”
“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t remember much.”
“Well, just do the best you can.”
“Let’s see, he was wearing a green T-shirt. That’s about all I remember.”
“About how tall was he?”
“Oh, I’d say about seven feet or so.”
“Ms. Webster, how tall was he when he was standing beside you?”
“Oh about up to here,” she gestured about four inches above her head.
Tilly jotted down 5’8” with a question mark behind the numbers.
“Was he fat or what?”
Oh Honey, I’d say he was about average.”
“Ms. Webster, was he about the same size as that officer over there?”
“Oh no, Honey. He was a lot thinner. He was as skinny as a rail, don’t you know?”
“Thank you ma'am. Now, did he have a beard, any tattoos, marks or scars anywhere that you saw?”
“Yes, he had a cut on his chin, but I don’t really remember much about him, you know.”
“Yes ma’am. What color were his eyes”
“Just as blue as the ocean.”
“What color was his hair?”
“Oh I’d say about average, I guess.”
“What do you mean, average?”
“Well most people have dark hair and he had dark hair so that makes him average, doesn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am, it does. Now, what kind of pants was he wearing?”
“They were jeans with a lot of white paint on ’em.”
“White paint?”
“Yes, Dear.”
“What kind of shoes was he wearing?”
“Oh, he wasn’t wearing shoes.”
Astonished, Tilly asked, “He was barefoot?”
“Oh no Sweetheart. He was wearing boots and he kicked me with them. See?” she pointed to the bruise spot on her cheek.
“Oh my, we’ll have to put something on that so it doesn’t get infected. Do you remember anything else about him?”
“No.”
“Well, thank you Ms. Webster. We’ll do everything we can to catch him and bring him to justice.”
“Don’t you want to know where he lives?”
“What?”
“Do you want to know where he lives?”
“You know where he lives?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Where does he live?”
“In the Crown apartments down there,” she pointed south.
Suddenly Jamison yelled, “Tilly,” as he saw the young boy pull a small revolver from his waistband and point it at her. He leaped between the two. The kid got off one shot just before Jamison horse collared him to the ground. In a flash he secured the cuffs. He rolled off the kid then ended up with his face toward the clouds. With the taste of victory on his lips he said, “We got ‘em.” He blinked once, then once again causing a Niagara of tears to cascade down his cheeks.
Alarmed, Tilly ran to her partner’s side. A .22 hollow point bullet flying at 704 miles per hour had missed his body armor and painlessly severed a carotid artery in his neck. A fountain of blood was turning his gleaming white shirt into a sickening scarlet rag. She pressed her index finger hard on the bullet hole, keyed her portable radio with her other hand, “10-108, (officer down) and “11-41” (send ambulance).
Jamison wiggled a finger for her to bend down. She leaned in to his lips; “Make sure Mom gets my Certificate.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sunday at Home
Being a cop is stressful enough but when a fellow cop buys the farm, it takes a lot out of one. Phyllis lost more than a fellow cop; she lost a young man who was put in her trust. A man died and she was in remorse.
It was not a good time for her kids to want this and want that. And when Warren approached her in the kitchen and purposely bumped her affectionately stinking of Brut, she told him, “I told you, asshole that you aren’t getting in my pants ever again. Go fuck the cardboard tube in the toilet paper roll.”
She needed to decompress. In the past she and the family went together to the mall, the movies, and zoo and just palled around together. It was nice but that was before Ms. Redhead. Things were different now and young Thomas Jamison would never be old Thomas Jamison.
She went into the living room to check on son Tad. “I’m fine Mom, thanks for checking.”
Jennifer was in her room experimenting with different shades of lip-gloss, makeup, and trying on outfits. “Hi Mom. Yeah, I’m fine. Just hanging out.”
Warren was piddling around in the garage trying to look as though he was doing something important.
Without saying a word to anyone, she hopped in her car and took off to nowhere. She ran the light at Emerson and Quail, which caught the attention of Officer Quinton in his black and white cruiser. A couple of sharp weep-weeps on his siren made her look in her mirror. “Oh shit, what did I do?”
She pulled over, opened the glove box, and pulled out the registration, proof of insurance and her badge.
“Hello ma’am…oh it’s you Tilly! Headed for the mall?”
“No, just driving. Had cabin fever and needed to blow out some cobwebs.”
“Yeah,” he answered, “been there, done that. A car ran a light back there but I’m not quite sure that it was you. Same color car but I think it was a Toyota. I guess my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”
Knowing that he was letting her off the hook she responded, “Yeah, I think one passed me.”
“Sorry about the rookie. Have a great day, Tilly.”
“Thanks,” as if she needed to be reminded about Thomas.
She shifted into Drive and pulled out from the curb when a box truck nearly slammed into her.
“Jesus H. Christ asshole. Where are you going in such a hurry, to get Bruce Springsteen tickets? I hope Quinton gets him.” He did. She waved at him as she drove by. He pointed to the truck driver and gave her a thumb’s up. He had seen it all happen.
Without giving her driving much thought, she found herself at the Dunkin’s Doughnuts on Broadmore Ave. She ordered coffee, cream with sugar and an iced doughnut with sprinkles.
An hour later she was moving hangers around in the blouse section at the Fashion Boutique in the mall. Normally she wore size large, which was more PC for a married woman of her age. Today she picked out a medium Ann Taylor. It was a bit tight but, “What the Hell,” she said to herself.
It was after four but she still had time to mosey around before fixing supper for the kids and the man who lived in her house. Plenty of time for another coffee, this time in the food court.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she murmured while looking at what the teens were wearing, “the kids today have no pride in their clothes.”
“I agree,” she heard someone say from behind.
“Quinton! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”
“Pleasant I hope,” he answered.
“Pleasant what?”
“Pleasant surprise I meant.”
“Oh. Oh yeah, well, yeah,” she answered.
“Join you?”
“Sure.”
“Wanna talk about the kid?”
“No.”
“OK.”
Wanna talk about black holes in the Milky Way galaxy?”
“Sure,” she said laughingly.
“Well according to Einstein…” she cut him off.
“OK wise guy, knock it off.”
“Did the driving around today help?”
She nodded.
“Good.” Then he asked, “How’s the kids and Warren?”
“Fine.”
“That’s it? Just fine?”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
"Ok then, ask me what I bought today,” Quinton said.
“Ok, wha'd you buy today?”
“A Harley!”
“You’re shittin’ me!”
“No, really a Harley. It’s a big sum-bitch and as black as Hardesty's ass.”
“God damn, Quinton. Have you gone completely bananas? You could get killed on one of those things.”
“I could get killed tomorrow wearing my uniform too.”
“Yeah. Isn’t that the mother fuckin’ truth?”
Quinton’s chair screeched as he scooted it a bit closer. “Hey, I don’t know but maybe you might want to take a ride sometime, emphazing the word ride."
"Oh my God," she thought, "I'm listening to a high school freshman with a hard on."
Doing her best not to laugh she replied simply, “Not a good idea. Sorry.”
“Right. You’re right of course. Sure.”
He wobbled his chair back to its original position.
“Hey,” she said, “the kids need their supper. Thanks for sharing the table with me.”
“No sweat,” he answered, meekly waving bye-bye and looking for a hole to crawl into.
CHAPTER SIX
Just another Day as Uber Cop
Commander Hardesty said, “Officer Tillman!”
“Sir!” she answered.
“Tilly I’ve got a new partner for you. Name’s Adrian Peoples. Worked behind the lines in Iraq. He don’t take no shit. Think you can handle him?”
“Yes Sir!”
“Peoples!”
“Sir!” Peoples answered.
“Meet Officer Tillman. She don’t take no shit either. I think you two will get along just fine.”
“Sir! I look forward to working with Officer Tillman, Sir!”
Hardesty smiled at Peoples’ patronage then continued with the briefing.
“Boys and girls, we have a problem. It seems that our senior citizens are being robbed and accosted coming home from banks and grocery stores. I don’t like that. My mother is a senior citizen. And I have an aunt who also is a senior citizen. In a few years, I’ll be a senior citizen. Therefore I don’t like it when our senior citizens can’t walk our streets without looking over their shoulder all the time. So I’m making it my mission to stop all that horse shit in this precinct. If you, boys and girls in blue, can clear up this situation in the next 30 days, I’ll send you all to Disney World.” Everyone chuckled at his same-o, same-o joke, everybody except Peoples. It was his first day.
“Call me Tilly,” she told Peoples once they were buckled in.
“Peoples works fine for me,” he responded.
“So…you worked behind the lines in Iraq. Ever do any water boarding?”
He answered, “Water boarding? You’ve got to be kidding! That’s all the media found out about. Water boarding is pissy-ass compared to what we did…all authorized by the White House’s attorneys, of course.”
“Tell me more.”
“Maybe when we know each other better. OK?”
“Sure. Ok that’s fine.”
Tilly gave her usual speech about learning all the streets, blah-blah-blah. Peoples listened. He was no rookie; nevertheless, he respected authority and was willing to learn anything new.
“The Commander wants us to concentrate in the older neighborhoods, as you heard in the briefing. We’ll cruise by there for a look-see. There is no single day that is any better or worse for seniors being robbed because their social security and pension checks come at different times.”
She was interrupted by the radio: “Unit 12, HQ.”
“Unit 12, Go!”
“Unit 12, 10-21,” (call home).
“HQ, 10-4.”
Tilly pulled the car over to the curb, turned on the flashers and reached for her cell phone. ”Hello Honey?” She addressed her husband as Honey because there was no need for Peoples to know that her husband was an asshole.
Warren told her the story.
“You’ll have to handle it, Sweetheart," she said. "Well, call your shift supervisor and tell her that you’ll be late because you have to go to school because your son is in the Principal’s office and you’ll get there just as soon as you can. What? If you loose your job, you’ll get another one, Darling. No. No I can’t leave my post. No I’m on a special assignment with 10 other cops right now and I can’t leave the team. Thank you, dear. I’ll see you when I get home. Luuuve you..”
She keyed the mike, “Unit 10-8”, back in service then killed the flashing red and blues.
“Now, where were we?” she asked.
While cruising around in the cruiser, Tilly filled Peoples in on a lot of stuff. With his experience, she knew she didn’t have to spoon feed him.
“The cats wearing the green T-shirts are the Beaners, the Latino gang members. The Caucasians with the red bandanas are the Nazi’s. They also have shaved heads and wear their black baseball caps at a 45-degree angle. When we get a call that they’re going at it with each other, we don’t really hurry too much to get there. We wait until we are one or two blocks away before we turn on the sirens. We're not allowed to kill ‘em so we let them kill off each other”
Peoples asked, “Much trouble?”
“Not as much as on the coasts and in major cities,” she answered. “But they’re gaining in numbers as the economy gets worse. No jobs, no money for drugs, you get the picture.”
Peoples nodded.
“Shootings are harder to prosecute now too.”
“Oh, why?”
She said, “They have switched from using semi-autos to .22 caliber revolvers because they don’t leave any spent shells lying around. And they’re shooting them through empty
water bottles to silence the noise. They file off the front sights so the bottle slips right down the barrel then duct tape it into place.”
“Mother-fuckin’ shit!” he exclaimed.
“Right on, Buster Brown.”
“Where did they pick up that little tid-bit, “he asked.
“I heard that some asshole put it on his blog and it spread all over the Internet.”
“They ought to cut off his balls!”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, then he could sing in the girl’s choir.” They both laughed at that one.
“Unit 12, HQ”
“Unit 12,” Peoples answered.
“11-8, 412 Edwards, person down.
“Unit 12,” Peoples responded then hit the siren and lights as Tilly hit the gas.
Before the black and white came to a full stop, Peoples radioed in, “10-97” (arrived at scene).
An old lady lay face down in the grass her groceries were strewn across the lawn. Tilly dropped to her knees and asked if she was hurt.
Crying, she said, “No.”
"What's your name?"
"Mildred Webster."
“Come on Dear. Sit up and tell me what happened.”
Ms. Webster, shaking from fear said, “I was coming home from the grocery. This nice young man wearing a green T-shirt asked if he could help. I handed him one of the bags and we walked about two blocks when we got right here, he hit me. He hit me hard. I fell down and that's when he grabbed at my purse.”
Tilly told her to slow down because she was trembling and needed to take in some air. Once calmer, she told the woman to continue.
“Thank you Officer. You’re sooooo kind. I just don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Thank you ma’am but please continue with what happened.”
"Well, like I said, he grabbed at my purse but I held on. I held on tight but he was just too strong for me. After he kicked me in the face, I had to let go. He got my money. He got all of my money. My next check won’t come for three and a half weeks. What am I going to do?”
“Everything’s going to be all right, now. Just you don’t worry about a thing. It’s all right, it’s all right now.”
“Thank you young lady. I know you’re just trying to comfort me and I appreciate that but what am I going to do?”
“I’ll call someone for you. Don’t you worry about a thing, hear? ”
“Peoples, call 744-5394. Ask for Dr. Livingston.”
Peoples’ eyes got as big as dollars, “Who?”
Momentarily Tilly wondered why Peoples asked ‘who’ then understood his perplexity.
Chuckling she said, “Dr. Livingston is the minister at St. Methodist Church. Give him Mildred’s name and address.” She handed him Mildred’s photo ID card. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Now Mrs. Webster, let’s get you up on your feet, straighten your clothes and fix your hair up a bit.”
After that was done, Tilly asked some more questions.
"Mrs. Webster, is Mr. Webster at home waiting?”
“Oh, Dearie, Mr. Webster died four years and three months ago. I live alone now. It’s just me and Bruce.”
“Who’s Bruce?”
“He’s my bird.”
“Oh shit,” Tilly thought. “Never get old people talking about their kids or pets. They never shut up.”
“Yes ma’am. Now, what can you tell me about the man who robbed you?”
“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t remember much.”
“Well, just do the best you can.”
“Let’s see, he was wearing a green T-shirt. That’s about all I remember.”
“About how tall was he?”
“Oh, I’d say about seven feet or so.”
“Ms. Webster, how tall was he when he was standing beside you?”
“Oh about up to here,” she gestured about four inches above her head.
Tilly jotted down 5’8” with a question mark behind the numbers.
“Was he fat or what?”
Oh Honey, I’d say he was about average.”
“Ms. Webster, was he about the same size as that officer over there?”
“Oh no, Honey. He was a lot thinner. He was as skinny as a rail, don’t you know?”
“Thank you ma'am. Now, did he have a beard, any tattoos, marks or scars anywhere that you saw?”
“Yes, he had a cut on his chin, but I don’t really remember much about him, you know.”
“Yes ma’am. What color were his eyes”
“Just as blue as the ocean.”
“What color was his hair?”
“Oh I’d say about average, I guess.”
“What do you mean, average?”
“Well most people have dark hair and he had dark hair so that makes him average, doesn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am, it does. Now, what kind of pants was he wearing?”
“They were jeans with a lot of white paint on ’em.”
“White paint?”
“Yes, Dear.”
“What kind of shoes was he wearing?”
“Oh, he wasn’t wearing shoes.”
Astonished, Tilly asked, “He was barefoot?”
“Oh no Sweetheart. He was wearing boots and he kicked me with them. See?” she pointed to the bruise spot on her cheek.
“Oh my, we’ll have to put something on that so it doesn’t get infected. Do you remember anything else about him?”
“No.”
“Well, thank you Ms. Webster. We’ll do everything we can to catch him and bring him to justice.”
“Don’t you want to know where he lives?”
“What?”
“Do you want to know where he lives?”
“You know where he lives?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Where does he live?”
“In the Crown apartments down there,” she pointed south.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I see him and a bunch of other boys with green T-shirts hanging around there.”
“Thank you Ms. Webster. Where do you live?”
“Just down a ways, dear. At 816.”
“Peoples! Let’s drive Ms. Webster home. You got hold of Dr. Livingston, I presume?”
He gave her a thumb’s up.
After helping Ms. Webster into her house four blocks down, Tilly radioed headquarters.
“HQ, Unit 12, 10-8” (back in service).
“Can you park about a block away from the Crown without being seen from there?” Peoples asked.
“I think so, why?”
Peoples reached in his bug-out bag and pulled out his binoculars. Tilly figured out what he was up to. “Nice to have someone along who has some smarts," she thought.
Tilly parked the cruiser and killed the engine then radioed “HQ, Unit 12, 11-86,” (special detail.)
“Unit 12, do you need assist?”
“HQ, negative. Out.”
Peoples had already focused in on the building.
“Any luck?” she asked.
“Yeah, a bunch of guys in green T-shirts but I don’t see our boy.”
They waited.
Fifteen minutes later, “There he is!” Peoples exclaimed.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, jeans with paint on ‘em. Let’s leave the cruiser here, and walk to the building coming around from each side.”
“Got it!” she agreed.
“Turn off your handset,” he said. They both did.
They approached the building like two lions stalking supper. When they each rounded their respective corners they were spotted and some of the kids started to run.
“Halt! Police! Nobody move! Keep your hands where we can see ‘em. That means you too Shorty,” pointing to the small kid trying to slink back into the building.
Both officers moved toward their suspect. He saw the handwriting on the wall and appeared ready to take flight.
“Stay right where you are, Buster Brown!” Tilly commanded.
The kid froze in place and raised his hands to about shoulder high. He’d seen this routine before and knew the drill.
“Name?”
“Jimmy.”
“Jimmy what, Jimmy?”
Jimmy looked at Peoples then at Tilly. “Tallon.”
“Where do you live Jimmy Tallon?”
“Over on 14th.”
“And Jimmy Tallon, what are you doing over here so far from home?”
“Just hanging out with my friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you all wearing green T-shirts?”
“We’re thinking of starting a basketball team and green will be our colors.”
That was a mistake. No one could pull that kind of shit on Tilly.
“How nice, Jimmy Tallon. Who’s going to be your center, Short Stuff here?”
Jimmy knew he’d made a mistake by the looks in both officers’ eyes.
“No ma’am.”
“Well Mister Tallon, we just met a friend of yours down a couple of blocks. She is a nice lady named Mildred Webster. Ever hear of her?”
“No ma’am.”
“Mister Tallon, have you ever been in trouble before?”
He knew better than to lie. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What for?”
“Petty theft.”
“Petty theft?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go to jail?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“Judge William T. Manors said I needed a second chance.”
“How many times have you been arrested?”
“For just petty theft or for everything?
Stunned, Tilly answered, “Everything!”
“Seventeen times.”
“Seventeen times, Mister Tallon? And you got off each time?”
“Yes, ma’am. Judge Manors said that I should join the Boy Scouts or something to keep me out of trouble.”
“Did you?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What did you do in the Boy Scouts?”
“Nothing, I never went to any of the meetings. The Scouts are for nerds. I’m not a nerd.”
“Where did you get the paint on your pants?”
“At Mom’s.”
“Mom’s?”
“I was helping her paint the kitchen. When she wasn’t looking I snuck out and came over here to be with my friends.”
“Mister Tallon, do you mind emptying your pockets?”
“What for? I didn’t do nuthin’”
“Are you resisting my request?”
Tallon took some stuff out of his pockets but she could still see the outline of something else.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My school lunch pass.”
“May I see it?”
Reluctantly Tallon pulled out the card.
“Mister Tallon, this is a debit card with the name Mildred Webster on it. How do you explain that?”
“I found it. I was going to try to find the owner and return it.”
“Turn around Mister Tallon.”
She cuffed him then said to Peoples, “Book him Dan-O.”
With Tilly behind the wheel and Mr. Tallon cuffed to the steel bar in the back, Peoples radioed in, HQ, Unit 12, 10-15, (prisoner in custody.)
Tilly turned to People and asked, “I’m kinda proud that we got our man so quickly. How about you?”
Looking straight ahead he answered with conviction, “Pride? No. Pride is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins. However, I do have an overwhelming feeling of self-gratification that I made a significant contribution to the successful resolution of this case.
Tilly thought, “God damn and Jesus H. Christ in Hell, I’ve got a fuckin’ smart ass, holier than thou Jesus freak riding with me. I bet the Pope-a-dope even went to fuckin’ confession to get off the hook each time after torturing Iraqi prisoners.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Love Every 28 Days
The following day was Saturday; the first Saturday Tilly had had off in three weeks. This was the day she and Jennifer had planned to go to the mall to get her some badly needed school clothes.
“Honey, I want to shower before we go. I’ll only be about half an hour. OK?” she asked.
With her head tilted downward just a tad displaying typical teenage impatience, Jennifer said, “Sure," with absolutely no enthusiasm in her words.
Drying off in front of her full-length mirror, Phyllis took a longer than usual look at her body. “Humm, not bad for a 35 year old broad,” she thought. “Even after two kids, my girls are still up there somewhat. They’re not as perky as they were when I was 25 but they look a hell of a lot better than those half grapefruits the women are buying now-a-days. Cleavage? Thank you Mother Nature!” She brushed her nipples. “Oh mama!” she murmured as the Richter scale sent a 9.5 shock wave all through her body. “Now, now girl, let’s not get naughty here, the battery in the Pocket Rocket is dead. Mental note, buy some triple A’s.”
Studying the rest of her body, “Legs look good. Only one small spider vein and it’s hidden behind my left knee. Hell, if people thought Liz Taylor’s facial mole was a beauty mark, my spider vein should make the cover of GLAMOUR magazine.”
Looking at her mid section, “Tummy is fit thanks to workouts mandatory by the department.
"The bush is full.” A slight natural curl had always kept her muffy fluffy.
When Phyllis shampooed and conditioned her hair, she also tended the garden below. She learned in college that the girls with Brillo Pads had fewer repeat dates.
“Oops,” she said while looking down. Then with a scissors’ snip here and another snip there, errant Longfellows fell to the carpet. “There, that’s better. And not a gray hair in sight, not bad for middle age, not bad at all,” she proudly said to herself.
Going to the closet she switched hangers around next to one another to find something to go with her new Ann Taylor blouse. She selected pure white jeans. Having to tug them on she said, “Damn, where did those hips come from?”
After a couple more yanks, they were on accompanied by a promise to her self to work on them the next time in the gym. Who am I kidding?” she pondered. “They’re mine and I’m stuck with ‘em. So be it.
The smaller than usual blouse complimented the tight jeans. Her attire was not what she had planned but she hadn’t planned anything special anyway. “God’s will,” she said.
“Mom, you about ready?” Jennifer hollered from downstairs.
“Two minutes, Honey.”
She slipped into her already tied white sneakers and headed for the door. “Damn!” She grabbed the scissors again freeing the blouses' sales tag which fell to the floor next to the errant Longfellows.
“Coming!”
Traffic to the mall was a bitch. Everybody had a sale going on. “Damn, we’ll have to park a mile out in no man’s land. Son-of-a-bitch.”
It took Jennifer forever to pick out one pair of sneakers, one blouse, and one lousy scarf. Nothing left for mother and daughter to do now but lazily window shop, just as they had planned. People seemed in a hurry for no apparent reason. The holidays were way off and the weather was perfect. “People, ugh!” she thought. “I hate people!”
“Hungry Honey?”
“Yeah, Mom. Spicy chicken at Yung Foo’s.”
“You can have it! I’m going for grilled Chick-Fil-A and an Orange Slush”
“Mom, Mom! There’s Adrian and Kelly!” Jennifer hollered to catch her friends’ attention. They waved for her to come over. She did then upon her return she asked, “Mom, can I go with them? They’re cruising for boys and Adrian’s mom will pick ‘em up at 6. They’ll take me home. Can I Mom? Pleeeeeze?”
Having been young once, a long time ago, Mom said, “Be home no later than seven, young lady! Got it? Seven!”
“Thanks, Mom,” and she was off.
“Nothing like dining by one’s self among a horde of strangers,” she muttered as she took her Chick-Fil-A and the Orange Slush to a small table.
She was alone. “Fuck!” she said.
The day hadn’t gone as planned, the mother and daughter thing, just hanging out and being together outside of the house. Teenage exuberance put a stifle on that! She was reduced to people watching. “Fuck!” she repeated.
The line at the Dairy Queen was short. Then she noticed that Officer Quinton brought up the tail end. She watched as he bought a large cone without the chocolate dip. She waited for him to turn to her direction. She waived. She knew that he saw her even though he didn’t wave back. She waved again.
Quinton waved back this time but with not much gusto. He had no desire to humiliate himself as he had the other day. Then she beckoned for him to join her. “Damn,” he said to himself as he reluctantly walked to her table.
“Hi Tilly. What’s new?”
Leaning back a little to put a strain on Ann Taylor’s buttons, she answered, “Tell me about your Harley.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Twelve Seconds to Die
At roll call, Hardesty went through the usual listings of what to look out for, yada, yada, yada then he hollered, “Tillman!”
“Sir!” she answered.
“Tilly, Officer Washington has the flu. You’re riding with Rodriques today. OK?”
“¡Sí Señor!” she responded. The room broke up with Rodriques trying to control his own laughing belly. It was going to be a great day in the precinct.
Then Tilly noted, “Officer Peoples is missing.”
Hardesty answered, “Yeah, he’s in DC.”
“DC?” Tilly asked.
“Yes, something about a hearing being conducted by the Senate Arms Committee. That’s all I know.”
Tilly sat down wondering if Peoples would be able to confess his way out of this one.
“One final thing,” Hardesty said, “we still are having drug problems near the schools. If you clear out the traffickers within the next 24 hours, you all get to go to Disney World.”
“Can we take our families along, Marion?” someone asked from the back of the room.
No one ever addressed Hardesty by his first name.
“Whoever said that stand up.”
Everyone in the room stood up.
Hardesty had been had and he knew it. Faking it, he stomped out of the room all the while grinning his ass off.
“God I love those people,” he muttered.
*********
“Unit 41, HQ.”
“Unit 41. Go.”
“Our 911 operator was cut off from a call from Silverman’s grocery. Check it out.”
“Unit 41, 10-4.”
Rodriques hit the lights and siren. He knew the store. He’d been there many times responding to incidents. Sometimes, guns had been involved. Mr. & Mrs. Silverman had run their family grocery for 32 years even though the neighborhood had deteriorated severely. They were in their ’70 and loved kids. The young ones never had to steal candy because Mrs. Silverman always had a special stash for them.
Traffic scooted left and right making way for the black and white to speed through. A
biker, wearing a helmet, hadn’t heard the siren and moved only when the car was right on his ass.
The siren’s sound had not yet faded from the air before the two cops entered the store. They could see that something was wrong because a wire stand holding potato chips laid half way through the doorway out onto the sidewalk.
While running toward the door Rodriques hollered, "Twelve seconds!"
Tilly got the message. When a person was hit in the vital organ area he'd still have enough oxygen in his brain to live 12 more seconds and could still pull a trigger. Headshots were preferred but no one pretended to be Wyatt Earp or Annie Oakley. They'd just do the best they could.
Just inside the doorway Rodriquez went in left, Tillman to the right.
No sounds, none anywhere. Until…Tilly heard a something, a wail really, almost like a cat in heat at midnight.
Then there was a gunshot. Rodriquez hollered at Tilly, “OK?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah. Where’d it come from?”
“Don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe from behind the counter, not sure. I’ll check.”
Both had their Glocks in the two handed firing position with safety’s off.
Tilly keyed her hand held radio, “HQ. Shots fired. Silverman’s. Assist,” then she let up on the mike button and brought her left palm back under the gun’s butt to steady her aim again.
Another shot was fired then another.
“Tilly!” Rodriquez hollered, “He is behind the counter!”
“Right!” she said crawling toward the cat’s wail.
She found Mrs. Silverman lying across her husband’s dead body.
“Anything yet?” she asked Rodriquez.
“Yeah, he’s a Beaner.”
Tilly put her arm across Mrs. Silverman’s back and shoulders and patted her lovingly.
“I’m so sorry Mrs. Silverman. But don’t you worry. We’ll get the bastard. OK Honey?”
Mrs. Silverman nodded OK. Tears were cascading from her cheeks onto her chin then pooling on the old and well oiled wooden floor.
“Stay down, Dear,” Tilly told the distraught woman.
“Moving!” she hollered to let her partner know that the noise was her moving so he wouldn't shoot in her direction.
“Right!” he hollered back.
Just then the Beaner hopped on top of the counter, ready to bolt for the door. His 1911 Browning style handgun was pointed squarely at Rodriquez.
Now, at this very moment in time, is when the special attention that Commander Hardesty's tutelage on the shooting range came into play.
In the back of her mind she heard him say, "Hold the gun with both hands to steady it. That's my girl. Aim at the vital organs located on a straight line from one armpit to the other. That's my girl. Now Tilly, shoot, shoot, shoot!"
Ten billion rounds of ammunition are sold in the US each year. Two of them left Tilly's gun hitting their mark spewing blood, flesh, and brain goo all around the room.
The deadly noise from her forty cal. was heard a block away.
Just then, three cruisers slammed to a stop in front of the store, sirens and lights still going full blast.
“Clear inside!” Rodriques screamed to let the new arrivals know that they shouldn’t shoot anyone when they came in.
Tilly stood up but then nearly crashed to the floor. She had used up all of her adrenaline leaving the blood in her veins too thin to support her legs. Rodriques knelt beside her.
“OK, Honey?”
“Yeah, fine. Give me a minute though. OK?”
“Sure Kid,” he said and walked to meet the new cops and blocked their view of his partner. He didn’t want them to see Tilly in her time of decompression. She needed to be alone for a couple of seconds. Cops take care of one another, no matter what.
It is customary to present awards to officers when they perform heroic deeds such as saving a fellow officer’s life in a shoot-out. Tilly well deserved hers.
“Officer Tillman!”
“Because I see him and a bunch of other boys with green T-shirts hanging around there.”
“Thank you Ms. Webster. Where do you live?”
“Just down a ways, dear. At 816.”
“Peoples! Let’s drive Ms. Webster home. You got hold of Dr. Livingston, I presume?”
He gave her a thumb’s up.
After helping Ms. Webster into her house four blocks down, Tilly radioed headquarters.
“HQ, Unit 12, 10-8” (back in service).
“Can you park about a block away from the Crown without being seen from there?” Peoples asked.
“I think so, why?”
Peoples reached in his bug-out bag and pulled out his binoculars. Tilly figured out what he was up to. “Nice to have someone along who has some smarts," she thought.
Tilly parked the cruiser and killed the engine then radioed “HQ, Unit 12, 11-86,” (special detail.)
“Unit 12, do you need assist?”
“HQ, negative. Out.”
Peoples had already focused in on the building.
“Any luck?” she asked.
“Yeah, a bunch of guys in green T-shirts but I don’t see our boy.”
They waited.
Fifteen minutes later, “There he is!” Peoples exclaimed.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, jeans with paint on ‘em. Let’s leave the cruiser here, and walk to the building coming around from each side.”
“Got it!” she agreed.
“Turn off your handset,” he said. They both did.
They approached the building like two lions stalking supper. When they each rounded their respective corners they were spotted and some of the kids started to run.
“Halt! Police! Nobody move! Keep your hands where we can see ‘em. That means you too Shorty,” pointing to the small kid trying to slink back into the building.
Both officers moved toward their suspect. He saw the handwriting on the wall and appeared ready to take flight.
“Stay right where you are, Buster Brown!” Tilly commanded.
The kid froze in place and raised his hands to about shoulder high. He’d seen this routine before and knew the drill.
“Name?”
“Jimmy.”
“Jimmy what, Jimmy?”
Jimmy looked at Peoples then at Tilly. “Tallon.”
“Where do you live Jimmy Tallon?”
“Over on 14th.”
“And Jimmy Tallon, what are you doing over here so far from home?”
“Just hanging out with my friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you all wearing green T-shirts?”
“We’re thinking of starting a basketball team and green will be our colors.”
That was a mistake. No one could pull that kind of shit on Tilly.
“How nice, Jimmy Tallon. Who’s going to be your center, Short Stuff here?”
Jimmy knew he’d made a mistake by the looks in both officers’ eyes.
“No ma’am.”
“Well Mister Tallon, we just met a friend of yours down a couple of blocks. She is a nice lady named Mildred Webster. Ever hear of her?”
“No ma’am.”
“Mister Tallon, have you ever been in trouble before?”
He knew better than to lie. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What for?”
“Petty theft.”
“Petty theft?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go to jail?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“Judge William T. Manors said I needed a second chance.”
“How many times have you been arrested?”
“For just petty theft or for everything?
Stunned, Tilly answered, “Everything!”
“Seventeen times.”
“Seventeen times, Mister Tallon? And you got off each time?”
“Yes, ma’am. Judge Manors said that I should join the Boy Scouts or something to keep me out of trouble.”
“Did you?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What did you do in the Boy Scouts?”
“Nothing, I never went to any of the meetings. The Scouts are for nerds. I’m not a nerd.”
“Where did you get the paint on your pants?”
“At Mom’s.”
“Mom’s?”
“I was helping her paint the kitchen. When she wasn’t looking I snuck out and came over here to be with my friends.”
“Mister Tallon, do you mind emptying your pockets?”
“What for? I didn’t do nuthin’”
“Are you resisting my request?”
Tallon took some stuff out of his pockets but she could still see the outline of something else.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My school lunch pass.”
“May I see it?”
Reluctantly Tallon pulled out the card.
“Mister Tallon, this is a debit card with the name Mildred Webster on it. How do you explain that?”
“I found it. I was going to try to find the owner and return it.”
“Turn around Mister Tallon.”
She cuffed him then said to Peoples, “Book him Dan-O.”
With Tilly behind the wheel and Mr. Tallon cuffed to the steel bar in the back, Peoples radioed in, HQ, Unit 12, 10-15, (prisoner in custody.)
Tilly turned to People and asked, “I’m kinda proud that we got our man so quickly. How about you?”
Looking straight ahead he answered with conviction, “Pride? No. Pride is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins. However, I do have an overwhelming feeling of self-gratification that I made a significant contribution to the successful resolution of this case.
Tilly thought, “God damn and Jesus H. Christ in Hell, I’ve got a fuckin’ smart ass, holier than thou Jesus freak riding with me. I bet the Pope-a-dope even went to fuckin’ confession to get off the hook each time after torturing Iraqi prisoners.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Love Every 28 Days
The following day was Saturday; the first Saturday Tilly had had off in three weeks. This was the day she and Jennifer had planned to go to the mall to get her some badly needed school clothes.
“Honey, I want to shower before we go. I’ll only be about half an hour. OK?” she asked.
With her head tilted downward just a tad displaying typical teenage impatience, Jennifer said, “Sure," with absolutely no enthusiasm in her words.
Drying off in front of her full-length mirror, Phyllis took a longer than usual look at her body. “Humm, not bad for a 35 year old broad,” she thought. “Even after two kids, my girls are still up there somewhat. They’re not as perky as they were when I was 25 but they look a hell of a lot better than those half grapefruits the women are buying now-a-days. Cleavage? Thank you Mother Nature!” She brushed her nipples. “Oh mama!” she murmured as the Richter scale sent a 9.5 shock wave all through her body. “Now, now girl, let’s not get naughty here, the battery in the Pocket Rocket is dead. Mental note, buy some triple A’s.”
Studying the rest of her body, “Legs look good. Only one small spider vein and it’s hidden behind my left knee. Hell, if people thought Liz Taylor’s facial mole was a beauty mark, my spider vein should make the cover of GLAMOUR magazine.”
Looking at her mid section, “Tummy is fit thanks to workouts mandatory by the department.
"The bush is full.” A slight natural curl had always kept her muffy fluffy.
When Phyllis shampooed and conditioned her hair, she also tended the garden below. She learned in college that the girls with Brillo Pads had fewer repeat dates.
“Oops,” she said while looking down. Then with a scissors’ snip here and another snip there, errant Longfellows fell to the carpet. “There, that’s better. And not a gray hair in sight, not bad for middle age, not bad at all,” she proudly said to herself.
Going to the closet she switched hangers around next to one another to find something to go with her new Ann Taylor blouse. She selected pure white jeans. Having to tug them on she said, “Damn, where did those hips come from?”
After a couple more yanks, they were on accompanied by a promise to her self to work on them the next time in the gym. Who am I kidding?” she pondered. “They’re mine and I’m stuck with ‘em. So be it.
The smaller than usual blouse complimented the tight jeans. Her attire was not what she had planned but she hadn’t planned anything special anyway. “God’s will,” she said.
“Mom, you about ready?” Jennifer hollered from downstairs.
“Two minutes, Honey.”
She slipped into her already tied white sneakers and headed for the door. “Damn!” She grabbed the scissors again freeing the blouses' sales tag which fell to the floor next to the errant Longfellows.
“Coming!”
Traffic to the mall was a bitch. Everybody had a sale going on. “Damn, we’ll have to park a mile out in no man’s land. Son-of-a-bitch.”
It took Jennifer forever to pick out one pair of sneakers, one blouse, and one lousy scarf. Nothing left for mother and daughter to do now but lazily window shop, just as they had planned. People seemed in a hurry for no apparent reason. The holidays were way off and the weather was perfect. “People, ugh!” she thought. “I hate people!”
“Hungry Honey?”
“Yeah, Mom. Spicy chicken at Yung Foo’s.”
“You can have it! I’m going for grilled Chick-Fil-A and an Orange Slush”
“Mom, Mom! There’s Adrian and Kelly!” Jennifer hollered to catch her friends’ attention. They waved for her to come over. She did then upon her return she asked, “Mom, can I go with them? They’re cruising for boys and Adrian’s mom will pick ‘em up at 6. They’ll take me home. Can I Mom? Pleeeeeze?”
Having been young once, a long time ago, Mom said, “Be home no later than seven, young lady! Got it? Seven!”
“Thanks, Mom,” and she was off.
“Nothing like dining by one’s self among a horde of strangers,” she muttered as she took her Chick-Fil-A and the Orange Slush to a small table.
She was alone. “Fuck!” she said.
The day hadn’t gone as planned, the mother and daughter thing, just hanging out and being together outside of the house. Teenage exuberance put a stifle on that! She was reduced to people watching. “Fuck!” she repeated.
The line at the Dairy Queen was short. Then she noticed that Officer Quinton brought up the tail end. She watched as he bought a large cone without the chocolate dip. She waited for him to turn to her direction. She waived. She knew that he saw her even though he didn’t wave back. She waved again.
Quinton waved back this time but with not much gusto. He had no desire to humiliate himself as he had the other day. Then she beckoned for him to join her. “Damn,” he said to himself as he reluctantly walked to her table.
“Hi Tilly. What’s new?”
Leaning back a little to put a strain on Ann Taylor’s buttons, she answered, “Tell me about your Harley.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Twelve Seconds to Die
At roll call, Hardesty went through the usual listings of what to look out for, yada, yada, yada then he hollered, “Tillman!”
“Sir!” she answered.
“Tilly, Officer Washington has the flu. You’re riding with Rodriques today. OK?”
“¡Sí Señor!” she responded. The room broke up with Rodriques trying to control his own laughing belly. It was going to be a great day in the precinct.
Then Tilly noted, “Officer Peoples is missing.”
Hardesty answered, “Yeah, he’s in DC.”
“DC?” Tilly asked.
“Yes, something about a hearing being conducted by the Senate Arms Committee. That’s all I know.”
Tilly sat down wondering if Peoples would be able to confess his way out of this one.
“One final thing,” Hardesty said, “we still are having drug problems near the schools. If you clear out the traffickers within the next 24 hours, you all get to go to Disney World.”
“Can we take our families along, Marion?” someone asked from the back of the room.
No one ever addressed Hardesty by his first name.
“Whoever said that stand up.”
Everyone in the room stood up.
Hardesty had been had and he knew it. Faking it, he stomped out of the room all the while grinning his ass off.
“God I love those people,” he muttered.
*********
“Unit 41, HQ.”
“Unit 41. Go.”
“Our 911 operator was cut off from a call from Silverman’s grocery. Check it out.”
“Unit 41, 10-4.”
Rodriques hit the lights and siren. He knew the store. He’d been there many times responding to incidents. Sometimes, guns had been involved. Mr. & Mrs. Silverman had run their family grocery for 32 years even though the neighborhood had deteriorated severely. They were in their ’70 and loved kids. The young ones never had to steal candy because Mrs. Silverman always had a special stash for them.
Traffic scooted left and right making way for the black and white to speed through. A
biker, wearing a helmet, hadn’t heard the siren and moved only when the car was right on his ass.
The siren’s sound had not yet faded from the air before the two cops entered the store. They could see that something was wrong because a wire stand holding potato chips laid half way through the doorway out onto the sidewalk.
While running toward the door Rodriques hollered, "Twelve seconds!"
Tilly got the message. When a person was hit in the vital organ area he'd still have enough oxygen in his brain to live 12 more seconds and could still pull a trigger. Headshots were preferred but no one pretended to be Wyatt Earp or Annie Oakley. They'd just do the best they could.
Just inside the doorway Rodriquez went in left, Tillman to the right.
No sounds, none anywhere. Until…Tilly heard a something, a wail really, almost like a cat in heat at midnight.
Then there was a gunshot. Rodriquez hollered at Tilly, “OK?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah. Where’d it come from?”
“Don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe from behind the counter, not sure. I’ll check.”
Both had their Glocks in the two handed firing position with safety’s off.
Tilly keyed her hand held radio, “HQ. Shots fired. Silverman’s. Assist,” then she let up on the mike button and brought her left palm back under the gun’s butt to steady her aim again.
Another shot was fired then another.
“Tilly!” Rodriquez hollered, “He is behind the counter!”
“Right!” she said crawling toward the cat’s wail.
She found Mrs. Silverman lying across her husband’s dead body.
“Anything yet?” she asked Rodriquez.
“Yeah, he’s a Beaner.”
Tilly put her arm across Mrs. Silverman’s back and shoulders and patted her lovingly.
“I’m so sorry Mrs. Silverman. But don’t you worry. We’ll get the bastard. OK Honey?”
Mrs. Silverman nodded OK. Tears were cascading from her cheeks onto her chin then pooling on the old and well oiled wooden floor.
“Stay down, Dear,” Tilly told the distraught woman.
“Moving!” she hollered to let her partner know that the noise was her moving so he wouldn't shoot in her direction.
“Right!” he hollered back.
Just then the Beaner hopped on top of the counter, ready to bolt for the door. His 1911 Browning style handgun was pointed squarely at Rodriquez.
Now, at this very moment in time, is when the special attention that Commander Hardesty's tutelage on the shooting range came into play.
In the back of her mind she heard him say, "Hold the gun with both hands to steady it. That's my girl. Aim at the vital organs located on a straight line from one armpit to the other. That's my girl. Now Tilly, shoot, shoot, shoot!"
Ten billion rounds of ammunition are sold in the US each year. Two of them left Tilly's gun hitting their mark spewing blood, flesh, and brain goo all around the room.
The deadly noise from her forty cal. was heard a block away.
Just then, three cruisers slammed to a stop in front of the store, sirens and lights still going full blast.
“Clear inside!” Rodriques screamed to let the new arrivals know that they shouldn’t shoot anyone when they came in.
Tilly stood up but then nearly crashed to the floor. She had used up all of her adrenaline leaving the blood in her veins too thin to support her legs. Rodriques knelt beside her.
“OK, Honey?”
“Yeah, fine. Give me a minute though. OK?”
“Sure Kid,” he said and walked to meet the new cops and blocked their view of his partner. He didn’t want them to see Tilly in her time of decompression. She needed to be alone for a couple of seconds. Cops take care of one another, no matter what.
It is customary to present awards to officers when they perform heroic deeds such as saving a fellow officer’s life in a shoot-out. Tilly well deserved hers.
“Officer Tillman!”
Tilly approached the mayor at the lectern.
“Officer Tillman, it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, great job!”
“Thank you Sir. Just doing my job.”
The award ceremony lasted a few more minutes with salutes and handshakes abound then they all drove back to HQ. Once inside the briefing room, she got back slaps and the usual folderol. Hardesty called everyone to attention and they snapped to.
“Officer Tillman, it gives me great pleasure to give you a ticket to Disney World.
Tilly didn’t know what to say. “One fuckin’ ticket to Disney World, “she thought. “Hell the plane fare wouldn’t be worth the trip.”
Hardesty pulled Tilly hard into his shoulder and said, “Oh my gosh, someone put four plane tickets and three more Disney World tickets in my pocket. I wonder where they came from!”
Tilly looked at her partners in blue all standing there, in their clean pressed uniforms, and grins of shared pride on their faces. Then she looked at her partner, Rodriques who gave her a wink and nodded slightly to the others. They all had chipped in to buy the tickets. Unable to contain herself, she teared up. She wanted to say something but all she could muster was, “Aaah fuck.” They all laughed…typical Tilly.
Outside and ready to head home, Officer Quinton came up and said, “Congrats, Tilly.”
She said “Thanks.”
He added, “Any time you want to go for another ride, just give me a call.”
“Look Quinton. If you think you’ve lifted your leg and marked your territory, think again. You caught me mid-cycle when I was nesting. My defenses and panties were down so congratulations; you got in my pants! But get this straight, Buster Brown; it was a one-night stand and nothing more. That’s it! If I hear any scuttlebutt about it inside or outside of the department, I’ll let it be known about how you just happened to find 10 G’s after you arrested that drug dealer. Got it?”
At first he was merely stunned by her stern rebuff but then a dose of reality set in, “How in Hell did she know about the ten thousand dollars?
CHAPTER NINE
Rape
Disney World had been great but it was also good to be home, to sleep on one’s own bed and to walk around the house in a bathrobe and no bra.
Warren was working two shifts at Arby’s. He’d been promoted and was now assistant manager. That simply meant that he no longer had to clean the toilets. The ‘new Warren’ was coming home on time, didn’t yell anymore and was halfway decent to be around, but just barely.
There was another week of vacation left but Tilly had itchy feet. She missed the action, the police radio, and the helping people. She loved people.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Jenny.”
“Gonna walk over to Sandy’s. OK?”
“Yeah. What time will you be home?” Tilly asked.
“Five-ish.”
“OK.”
“Great!” Tilly muttered. “Now what? Boooooored! Bored out of my friggin’ skull, that’s what.”
Tad was at practice and her bathrobe was too house-wifie looking. She changed into jeans, T-shirt, still no bra, and tennies.
The trip to Orlando had added some weight so she decided jog some of it off. Her regular route was an exact mile taking her three blocks each way in a square. Her best time had been 12 minutes but that was at a running gait. Jogging more slowly would take a bit longer but she didn’t care. She just needed to burn off some penned up energy. Their neighborhood was generally quiet. Most 911 calls were to rescue cats in trees. Tilly felt no need to carry a mouse gun in her waistband.
Five o’clock came, then 5:30, 6:30, 7. She called Sally’s house.
“Hi,” she said into the phone. “This is Jennifer's mom. Is she still there?… What time did she leave? That was three hours ago. Did she say she was headed home? No, she’s not here, God damn it, that’s why I called you… OK, OK I’m sorry. Thanks.”
She called Arby’s.
“Is Warren there? Warren! He’s the older assistant manager…. Thanks, I’ll hold…. Warren? Yeah listen Honey,” she meant the word Honey this time, “has Jennifer been there? No, huh? She said she’d be home about five-ish and its 7:15... Yes I did call Sally’s mom. She left there three hours ago… No, I don’t know where else she can be. Call me if she comes there… What? No I don’t want you to bring sandwiches and curly fries home.”
She made another call. It was to a private number. “Commander? This is Tilly.”
Every off duty cop was now in his or her own car scouring the city. Since Jennifer hadn’t been missing for 24 or more hours, the police couldn’t officially do anything to help.
Cops take care of one another, no matter what.
They all had a description of the clothes Jennifer was wearing, and Tilly had selected Jennifer's best face-on photo from her Documents & Photos file and sent it to HQ. Hardesty had already alerted the IT guys to watch for it and to forward it to everyone on and off duty. Within ten minutes the photo was traveling at the speed of light to everyone in HQ’s address book.
“Tilly, stay home!” Hardesty ordered. “You need to stay by your phone. We’ll find your girl.”
The wait was agonizing. Warren came home with a sack full of sandwiches and curly fries. “We were going to throw them out anyway,” he explained when he saw Tilly give him the look.
“Jesus-Peter-Paul & Mary H. Christ, Warren, you’ve got the sensitivity of a slug.”
“Honey, we have to eat and I knew that you wouldn’t want to fix anything.”
“Sorry. You’re right. Thanks Honey.” In the midst of the family’s current crisis, she had forgotten that she was pissed at Warren and had lovingly called him Honey a second time.
Warren poured Cokes for himself and Tad then a Diet Pepsi for Tilly. She nodded thanks.
The phone rang. It was Hardesty. All he said was, “A black and white is coming for you.”
The squad car hurled itself into her driveway; she got in front, Warren in the back. The driver smoked the tires away from the house with siren and lights warning everyone but God to get out of the way. They were headed for the hospital.
Jennifer lay in bed with her earlier tears already dried on her young cheeks. She had pulled the sheet up tightly around her neck as if to hide herself from the world. Tilly rushed to her, pulled her daughter’s quivering body to her breast and cried for her daughter who had no tears left. Warren was on the other side of the bed holding his precious little Jenny’s hand. Jennifer pulled Mom and Dad into her for a much-needed group hug. Everyone cried.
“Mom, it was horrible, just horrible.”
Warren rose up attempting to leave.
“Stay!” Tilly commanded, “You need to hear this too.”
“Ok Sweetheart. Tell me what happened,” Mom said.
With a faltering voice Jennifer told her story.
“I was coming home from Sally’s and ‘like’ this dude grabbed me.”
She had to stop because she broke down again. Dad stroked her hair and Tilly gave him a wink of approval.
Jennifer continued, “He dragged me into the alley. I tried to scream but he covered my mouth. I bit him and he hit me with his fist, hard. He hit me really hard, Daddy.”
Warren nearly lost it but quelled his insides and squeezed her hand. He knew to keep quiet to give his precious little girl a moment to compose herself.
“Daddy, I’m so ashamed. What am I going to do?”
Warren, now with moisture in both eyes said, “Sweetie, first we’ll keep this to ourselves and Mom’s department downtown. Next, well call the school and tell them that you have the flu. Then we’ll wait for justice in whatever form that happens to take. Everything will come out fine.”
“You think so, Mom?”
“Yes, Dear. Your dad is right. Justice will be served.”
Tilly and Warren checked Jennifer out of the hospital at about 10 that evening. The police had taken the description of the assailant: Caucasian, 5’9”, about 145 pounds, dark wavy hair, and tattoo of a Swastika behind his left ear, blue jeans and a red bandana around his neck.
All officers in black and whites also had the description plus an artist’s sketch of the suspect. Because members of one of the local gangs all wore red bandanas, the police concentrated their efforts in the neighborhoods where they congregated.
Jennifer’s mom had her own idea as how to bring justice to the fore. With six days left on her vacation she scoured the streets in her four-door Taurus. Besides that, she was scouting for something else, a place that was abandoned, away from prying eyes, and accessible day or night. Being a cop, she knew the city like the back of her hand.
The next day Commander Hardesty phoned Phyllis telling her that they had, in custody, someone who fit the description and who strongly resembled the artist’s sketch. Could she bring Jennifer to HQ. to identify him in a line up?
“We’ll be here in 45 minutes,” she answered.
From behind a one-way mirror Jennifer and Tilly watched five men parade onto a well-lit platform. Jennifer gasped when number four entered the room.
“That’s him, Mom! That’s him!”
“Ok Honey, OK. Let’s follow protocol here. Don’t say anything until we’re asked.”
The officer standing with them smiled. He now knew they had a match but remained quiet.
The kid, Timothy Haddock, was booked on a Suspected Rape charge. Arraignment was scheduled for the 22nd, a week from tomorrow. Tilly said she’d be there.
Tilly sat in the front row of the courtroom. She suggested that Jennifer stay home so as not to expose her to the suspect or any of his family who were flocked together across the aisle and to her left.
At the arraignment the judge asked, “Is the defendant represented by Council?”
“Yes, your Honor. My name is Curt Byron.”
“Very well, then. Let’s proceed. How does your client plead to the charge of rape, Mr. Byron?”
“Not guilty, your Honor.”
“Very well. A not guilty plea has been entered into the record. However, the court has reviewed the evidence presented by this city’s police department and your client seems to fit the description given by the victim. It is, therefore, mandated that the suspect, one Mr. Timothy Haddock be held in the city jail until such time as a trial can be scheduled.”
“Your Honor, Byron interjected, “the evidence against my client is merely circumstantial. Will the court set bail?”
The judge thought a second or two then said, “Bail set for $50,000.”
Young Haddock squeezed his lawyer’s arm in triumph then was led to his cell awaiting his release on bail. He knew that there would be no problem for his fellow gang members to come up with the 10% needed to give to a bail bondsman to get him out on the street. He was right, it took only eight hours. Haddock was free and celebrated with his friends, all wearing their red bandanas and guzzling down several six packs of Bud.
Tilly and Commander Hardesty were devastated but both knew that the evidence they had was indeed unsubstantiated with physical evidence. They left the courtroom sullen.
Privy to court records, Tilly found out where Haddock lived. She began following him, unobtrusively of course. Every day, when she was off duty, she mapped his course, recorded the times where he was and the routes he took to get there. She was looking for a pattern and she found one.
Having had had a good look at the villain’s face in the court room plus carrying his picture with her at all times, he had been easy to spot. Plus, he was stupid enough to wear his red bandana, no doubt to flaunt his association with the Nazi’s.
Her plan was to entice the asshole into accosting her so she could take him to the hide-a-way she had picked out. She intended to mete out her own kind of justice. She had long held that courts should mandate the castration of convicted child molesters and rapists. But legislators were such pussies; they would never consider such inhumane treatment of criminals; not in this PC frenzied world.
Warren was working two shifts at Arby’s because one of the employees had called in sick and he’d be one person short if he didn’t stay. Now as assistant manager, it was mandatory that he fill that spot if he couldn’t find anyone else to do so. He couldn’t.
Tilly called in Ms. Romain to sit with the kids. “I need to go out for a while,” she told her.
Going through her closet, Tilly found a short, short skirt, tight pullover, some spiked heels and a black ribbon to tie around her neck. She could have made the center fold of PLAYBOY; well at least the back cover of TOOLS R US. Hopefully it would be a few more years before nature’s universal and unavoidable uglies caught up with her.
Knowing Haddock’s route and ETA, she stationed herself at an isolated location. She popped the hood of her car and stood in front of the grill.
Just like clockwork, the kid rounded the corner and came into full view. Come into my parlor, the spider said to the fly. There was no mistaking that face. He must have been going somewhere and didn’t want to stand out because his red bandana was missing. Tilly bent over the grill and leaned into the engine compartment.
Assuming she was having car trouble the young man tapped her on the shoulder.
Wham! Tilly clobbered him in the head with her nightstick, which she had wrapped in a paper grocery sack. He fell to the ground like a rag doll, totally unconscious. She opened the back door of her Ford where thick plastic sheeting covered the seat and the floor. With very little effort, because her adrenaline was pumping through her veins like high-octane gasoline, she shoved the bastard in and eased the door shut to avoid unwanted noise.
Once inside the secret location she tugged on the plastic pulling Haddock out and onto the gravel floor. Gravel eliminated the possibility of tire tracks being left at the scene.
Immediately Tilly wrapped covered the boy’s eyes so he’d never be able to identify her by sight. The plastic made dragging him across the floor somewhat easy. Then she wrestled his limp body upright to where she was able to suspend him from a rafter. She was now free to compose herself and take a normal breath or two.
“Officer Tillman, it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, great job!”
“Thank you Sir. Just doing my job.”
The award ceremony lasted a few more minutes with salutes and handshakes abound then they all drove back to HQ. Once inside the briefing room, she got back slaps and the usual folderol. Hardesty called everyone to attention and they snapped to.
“Officer Tillman, it gives me great pleasure to give you a ticket to Disney World.
Tilly didn’t know what to say. “One fuckin’ ticket to Disney World, “she thought. “Hell the plane fare wouldn’t be worth the trip.”
Hardesty pulled Tilly hard into his shoulder and said, “Oh my gosh, someone put four plane tickets and three more Disney World tickets in my pocket. I wonder where they came from!”
Tilly looked at her partners in blue all standing there, in their clean pressed uniforms, and grins of shared pride on their faces. Then she looked at her partner, Rodriques who gave her a wink and nodded slightly to the others. They all had chipped in to buy the tickets. Unable to contain herself, she teared up. She wanted to say something but all she could muster was, “Aaah fuck.” They all laughed…typical Tilly.
Outside and ready to head home, Officer Quinton came up and said, “Congrats, Tilly.”
She said “Thanks.”
He added, “Any time you want to go for another ride, just give me a call.”
“Look Quinton. If you think you’ve lifted your leg and marked your territory, think again. You caught me mid-cycle when I was nesting. My defenses and panties were down so congratulations; you got in my pants! But get this straight, Buster Brown; it was a one-night stand and nothing more. That’s it! If I hear any scuttlebutt about it inside or outside of the department, I’ll let it be known about how you just happened to find 10 G’s after you arrested that drug dealer. Got it?”
At first he was merely stunned by her stern rebuff but then a dose of reality set in, “How in Hell did she know about the ten thousand dollars?
CHAPTER NINE
Rape
Disney World had been great but it was also good to be home, to sleep on one’s own bed and to walk around the house in a bathrobe and no bra.
Warren was working two shifts at Arby’s. He’d been promoted and was now assistant manager. That simply meant that he no longer had to clean the toilets. The ‘new Warren’ was coming home on time, didn’t yell anymore and was halfway decent to be around, but just barely.
There was another week of vacation left but Tilly had itchy feet. She missed the action, the police radio, and the helping people. She loved people.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Jenny.”
“Gonna walk over to Sandy’s. OK?”
“Yeah. What time will you be home?” Tilly asked.
“Five-ish.”
“OK.”
“Great!” Tilly muttered. “Now what? Boooooored! Bored out of my friggin’ skull, that’s what.”
Tad was at practice and her bathrobe was too house-wifie looking. She changed into jeans, T-shirt, still no bra, and tennies.
The trip to Orlando had added some weight so she decided jog some of it off. Her regular route was an exact mile taking her three blocks each way in a square. Her best time had been 12 minutes but that was at a running gait. Jogging more slowly would take a bit longer but she didn’t care. She just needed to burn off some penned up energy. Their neighborhood was generally quiet. Most 911 calls were to rescue cats in trees. Tilly felt no need to carry a mouse gun in her waistband.
Five o’clock came, then 5:30, 6:30, 7. She called Sally’s house.
“Hi,” she said into the phone. “This is Jennifer's mom. Is she still there?… What time did she leave? That was three hours ago. Did she say she was headed home? No, she’s not here, God damn it, that’s why I called you… OK, OK I’m sorry. Thanks.”
She called Arby’s.
“Is Warren there? Warren! He’s the older assistant manager…. Thanks, I’ll hold…. Warren? Yeah listen Honey,” she meant the word Honey this time, “has Jennifer been there? No, huh? She said she’d be home about five-ish and its 7:15... Yes I did call Sally’s mom. She left there three hours ago… No, I don’t know where else she can be. Call me if she comes there… What? No I don’t want you to bring sandwiches and curly fries home.”
She made another call. It was to a private number. “Commander? This is Tilly.”
Every off duty cop was now in his or her own car scouring the city. Since Jennifer hadn’t been missing for 24 or more hours, the police couldn’t officially do anything to help.
Cops take care of one another, no matter what.
They all had a description of the clothes Jennifer was wearing, and Tilly had selected Jennifer's best face-on photo from her Documents & Photos file and sent it to HQ. Hardesty had already alerted the IT guys to watch for it and to forward it to everyone on and off duty. Within ten minutes the photo was traveling at the speed of light to everyone in HQ’s address book.
“Tilly, stay home!” Hardesty ordered. “You need to stay by your phone. We’ll find your girl.”
The wait was agonizing. Warren came home with a sack full of sandwiches and curly fries. “We were going to throw them out anyway,” he explained when he saw Tilly give him the look.
“Jesus-Peter-Paul & Mary H. Christ, Warren, you’ve got the sensitivity of a slug.”
“Honey, we have to eat and I knew that you wouldn’t want to fix anything.”
“Sorry. You’re right. Thanks Honey.” In the midst of the family’s current crisis, she had forgotten that she was pissed at Warren and had lovingly called him Honey a second time.
Warren poured Cokes for himself and Tad then a Diet Pepsi for Tilly. She nodded thanks.
The phone rang. It was Hardesty. All he said was, “A black and white is coming for you.”
The squad car hurled itself into her driveway; she got in front, Warren in the back. The driver smoked the tires away from the house with siren and lights warning everyone but God to get out of the way. They were headed for the hospital.
Jennifer lay in bed with her earlier tears already dried on her young cheeks. She had pulled the sheet up tightly around her neck as if to hide herself from the world. Tilly rushed to her, pulled her daughter’s quivering body to her breast and cried for her daughter who had no tears left. Warren was on the other side of the bed holding his precious little Jenny’s hand. Jennifer pulled Mom and Dad into her for a much-needed group hug. Everyone cried.
“Mom, it was horrible, just horrible.”
Warren rose up attempting to leave.
“Stay!” Tilly commanded, “You need to hear this too.”
“Ok Sweetheart. Tell me what happened,” Mom said.
With a faltering voice Jennifer told her story.
“I was coming home from Sally’s and ‘like’ this dude grabbed me.”
She had to stop because she broke down again. Dad stroked her hair and Tilly gave him a wink of approval.
Jennifer continued, “He dragged me into the alley. I tried to scream but he covered my mouth. I bit him and he hit me with his fist, hard. He hit me really hard, Daddy.”
Warren nearly lost it but quelled his insides and squeezed her hand. He knew to keep quiet to give his precious little girl a moment to compose herself.
“Daddy, I’m so ashamed. What am I going to do?”
Warren, now with moisture in both eyes said, “Sweetie, first we’ll keep this to ourselves and Mom’s department downtown. Next, well call the school and tell them that you have the flu. Then we’ll wait for justice in whatever form that happens to take. Everything will come out fine.”
“You think so, Mom?”
“Yes, Dear. Your dad is right. Justice will be served.”
Tilly and Warren checked Jennifer out of the hospital at about 10 that evening. The police had taken the description of the assailant: Caucasian, 5’9”, about 145 pounds, dark wavy hair, and tattoo of a Swastika behind his left ear, blue jeans and a red bandana around his neck.
All officers in black and whites also had the description plus an artist’s sketch of the suspect. Because members of one of the local gangs all wore red bandanas, the police concentrated their efforts in the neighborhoods where they congregated.
Jennifer’s mom had her own idea as how to bring justice to the fore. With six days left on her vacation she scoured the streets in her four-door Taurus. Besides that, she was scouting for something else, a place that was abandoned, away from prying eyes, and accessible day or night. Being a cop, she knew the city like the back of her hand.
The next day Commander Hardesty phoned Phyllis telling her that they had, in custody, someone who fit the description and who strongly resembled the artist’s sketch. Could she bring Jennifer to HQ. to identify him in a line up?
“We’ll be here in 45 minutes,” she answered.
From behind a one-way mirror Jennifer and Tilly watched five men parade onto a well-lit platform. Jennifer gasped when number four entered the room.
“That’s him, Mom! That’s him!”
“Ok Honey, OK. Let’s follow protocol here. Don’t say anything until we’re asked.”
The officer standing with them smiled. He now knew they had a match but remained quiet.
The kid, Timothy Haddock, was booked on a Suspected Rape charge. Arraignment was scheduled for the 22nd, a week from tomorrow. Tilly said she’d be there.
Tilly sat in the front row of the courtroom. She suggested that Jennifer stay home so as not to expose her to the suspect or any of his family who were flocked together across the aisle and to her left.
At the arraignment the judge asked, “Is the defendant represented by Council?”
“Yes, your Honor. My name is Curt Byron.”
“Very well, then. Let’s proceed. How does your client plead to the charge of rape, Mr. Byron?”
“Not guilty, your Honor.”
“Very well. A not guilty plea has been entered into the record. However, the court has reviewed the evidence presented by this city’s police department and your client seems to fit the description given by the victim. It is, therefore, mandated that the suspect, one Mr. Timothy Haddock be held in the city jail until such time as a trial can be scheduled.”
“Your Honor, Byron interjected, “the evidence against my client is merely circumstantial. Will the court set bail?”
The judge thought a second or two then said, “Bail set for $50,000.”
Young Haddock squeezed his lawyer’s arm in triumph then was led to his cell awaiting his release on bail. He knew that there would be no problem for his fellow gang members to come up with the 10% needed to give to a bail bondsman to get him out on the street. He was right, it took only eight hours. Haddock was free and celebrated with his friends, all wearing their red bandanas and guzzling down several six packs of Bud.
Tilly and Commander Hardesty were devastated but both knew that the evidence they had was indeed unsubstantiated with physical evidence. They left the courtroom sullen.
Privy to court records, Tilly found out where Haddock lived. She began following him, unobtrusively of course. Every day, when she was off duty, she mapped his course, recorded the times where he was and the routes he took to get there. She was looking for a pattern and she found one.
Having had had a good look at the villain’s face in the court room plus carrying his picture with her at all times, he had been easy to spot. Plus, he was stupid enough to wear his red bandana, no doubt to flaunt his association with the Nazi’s.
Her plan was to entice the asshole into accosting her so she could take him to the hide-a-way she had picked out. She intended to mete out her own kind of justice. She had long held that courts should mandate the castration of convicted child molesters and rapists. But legislators were such pussies; they would never consider such inhumane treatment of criminals; not in this PC frenzied world.
Warren was working two shifts at Arby’s because one of the employees had called in sick and he’d be one person short if he didn’t stay. Now as assistant manager, it was mandatory that he fill that spot if he couldn’t find anyone else to do so. He couldn’t.
Tilly called in Ms. Romain to sit with the kids. “I need to go out for a while,” she told her.
Going through her closet, Tilly found a short, short skirt, tight pullover, some spiked heels and a black ribbon to tie around her neck. She could have made the center fold of PLAYBOY; well at least the back cover of TOOLS R US. Hopefully it would be a few more years before nature’s universal and unavoidable uglies caught up with her.
Knowing Haddock’s route and ETA, she stationed herself at an isolated location. She popped the hood of her car and stood in front of the grill.
Just like clockwork, the kid rounded the corner and came into full view. Come into my parlor, the spider said to the fly. There was no mistaking that face. He must have been going somewhere and didn’t want to stand out because his red bandana was missing. Tilly bent over the grill and leaned into the engine compartment.
Assuming she was having car trouble the young man tapped her on the shoulder.
Wham! Tilly clobbered him in the head with her nightstick, which she had wrapped in a paper grocery sack. He fell to the ground like a rag doll, totally unconscious. She opened the back door of her Ford where thick plastic sheeting covered the seat and the floor. With very little effort, because her adrenaline was pumping through her veins like high-octane gasoline, she shoved the bastard in and eased the door shut to avoid unwanted noise.
Once inside the secret location she tugged on the plastic pulling Haddock out and onto the gravel floor. Gravel eliminated the possibility of tire tracks being left at the scene.
Immediately Tilly wrapped covered the boy’s eyes so he’d never be able to identify her by sight. The plastic made dragging him across the floor somewhat easy. Then she wrestled his limp body upright to where she was able to suspend him from a rafter. She was now free to compose herself and take a normal breath or two.
Down to business. The kid was starting to wake up. That’s what this American mom wanted. She wanted the bastard to feel and fear everything that was happening to him. To create additional fear of the unknown, she made no sounds for five minutes. She even turned her head away from him and breathed into a handkerchief. Then, very quietly, she walked to him and poked him gently in the arm. The boy’s body jumped involuntarily as if it had been hit with high voltage electricity. Again Tilly went silent. Then she unfastened his belt buckle, unbuttoned his Arizona jeans and pulled them to his ankles. His cotton jockeys, now saturated with urine, still clung to his hips. The boy struggled and mumbled something unintelligible from behind his delirium. Then the stinky jockeys were lowered to meet the jeans at his ankles. This mother was getting the vengeance that was due her daughter.
“My God!” Tilly thought to herself. “This kid is hung like a horse. Even Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas would be jealous. If this guy ever rammed that flag pole all the way up to a gal’s vocal cords, she’d start singing the Stars Spangled Banner!”
Caught up in the sight of his Dinosaur Rex, she stood spellbound, unable to bring her mind back to the chore she set out to do, i.e. do what the politicians and judges refused to do, castrate sex offenders.
Still wearing the surgical gloves she had put on long ago, she fondled his hairy scrotum. His nuts were the size of walnuts. This kid could be put on a deserted island with a few lucky women and propagate a whole new country.
She’d had some lovers at college but none had sausages like this. She hadn’t been an easy lay. In the entire four years she had only three delightful dalliances. She had nailed a Ukrainian janitor, an assistant professor and a farm boy from Kentucky. That young man knew how to please a woman six ways from Sunday. On one occasion she flat out asked him how come he knew so much about fucking. He said his two older sisters would take him into the woods behind their house nearly every Sunday after church. He’d been their ardent pupil since he was 14.
Now able to focus on her dedicated task, Tilly sprayed engine-starting fluid into a wad of napkins she had taken from a restaurant. Starting fluid contains an abundance of (CH3-CH2-O-CH2-CH3) commonly referred to as ether. She held this home made knock mixture against his nose until his head flopped off to the side.
Time to use the box cutter. She sprayed the blade, Haddock’s dick and his scrotum with alcohol. It was a good thing he was asleep or he would have shot off the 4x4 and parked next to the orbiting Sputnik.
A quick vertical incision on the left side of his scrotum exposed one testicle then the same on the right. She grabbed one ball, pulled it forward to expose the spermatic cord that held his sperm factory in place. With one deft slice, Haddock was half way to becoming the newest member of the children’s choir. The other ball met the same fate. Tilly plopped his family jewels to the floor saying to herself, “That’s for Jennifer, scumbag.”
Still thinking to her self, “Now Buster Brown, this is for the women you won’t rape tomorrow.”
Unscrewing the cap from the blue jar of Vicks VapoRub, she doused his entire cock with the universal cold remedy giving special attention to the penis glans, the head.
“Oh buddy boy, are you in for a surprise when you wake up,” she muttered gleefully.
The job of avenging Jennifer's molestation was complete. Tilly cut the boy down, removed all of the duct tape and gathered up all the paraphernalia she had used. She put everything in a plastic grocery sack for disposal later. The large plastic sheeting would be disposed of separately. The surgical gloves were reduced to an ever-shrinking sticky ball atop burning napkins soaked with starter fluid. Haddock would come to eventually. Finding his way home was his problem. She put his balls in a sandwich bag.
Phyllis had just enough time to drive home and change into her uniform before going into court for Haddock's arraignment. She was anxious see the surprise on everyone’s faces when the culprit failed to make his appearance. His Nazi gang would also forfeit his bail money.
Walking from the parking lot to the courthouse, Tilly dropped the sandwich bag into the trashcan near the large entry doors. In her mind she addressed the judges, “There you sanctimonious sons-a-bitches, that’s how to handle these kinds of assholes!”
She took her seat and waited for the Haddock family and attorney Curt Byron to walk through door without the boy. To her surprise, they walked through the door including Timothy Haddock who was holding his mom’s hand.
Tilly was flabbergasted. “NO WAY!”
“The court of this city and county is now in session. All rise,” the clerk announced.
Everyone stood, clothes rustling throughout the room.
“The Honorable William L. Manors presiding.”
The judge gaveled. Everyone sat.
“Is the prosecution ready?” he asked.
“We are your Honor.”
“Is the defense ready?” the judge asked again.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Very well, Mr. Prosecutor state your case.”
“Your Honor, our client here, Jennifer Tillman, has reported that Mr. Haddock, sitting there with his council, raped her and has given sworn testimony that he and only he is guilty of the crime.”
The judge asked, “Were there any witnesses to the crime?”
The defense attorney was startled by the question. When has there ever been a case where there was a witness to a rape?
“I don’t think I understand the question, your Honor!”
“It’s very simple, Sir. Did anyone see this alleged crime take place?”
“Yes sir, the Plaintiff.”
The judge took a minute to look at the police report.
“I see in this report that no semen was retrieved from the alleged crime scene. Is that correct?”
“Yes Sir,” Jennifer’s attorney replied. “Apparently Mr. Haddock failed to ejaculate or wore a condom.”
“Well then, how can we be absolutely certain that the accused is in reality a rapist and indeed know for certain that a rape actually occurred?”
Again Jennifer’s attorney was stunned. This trial wasn’t going well at all.
“Your Honor…,” her attorney said but was stopped mid-sentence by the judge.
“It says right here,” Judge Manors interjected, “in the police report that the alleged victim was wearing shorts exposing her legs. It also says that she was wearing a halter-top. Is that correct, council?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Well then,” the judge pontificated, “it seems to me that we only have a case of alleged this and alleged that. And we are lacking semen samples, no eyewitness, and the testimony from a girl who thumbs her nose at true Christian values by walking this city’s streets dressed in provocative attire.”
Phyllis started to reach for her pistol then thought better of it.
Judge Manors continued, “It is the judgement of this court that the accused, one Timothy Haddock, is judged not guilty of all crimes relating to this case.”
“However, this court would like to say something to Mr. Haddock. Son, I am giving you a second chance at life. I think you might want to join the Boy Scouts. They will shape you into a mature young man with Christian morals and make you into the upstanding citizen that I’m sure you want to be. What do you think, Mr. Haddock?”
Haddock’s attorney answered for the boy; “My client concurs with the Judge’s wise decision in this case and will consider your fatherly suggestion, your Honor.”
“Very well, this court stands adjourned,” Manors gaveled again.
Standing as best she could on her trembling knees, Tilly found herself next to Haddock’s mother. The woman was speaking to their attorney; “I wonder what happened to Timmy’s twin brother. He said he’d be here.”
Tilly rarely went to church but the next Sunday she did, alone. Dr. Livingston’s sermon was taken from Romans in the New Testament:
“Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another. Recompense to no man evil for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all men. If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men. Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”
“My God!” Tilly thought to herself. “This kid is hung like a horse. Even Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas would be jealous. If this guy ever rammed that flag pole all the way up to a gal’s vocal cords, she’d start singing the Stars Spangled Banner!”
Caught up in the sight of his Dinosaur Rex, she stood spellbound, unable to bring her mind back to the chore she set out to do, i.e. do what the politicians and judges refused to do, castrate sex offenders.
Still wearing the surgical gloves she had put on long ago, she fondled his hairy scrotum. His nuts were the size of walnuts. This kid could be put on a deserted island with a few lucky women and propagate a whole new country.
She’d had some lovers at college but none had sausages like this. She hadn’t been an easy lay. In the entire four years she had only three delightful dalliances. She had nailed a Ukrainian janitor, an assistant professor and a farm boy from Kentucky. That young man knew how to please a woman six ways from Sunday. On one occasion she flat out asked him how come he knew so much about fucking. He said his two older sisters would take him into the woods behind their house nearly every Sunday after church. He’d been their ardent pupil since he was 14.
Now able to focus on her dedicated task, Tilly sprayed engine-starting fluid into a wad of napkins she had taken from a restaurant. Starting fluid contains an abundance of (CH3-CH2-O-CH2-CH3) commonly referred to as ether. She held this home made knock mixture against his nose until his head flopped off to the side.
Time to use the box cutter. She sprayed the blade, Haddock’s dick and his scrotum with alcohol. It was a good thing he was asleep or he would have shot off the 4x4 and parked next to the orbiting Sputnik.
A quick vertical incision on the left side of his scrotum exposed one testicle then the same on the right. She grabbed one ball, pulled it forward to expose the spermatic cord that held his sperm factory in place. With one deft slice, Haddock was half way to becoming the newest member of the children’s choir. The other ball met the same fate. Tilly plopped his family jewels to the floor saying to herself, “That’s for Jennifer, scumbag.”
Still thinking to her self, “Now Buster Brown, this is for the women you won’t rape tomorrow.”
Unscrewing the cap from the blue jar of Vicks VapoRub, she doused his entire cock with the universal cold remedy giving special attention to the penis glans, the head.
“Oh buddy boy, are you in for a surprise when you wake up,” she muttered gleefully.
The job of avenging Jennifer's molestation was complete. Tilly cut the boy down, removed all of the duct tape and gathered up all the paraphernalia she had used. She put everything in a plastic grocery sack for disposal later. The large plastic sheeting would be disposed of separately. The surgical gloves were reduced to an ever-shrinking sticky ball atop burning napkins soaked with starter fluid. Haddock would come to eventually. Finding his way home was his problem. She put his balls in a sandwich bag.
Phyllis had just enough time to drive home and change into her uniform before going into court for Haddock's arraignment. She was anxious see the surprise on everyone’s faces when the culprit failed to make his appearance. His Nazi gang would also forfeit his bail money.
Walking from the parking lot to the courthouse, Tilly dropped the sandwich bag into the trashcan near the large entry doors. In her mind she addressed the judges, “There you sanctimonious sons-a-bitches, that’s how to handle these kinds of assholes!”
She took her seat and waited for the Haddock family and attorney Curt Byron to walk through door without the boy. To her surprise, they walked through the door including Timothy Haddock who was holding his mom’s hand.
Tilly was flabbergasted. “NO WAY!”
“The court of this city and county is now in session. All rise,” the clerk announced.
Everyone stood, clothes rustling throughout the room.
“The Honorable William L. Manors presiding.”
The judge gaveled. Everyone sat.
“Is the prosecution ready?” he asked.
“We are your Honor.”
“Is the defense ready?” the judge asked again.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Very well, Mr. Prosecutor state your case.”
“Your Honor, our client here, Jennifer Tillman, has reported that Mr. Haddock, sitting there with his council, raped her and has given sworn testimony that he and only he is guilty of the crime.”
The judge asked, “Were there any witnesses to the crime?”
The defense attorney was startled by the question. When has there ever been a case where there was a witness to a rape?
“I don’t think I understand the question, your Honor!”
“It’s very simple, Sir. Did anyone see this alleged crime take place?”
“Yes sir, the Plaintiff.”
The judge took a minute to look at the police report.
“I see in this report that no semen was retrieved from the alleged crime scene. Is that correct?”
“Yes Sir,” Jennifer’s attorney replied. “Apparently Mr. Haddock failed to ejaculate or wore a condom.”
“Well then, how can we be absolutely certain that the accused is in reality a rapist and indeed know for certain that a rape actually occurred?”
Again Jennifer’s attorney was stunned. This trial wasn’t going well at all.
“Your Honor…,” her attorney said but was stopped mid-sentence by the judge.
“It says right here,” Judge Manors interjected, “in the police report that the alleged victim was wearing shorts exposing her legs. It also says that she was wearing a halter-top. Is that correct, council?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Well then,” the judge pontificated, “it seems to me that we only have a case of alleged this and alleged that. And we are lacking semen samples, no eyewitness, and the testimony from a girl who thumbs her nose at true Christian values by walking this city’s streets dressed in provocative attire.”
Phyllis started to reach for her pistol then thought better of it.
Judge Manors continued, “It is the judgement of this court that the accused, one Timothy Haddock, is judged not guilty of all crimes relating to this case.”
“However, this court would like to say something to Mr. Haddock. Son, I am giving you a second chance at life. I think you might want to join the Boy Scouts. They will shape you into a mature young man with Christian morals and make you into the upstanding citizen that I’m sure you want to be. What do you think, Mr. Haddock?”
Haddock’s attorney answered for the boy; “My client concurs with the Judge’s wise decision in this case and will consider your fatherly suggestion, your Honor.”
“Very well, this court stands adjourned,” Manors gaveled again.
Standing as best she could on her trembling knees, Tilly found herself next to Haddock’s mother. The woman was speaking to their attorney; “I wonder what happened to Timmy’s twin brother. He said he’d be here.”
Tilly rarely went to church but the next Sunday she did, alone. Dr. Livingston’s sermon was taken from Romans in the New Testament:
“Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another. Recompense to no man evil for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all men. If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men. Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”
CHAPTER TEN
Reflection
The Haddock twin debacle deeply affected Officer Phyllis Tillman. Even though she still felt strongly that the legislatures and courts coddled criminals, becoming a self proclaimed vigilante might not always be the wise course of action. But to her defense, she had been programmed to be a ‘Dudley Do-Right’ by her family.
Throughout her childhood, her dad Chester Nimitz Thorn and grand father Thomas Jefferson Thorn had instilled in her the philosophy that right is right and wrong is wrong. Her core values were rooted in honesty, integrity, dedication, and love.
When she came home from school crying because, in her mind, she had been mistreated or didn’t receive the grade she thought she deserved, Dad would ask, “What have you learned from this?” From him, Mom, and grandparents on both sides of the family, she learned that life is not always bed of roses nor should one expect it to be.
“A promise made is a promise kept,” Grandpa told her once when she said that she didn’t want to fulfill an obligation she had made to a classmate. “A person is not measured by his wealth, his material things, or his accomplishments. A person is measured by his character.”
Still, teenagers being what they are, she was not always Miss Pris. Soon after puberty, she discovered her own body and not long thereafter, boys. While penetration never happened, heavy petting was very rewarding, especially after returning home and secluding her self in her bedroom.
Heavy drugs were available but she knew better than to get mixed up with them or the kids who chided her for not joining in the after school fun. Marijuana? Well, that’s a bit different. She didn’t smoke any until her senior year. Travis Bond had given her his high school ring. She put yarn around it to make it fit her finger and they went steady. He got some weed from his mom and dad’s stash and coaxed her into lighting up with him. They didn't smoke often but when they did, she found it to be uplifting. They went steady until the week before the prom. That’s when she found out that Travis was also smoking weed with a long-haired red head and making out with her in the back seat of her Cadillac. Her family was rich. When Phyllis confronted Travis, he answered, “What red head? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That was the first time Phyllis Ann Thorn ever swore. It set her off on a life-long course of uninhibited self-expression. “Look here Buster Brown", pointing her finger at him. "You're nothing but a mother fuckin’ son-of-a-bitch and you’ll never wet your finger in my muffy again!”
Whenever Grandpa would get railed up he’d call people Buster Brown. One time after one of his out bursts, she asked him who Buster Brown was.
“Sweetie,” he said, “Buster Brown was a mischievous comic strip character and was also used by the Brown Shoe Company in their ad campaigns. He had a talking dog named Tige. I used to read the comic strips and laugh at all the trouble he’d cause. So whenever anyone caused me trouble, I’d get mad as Hell and call them Buster Brown.”
Young Phyllis loved Grandpa Thorn. Not that she didn’t love her dad; it’s just that grandpa had a way about him that Dad didn’t. Grandpa’s hugs were just a little bit warmer. His punches to her shoulder had just a little bit more love in ‘em. And his eyes, well…his eyes shined like a guiding star on a pitch-black night. He was something. Yep, he was something.
The senior prom was coming in two weeks. Phyllis and her mom had yet to pick out the gown she would wear. But more important than that was who would ask her to the dance. Dry finger Travis was out of the picture and most of the girls had already scooped up the other really good-looking guys. Remaining in the category of half-way decent were: Billy D. Williams, president of the thespian club, Tyler Cobb, the outfielder on the school’s loosing baseball team, Robert Browning, the school’s newspaper editor, and Warren Tillman, the kid who ran the dishwasher in the cafeteria. None of who would ever find themselves in the winner’s circle of life.
Even without a date, mother and daughter found a dress that was just right. Phyllis knew that on prom night, some of her fellow virgins would loose their cherries but she had decided that she wouldn’t fall victim to temptation. So, care was taken to buy a pretty gown, not one that was provocative yet somewhat revealing. Her mom’s nice body had deposited its DNA into her eggs, one of which had hatched into the very lovely Phyllis Ann Thorn.
Time was ticking away and Phyllis’ phone had not announced a date for the big dance. She had to do something. There was no way she was going to the prom alone. The humiliation would have been unbearable. Going through the list of potentials, she settled on Warren the dishwasher. He wasn’t the most popular kid in school but he never caused any trouble and made decent grades as far as she knew.
So, each day while going through the lunch line, she’d try to catch Warren’s attention. Most of the time, he had his back to the steam table so she had to cough or sneeze to make him turn around. When he did, she’d pretend to be embarrassed. After several of these feminine ploys, she got him to smile. When he did she’d shrug her shoulders or toss her hair.
The phone rang and Mom hollered, “Phyllis, phone!”
Warren Marshall Tillman picked up Phyllis Ann Thorn dressed in a very nice suit with matching tie. He carried a bouquet and a boutonniere each wrapped in its own tissue in the white flower shop box. When Phyllis’ dad opened the door Warren stood proud. He was nice looking so Dad approved. It looked to be a lovely evening ahead.
Teachers and some parents strode the gym patrolling the dance floor making sure that inappropriate touching and groping didn’t go too far. Every now and then a couple would come up missing and a search party would be dispatched. All but one of the escapees was brought back to the gaggle of dancers.
Warren wasn’t a bad dancer, not great but not bad. One time his chest got a little too familiar with her boobs so her gentle push backward was all that was needed to put him in check. Then, as the evening mellowed her brain, she allowed him to close in a bit.
Warren had transferred from another school at the beginning of this, their senior year. That’s why no one knew much about him. His family wasn’t poor but they had very little money to squander. Therefore, he ran the dishwasher at school so he could eat free. He wasn’t ashamed of the job; it was simply something that he had to do. He was not one to complain about life. He believed in taking each day, one at a time. “Life is what it is,” he told her.” She thought his philosophical outlook to be refreshing.
The more they told each other about each other, the more the space between them shrunk. The room seemed to be getting warmer.
“Want something to drink?” he asked.
“Yes! Please!”
The large clock on the wall behind the basketball net showed 12:30. In thirty minutes, Cinderella would have to leave the ball. Prince Warren Marshall Tillman was now experiencing a hard time and felt the need to back off a bit. Phyllis immediately recognized his swelling problem. To satisfy everyone and to bring this issue to a successful climax, she very gently she pulled him tighter. She didn’t have to be home ‘till 3.
Phyllis and Warren continued to date but she refused to have any more sex. Warren was disappointed having sampled her goods but went along with her decision. It wasn’t until later that she found out that he was sampling goods elsewhere. When she found out, she was determined not to plan any future with the cheater. “A tiger can never change its stripes,” she remembered. Well, they weren’t engaged so technically he wasn’t cheating. Still she thought that they at least had an understanding. Little did she know that they would marry six years later.
But before she had learned of his philandering, she needed to make a decision about their future with him if there was to be one. She had feelings for him but if she didn’t go on to college, she’d be relegated to secretarial work, clerking, or joining the union and work in the factory. Doing the same thing day after day after day on an assembly line would not only deny her the ability to socialize with people in a workplace, it offered no challenge. Fellow graduates and dropouts alike all made equal and more than justifiable wages for their repetitive work. And they worked in a vacuum of sameness, the perfect job for people who had no ambition. Phyllis Thorn had ambition. Once Warren’s wanderings were discovered, the choice of whether to go to college was clear.
The State University was driving distance from home but she chose to live in a dorm. From within the School of Education, she chose Chemistry as her major. Teaching would give her a chance to be with young people who would challenge her each and every day. For her minor, she thought American Literature would be the perfect back up if chemistry teaching jobs became scarce.
The combination of beakers, Bunsen burners and James Whitcomb Riley proved to be a good marriage. Because they were so far removed from one another in genre, the switching from one to another kept her from burning out in a single discipline. Her grades were B pluses and A’s. The excitement of learning something new each day was like shots of adrenaline fueled joy.
Dating was easy. But unlike many of the other girls, she refused to whore around for burgers and beer. The hormone charged boys would do everything short of erecting ladders to second story bedrooms where equally hormone charged young ladies waited to be whisked off for a McMeal then a quickie McFuck in the back seat of an automobile. The age-old game of wiener chasing bun was permissible even on double dates. The lucky couple to get the back seat of dad's loaner was decided by a flip of the coin. Collectively, throughout the US, the annual number of cherries given away on college’s campuses equaled the tonnage picked by migrant workers.
Phyllis was no different from any other young woman. She had urges. Sex toys and manual stimulation would go only so far to eliminate the hebegebees. Only the touch of a man’s skin, the anticipation of where next will his hands goes, and the smell of his breath on her neck could satisfy away nature’s desire. Indeed, how could one be expected to study while the body was being tormented by passion’s pull?
Phyllis had learned how to handle the wantons; she had mastered the fine art of hand jobs in high school. She knew that if she could get a boy off, he’d leave her alone. A date would take her to a drive-in for a burger, then a movie where he would begin the mating ritual. First, it would be an arm across the shoulder followed by a deftly placed hand on the leg. Later, behind the steam covered- windows of a parked car she would pet the horn-toad to a fever pitch, unzip his fly, grab his brains and jack him off. Few guys knew how it had happened so fast. But they didn’t really care because once they shot their wad; they didn’t give a shit about anything else. The next day they’d tell their buddies that they got some and with much-fanfare, they’d all give him thumbs up and a “Way to go Buddy! You nailed one!” Little did they know that all he did was cream his jeans.
Phyllis met Bohdan Golash while sitting next to him while watching George Carlin perform in the auditorium. It was serendipity really. The two had never crossed paths before and their age differences would have precluded either of saying ‘Hi” to the other. However, they both laughed at the same jokes and exchanged glances of mutual
approval at Carlin’s jabs at human nature. The hour and half performance ended with everyone leaving in high spirits.
On a whim, Bohdan turned to Phyllis, “Coffee?”
Without taking time to filter the question though her brain she replied, “Sure.”
Coffee was pleasant primarily because the man from the Ukraine had selected a little café not frequented by college kids. Rather than the raucous atmosphere she was accustomed to, this place allowed humans to communicate with one another without having to shout.
Customarily, the boys she dated would dominate the conversation with their feats of glory on the gridiron, past awards, future plans, yada, yada, yada. Bohdan probed Phyllis for her history and how she intended to save the world after graduation. It was a pleasant change and she felt comfortable in his presence. Ultimately her repertoire ran dry so she asked about his background.
Mr. Bohdan Golash was of Ukrainian decent, born 47 years ago and was a physics professor at one of their state universities. He said that, in his country, education including college is totally free to all citizens. The literacy rate is 99.4%. Colleges and universities, the world over, are known for student dissent from the establishment. It is they who are the driving force for progress and change. Now and then faculty members would march with them proudly caring signs and placards. However, the Ukraine, being under the thumb of the Soviet Union from 1922 to 1991, frowned on such behavior and took great pleasure in causing the disappearance of persons they thought unruly.
“I was one of those who, now and then, joined the student protests. It wasn't long before I felt the breath of the Soviet Bear breathing down my neck. The Communists finally decided not to tolerate my participation in the student uprisings and I should be removed from my teaching post." Smiling he said, “As you people say, it was time for me to get out of Dodge.”
Phyllis chuckled at his use of the American vernacular.
Continuing, “I settled here, was hired on as a janitor hoping to loose myself from the prying eyes of my former puppet masters."
Finished with his story, Bohdan noticed that they both had finished their coffee. Evening was gone and night was born.
They’re eyes met. “I have some wine in my apartment,” he said softly.
Phyllis smelled seduction in the air. She sucked in a deep breath then nodded, “OK.”
His apartment was neat, clean and well organized. Not typical of bachelors she thought but then again, he was a professor not a 20 year old student who had yet learned to pick up his own socks.
Her paramour for the evening flipped through his CD’s selected Barry White then hit the play button. Bohdan poured a gentle red wine into two matching goblets then walked toward the bedroom. Phyllis kicked off her shoes and followed. Words were not needed.
Their relationship lasted for the rest of the semester even though his Ukrainian lovemaking was a bit rougher than what she was used to. Bohdan knew India’s Karma Sutra by heart and was an excellent teacher. His hands would shepherd her body this way and that, his strong arms lifted her up then lowered her precisely onto his peg. She was also pleased that he could help her to contort into positions she’d never thought possible. The man was an artisan.
But now Phyllis found herself on the horns of a dilemma. Her Ukrainian lover had taught her so much and so well that she feared she’d never again be lucky enough to benefit from such technical expertise. She pondered that when she left his bed she might be doomed forever to the world of the mundane Missionary, Doggie and 69 positions.
“Oh Lord, strike me dead if that ever happens,” she prayed.
Dorm food in the cafeteria was quite good actually. Phyllis ate most of her meals there. A lot of the students would bring textbooks and read while eating. She preferred to study people. While scanning the far side of the room, she hadn’t noticed that a student took a chair opposite her at her table. When she turned around she freaked for a second.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she responded.
“Billy Johns, I’m pre-med.”
His voice rang of rural America, rich with flavor and the sound of friendliness.
“Phyllis Thorn, Chemistry.”
“I hope y'all don’t mind me a-plopping down without bein' invited.”
“Oh no,” she answered, “That’s fine.”
“Great! I been watchin' you for several weeks and I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh shit,” she thought, “he’s hitting on me.”
“You're probably thinkin' I’m hitting on you. Well…yes ma'am I am.”
Stunned by his honesty, Phyllis could only smile. No one had ever used honesty on her before. Directness was not the usual approach.
“Is it customary for the people you come from to be so direct?” she asked.
“I’m from Kentucky ma’am. We don’t see no need to beat around the bush. When you see somethin' you want, you just go and git it.”
Phyllis had to chuckle. That pleased Billy Johns. He’d gotten his foot in her door.
“Ma’am, I’d sure like to take you out to dinner and a movie. Would you like that?”
His repeated directness thwarted her usually reliable defense mechanism.
“Yeah, sure. But I can’t stay out late. I’m cramming for a major test and I want at least an A minus.”
“No problem. What time do you want to back here?"
“10:30 at the latest.”
“I promise you’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug and in bed by 10:45. Friday night OK?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“I’m over in the other wing so I’ll pick you up at 5:30 at the northeast door to your wing. OK?”
“That’ll be fine.”
Billy Johns tapped his index finger on the table as if to seal the deal. “Bye now, you hear?”
“Jesus H. Christ,” she said to her self, “what did I just do? Some hick from Kentucky threw out his bait just once and I swallowed it. Phyllis…you’re slipping!”
As she walked out the northeast door she looked around to see where Billy Johns might be standing. Then she heard a horn honking. Double parked behind some old Fords and Chevy’s was a shiny black Lincoln. Its top was down and Billy Johns was waving frantically. When she got in she noticed immediately that it had that new car smell.
“What chall you think?” he asked.
“Think about what?” she asked back.
“The car. I’ve only had it for a month. What chall think?”
“It’s wonderful,” she replied honestly, “wonderful!”
“I bet you never, in a million years, thought a hick from Kentucky would pick you up in such a nice car, did you? Be honest now.”
“Right, I didn’t.”
“My folks breed and raise quarter horses. With the sale of one of them four legged beauties, I could buy a dozen of these here cars.”
“Oh my,” she gasped in amazement. “I never knew there could be so much money made selling horses.”
“I bet you never even gave it a thought did you?”
“No I hadn’t.”
Burgers weren’t on tonight’s menu but fillet minion was. Having been wined and dined before, Phyllis knew that this old boy was hankerin’ to saddle her up.
“Not tonight, Buster Brown, she thought. “I need to study.”
Billy Johns was the epitome of courtesy and politeness. The dinner was to die for and his tales of home, church and two attentive older sisters sounded charming. She wasn’t expecting to be swept off her feet so soon by someone she’d just met but she found that she was smitten by this charmer from the South.
“I don’t know if you have a mind to, but I’ve rented a room at tha Starlight hotel. Would you like to go over there and fuck?”
Flabbergasted, Phyllis dropped her napkin onto her plate and stood up ready to stomp out of the room.
“Miss Phyllis, I didn’t mean to embarrass you but you’re so beautiful I just thought we could become friends that way.”
“What way?” she stormed.
“In a fuckin’ kind of way.”
“You’re out of your fuckin’ mind Mr. Horse breeder. If you think you’re going to put a halter in my mouth and ride me through the bramble bushes, you’ve got another fuckin’ think coming!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Phyllis. I thought you liked me.”
“Yeah. I did! But you’ve ruined a perfectly good evening. Maybe after a couple of dates or so, we might have slept together but not on the first date. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Well…if you‘ll sleep with me after a couple of dates, why wait?”
“Because,” was the only answer she could come up with.
His logic was dead-on but nice girls waited until the traditional third date before letting a guy in her pants. That was the rule. It was unwritten but it was the rule, none the less. But Phyllis had a problem. It had been two weeks since her period and she was ovulating, nesting her mom called it. And she was horny. Moist Miss Muffy had been sending out S-O-S’s all night causing her brain to shut down her Puritan defenses. But now, how in Hell could she say yes after having said “No” so adamantly before?
She decided to keep quiet and let the man from the Blue Grass state keep on selling his wares. And sell he did. There were no promises of long rides in the country with the top down, none neither of marriage with a financially secure future. He ‘jest kept on a-sweet talkin’ about how “purddy” she was and stuff like that there.
His tongue was plated with gold and silver. He might as well have been a serpent offering an apple, a huckster peddling snake oil from the rear of a covered wagon or kid-selling subscriptions door to door. Finally Phyllis pretended that she had been swept off her feet and she might surly expire from the vapors if she didn’t give in to his charms and arms.
In reality, not only was she horny, she also wanted to see what this Kentucky Colonel had up his sleeve, more accurately, how well could he use that riding crop clearly evident in his crotch.
Forget Karma Sutra. This bad boy could electrify a woman’s senses propelling her mind, body and soul straight to sexual Nirvana. Once there she bathed herself in ethereal pleasures. Spiritually ran through mists of ecstasy and exited only after she had swooned to sleep.
Billy Johns introduced her to the Venus Butterfly, the Kentucky Gait, the Roundup, Straddle the Saddle, and the Ricochet. She was delightfully familiar with the Venus Butterfly. That was internally fingering the G spot, the backside and root of the clit containing its nerve endings, while licking its exposed portion on the outside. Electricity generated matched that of Hoover dam. However she was pretty sure that he made up the names of the others to impress her.
Answering her question about his sexual prowess, he told her that his two older sisters had been his devoted mentors servicing and serving him since he was quite young. After years of tutoring after church every Sunday, he possessed the key to a woman’s Paradise and unashamedly referred to himself as the Johnny Apple Seed of Love. His motto was, Love Thy Neighbor, again, again, and again.
After only a few months with Billy Johns, Phyllis threw in her ridding crop. She was worn out and felt like she’d been rode hard and put away wet. She needed time to rest and to heal. Even though she had a perpetual smile on her face, her thighs were chaffed so much that she could hardly walk.
It was several months before Phyllis met another sexual provider. In the meantime she had longed, lusted and wore out numerous toys. She even bought Playboy to read the Letters to the Editor. She knew they were fake but they allowed her to fantasize.
Growing up she’d heard that men were the movers and shakers in the world of sex. That may have been the perception but she was acutely aware that the women of the world were the ones who held the keys to the barn door and they were the ones to decide when and which stallions would be let in.
One day, the professor of her American Literature class was absent. Filling in was a young associate professor working on his doctorate. His name was Richard Blaine. He wasn’t a Clark Gable but she’d allow herself to be seen with him on a well-lit street. So, on the top of the pop quiz he had given that day, she wrote her phone number under her name.
Three weeks went by before he phoned. Actually, she had given up on ever hearing from him since so much time and gone by.
"Hello."
"Phyllis?"
"Yes. Who's this?"
"Richard. From your literature class?"
"Sure, I remember."
"I felt that if I called too soon after that one day in class, either of us might be suspect."
“Yeah, that makes sense,” she answered. However in the back of her mind she figured that he needed that much time to dump his current lady-fair.
"You free Saturday?"
"Hold on a sec." She didn't want to sound too anxious.
"Yeah, where and when?"
“The Retro Café on Ramrod? 10 OK?”
"Sounds like a fun place," she answered.
“It is. You'll love it. OK then, that’s great!” his voice had a delightful tinkle sound to it.
Phyllis picked up on the tinkle.
“OK, let’s see what happens here,” she thought. “Play it cool and not get your panties all tied up in knots."
It turned out that Rick had graduated from her high school but it had been years earlier. After graduation he signed up for the Army’s Special Forces—Green Berets, but had to quit after hurting his back in jump school. So he decided to teach. He was a ‘brainiack’ and aced his courses and got his BA in three years. Not satisfied, he continued on for his doctorate. At his level of education he was allowed to sub whenever a professor was sick, needed a day off or went on vacation.
Rick said, “You left your phone number on the quiz sheet. I assumed that you had something other than American Literature to discuss.”
“Yeah, well you know. Well, I just wondered if you’d like to take in a movie or something. That’s all.”
Sipping his beer, he answered, “Sure.”
“Then you’re not in a committed relationship?” she continued. She was pushing him to see if she would have him to herself.
“No. You?”
Just before she took a drink of her Diet Pepsi she shook her head "No."
Glancing at the ceiling as if to gather his thought, “Do you like French movies with sub titles?”
“Not really.”
“Well, how about science fiction?”
“Not really.”
Struggling to find a common taste he said, “You pick something.”
“Bogie and Bergman.”
Rick walked to the old time jukebox, dropped in a quarter and punched in E-7. An old, seven inch 45 plopped into place, the needle dropped and the speakers came to life.
You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss; a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.
In her mind she could hear the last line in Casablanca, “…this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
While the music was playing, Rick confessed that his vice was acting out scenes from old movies. Their date went well ending with each giving the other a peck on the cheek. But more importantly, he squeezed her hand. While performing the classic female hair toss she suggested,
”Tomorrow, same time?”
“You’re on,” he answered.
Phyllis wasn’t able to keep their Sunday date. But not wanting to cause a rift in what looked to be a promising relationship, she phoned the café and left a message rescheduling for Monday evening.
She arrived at their alternate rendezvous on time but had to wait 30 minutes for him to come through the door.
“Sorry,” he said, “flat tire.”
“Flat tire? Right,” she said to herself. "You probably still have that other bitch on the side."
“Well now, where were we?” Rick asked.
Somewhat put off, Phyllis responded sarcastically, “Yeah, where were we?”
Rick picked up on the chill in her voice and asked, “Don’t believe my flat tire story?”
“Yeah, sure,” was her slightly sarcastic answer.
Now convinced that she didn’t believe him he took her by the hand, escorted her to his car, opened the trunk and showed her a tire with a big gash in its side.
“Oh I believed you,” she stuttered.
They walked back into the café.
Still miffed at her doubting Thomas attitude he said, “Maybe we should end this right here. I don’t have time to play games. I take my studies seriously. I take my teaching seriously. I take my relationships seriously. If you want to play girlie games, I’m outa here.”
Phyllis took too long to respond. He flipped a five onto the table and walked out the door.
“God damn it,” she chided herself. “I screwed up this relationship even before it got off its feet or I got off mine. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Two days later a messenger delivered a cactus plant to her room. The attached note read, “We got off to a prickly start. I’ll be at our place at 3 Saturday.” It wasn’t signed.
Wearing a tight sweater, push up bra and a smidgen of Obsession, Phyllis was on time. Rick had already poured a Diet Pepsi over ice.
Twenty minutes later in Rick’s apartment they made love. She thought of it as love making instead of having sex because Rick was so gentle, warm and fuzzy to be in bed with. There was no Karma Sutra, no riding side saddle just Missionary, Doggie, and 69. And that was fine. She felt cozy snuggled in his arms afterward. He didn’t fall asleep, he actually listened to what she had to say, and he’d hug her every now and then just to remind her that he was there, not only with his body, but with his heart as well. This was a new experience for her. She’d had Warren at the prom and Bohdan with his bag of Indian tricks. Then there was the magnificent Jimmy Johns’ encyclopedic knowledge of how to please a woman. Rick hadn’t taken her to Nirvana but he had taken her a place called Comfortville. Comfortville was refreshingly peaceful like a creek meandering through the wood, carrying leaves and twigs gently to a beaver dam below.
The lovely affair was cut too short. Four months after they met, the semester ended, Rick graduated and accepted a job offer in Montreal. When they parted for the last time Phyllis lamented that she hated that they had to part.
Rick responded, “In this crazy world, two people like us don’t mean a hill of beans.”
Phyllis butted in, “But…”
He stopped her by gently placing a finger to her lips. In his always wonderful and ever sentimental way he whispered, “We’ll always have Paris.”
Phyllis could almost hear the engines of an airplane in the background. Emotion consumed her entire being. Her knees turned to rubber causing her to nearly collapse. His arms and hands held her steady. Pulling her close he softly sang,
“And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.”
It was during this truly wonderful relationship with Rick that something happened which caused Phyllis to change her major from Chemistry to Criminal Justice.
A lesbian in her dorm was murdered. She lived just down the hall and Phyllis was privy to how the cops handled the case. They were bold yet efficient. They were persuasive but didn’t steer those they interviewed into any particular direction. The victim’s room had been cordoned off and a policeman stood guard 24/7 until the yellow tape came down. They gave no hint to the other students or the press as to their findings. They wanted to keep the information close to their chest. Phyllis found the whole experience orgasmic.
Within two weeks, the killer had been unmasked. She was a previous lover who had been dumped in favor of a new one. Hell hath no fury like that of a woman’s scorn. Phyllis’ career path, and ultimately her life, was changed forever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Solving the Drug Problem
“All right boys and girls,” Commander Hardesty said, “Listen up. Drugs! We’ve got drugs and I want the pushers caught. I know they are small fish and can seldom lead us to the big ones. But if we put enough pressure on them in our precinct, maybe we can push the pushers out of here.”
Continuing but with a secretive tone in his voice, “I must be careful here. The judicial system in these United States works on the precept that one is innocent until proven otherwise. However, because the wheels of justice move slowly, I think it would be a wonderful idea if we put those wheels into high gear.”
Still with political correctness and judicious caution in his voice, “You and I know who the drug pushers are. We know their names. We know their faces. And we know where they live. It seems to me that God, Jesus, Mohammed, and all of the other universal spirits would want these garden snakes pushed out of this earthly garden.”
Hardesty was now also treading on the sacred. His words needed to be chosen wisely.
“These, let’s call them money lenders, should be cast from the courtyard. Maybe their tables should be overturned and maybe they should be exposed for what they are. Mind you they should not be hurt in any way, just made aware that their presence in our neighborhood is not welcome.”
There was silence in the room because everyone knew that their leader was skating on very thin legal ice. But they got his message. No physical rough stuff, not broken bones and no Glocks drawn from their holsters. But as Hardesty had suggested, adamant motherly and fatherly advice should be strongly offered as an inducement to vacate the area without giving two weeks notice.
Each team of two leaving headquarters that morning in their black and whites was fortified with more than their breakfast Wheaties. They had a new vision. They had a mission. They would not just burn gasoline cruising the streets being reactive but would be proactive to put a dent in drug trafficking.
Officer Tillman and partner Church Hamner knew where to look and who to look for. Each had arrested many pushers time and again. And time and again they were bailed out and back at their trade dealing addiction and death to anyone who had ten bucks.
They were scabs on the city’s streets and they needed to be picked off and thrown in the sewer.
“There! Hamner said pointing to his right.
“Where?” Tilly asked, “I don’t see him.”
“Leaning on the mailbox.”
“Got him,” she said.
She steered the car on down the street so as not to spook the scumbag. Turning around the corner then another one brought them up on the side street where the pusher stood waiting for his next sucker.
She stopped the car a half block away so that Hamner could walk up to their first winner of the day.
“Hello Jerry,” Hamner said.
Startled, Jerry said, “Shit man!”
“Let’s go for a ride, old buddy.”
“Hey man. I’ll be out in 24 hours. Why don’t you pigs just leave me alone? I’m trying to make a buck here.”
"Jerry, we're not taking you downtown. We're taking you for a ride."
Jerry had seen enought old black and white movies on TV to suspect that a "ride" meant he'd be wearing cenent overshoes on the bottom of a river.
"Hey man. I didn't do nuthin'. I ain't got nothin' on me. I'm clean. Honest Injun."
"Sure you are Jerry," Tilly said to him now in the back seat of the squad car. "Sure you are. But you understand, Jerry, that we're not Injuns and we have to be sure."
"Yeah, that's ok with me. Go ahead, search me, I ain't done nothin. I'm clean!"
Looking out the car's windows, Jerry noticed that they were headed for the old abandoned industrial complex that had become derelict through the years. For the first time in a very long time, he was scared.
"Hey, where you guy's takin me?" he asked with a tremor in his voice.
He got no response from the city's finest in the front seat.
"Hey," he hollored again.
Again, nothing from the front seat.
"Hey assholes, what's going on here?"
Tilly turned to Hamner and asked, "Did you just hear someone call us assholes?"
"Yeah I did," he replied. "It came from the back seat."
Turning to look back at Jerry she asked, "Hey Jerry, did you call us assholes?"
Now really scared he answered, "Yeah but I didn't mean nothin' by it. I swear."
Tilly looked at her partner and asked, "Did you hear someone say that he'd swear?"
"Yeah, I think it came from the back seat again. I don't like to hear people swear. Do you?"
"Fuckin no," she replied.
Tilly tilted her head up and looked at Jerry in the rear view mirror.
"Hey Jerry, I heard that you're a fag."
"Hell fuckin' no, I ain't no fag. Where'd you hear that?"
Hamner said, "It's all over the streets, Jerry. I swear we're telling you the truth. It's all over the streets."
"My fuckin' ass," he answered with contempt.
"That's what we're talking abut Jerry, your fuckin' ass."
"No, God damn it, I'm not a fuckin' fag."
"Well, Jerry," Tilly interjected, "since we can't believe anything you tell us, we'll just have to believe the word that's on the street."
"Yeah," Hamner said, "the rumors have to be true."
"Fuck you fuckin' pigs! I ain't no queer and you can ask anyone of the ladies I've screwed."
"We have," Tilly said. "They said you can't get a hard on unless they show you centerfolds from PLAYGIRL."
"Bull fuckin' shit!"
"No bullshit, Jerry," Hamner answered sweetly.
Then Tilly dropped the hammer, "Jerry, we want to help you." Her tone was condescending.
"Yeah," Church added for emphasis.
"Fuck you assholes! You have never wanted to help me. If you had you wouldn't have busted me all those other times. You'd have left me alone to make a lousy buck. And if you really wanted to help me, you wouldn't have picked me up a while ago. So go fuck yourselves."
"There, there, Jerry," Tilly pleaded. "Don't you think that we have your best interest at heart?"
"Fuck you Tillman. I even know your badge number and I'll fuckin' sue your fuckin' ass for harrassment."
Tilly answered, "Now, now Jerry. Calm down. I know that you have my badge number. And you know that I have your address; right?
Jerry clamed up just as the car stopped between two buildings.
“If you assholes think you’re going to beat me up and get away with it, you’ve got another thing coming. Fuck you! Fuck you!”
Hamner got out, opened the car’s rear door and pulled Jerry out by his shirt collar. Tilly dug through her purse until she found what she needed.
Officer Church Hamner held Jerry upright while Tilly flipped on her battery powered hair clippers.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck you gonna do?”
Neither officer spoke as Tilly deftly sheared off all of the hair from the pusher’s scalp.
“Why did you do that?” he asked.
Again neither officer said a word.
Tilly bent down and took off Jerry’s shoes, socks, pants and under ware.
“JE..sus CHRI..ist,” he stuttered.
Tilly grabbed his nose with a vice like grip while her partner took off Jerry’s handcuffs then yanked off his shirt littering the ground with buttons. Then Hamner cuffed him again.
While Tilly looked Jerry directly in his eyes, with her breath hot on his face she whispered in his ear, “Close your eyes.”
“What?” he asked.
“Close your eyes asshole and turn around facing away from us.”
Hamner bent Jerry’s thumb back wards reinforcing Tilly’s command.
Jerry closed his eyes and did an about face.
Hamner stepped away leaving Jerry standing alone and scared shitless.
“Now, sleaze bag,” Tilly said, “open your eyes and turn around.”
Jerry did as he was ordered. Tilly snapped three quick digital pictures, catching him by surprise.
“Don’t move,” Tilly said. “Stand right there or I’ll cut Mr. Vienna Sausage clean off.”
By now the two officers had his undivided attention.
Hamner was already going through Jerry’s clothes. He found two bags of powder, which he scattered in the wind. The paper money in his wallet was torn into a million pieces and the quarters and dimes were thrown yards away.
Tilly took her cuff key from her belt, unlocked Jerry’s cuffs and handed them to her partner. His clothes were stuffed into a garbage, thrown into the back seat then ditched later.
With a goodbye wave, the officers backed out from between the buildings and drove away leaving one stunned drug pusher birthday naked who had to find his own way home.
As the many cruisers pulled into the parking lot at the end of the shift, officers held up the appropriate number of fingers gallantly announcing their tally for the day.
Later, as prearranged, they all met at a noisy bar dressed in civvies. They gave their flash drives to Officer Phillips. Two weeks later pictures of 14 naked men were published in the local GAY VOICE newspaper along with their names, address, and phone numbers. They had also been uploaded to the national gay web site.
Each day, for the next three weeks, Commander Hardesty pretended not to know the significance of the growing number of chalk marks on the blackboard. However, he was pleased to announce during roll call that drug activity in his precinct was decreasing. Even the Chief of Police queried Hardesty as to his thoughts about the decline.
“Must be God’s will, Sir,” Hardesty offered.
But while these shenanigans were taking place, routine crimes had not taken a vacation. Officers Tillman and Hamner responded when called upon to do so.
One was a robbery at a small locally owned bank.
Tilly keyed the mike telling HQ, “Unit 12 on scene!”
The cruiser’s lights and siren were letting everyone in the area know that the Calvary had arrived.
HQ had already told them that the robber was still inside holding everyone hostage so protecting the civilian’s lives was paramount.
Hamner bull-horned his message toward the bank’s front door.
“Police! Throw down your weapon and come out with your hands up!”
There was no sound returned but Tilly told Hamner that she had seen a figure passing by the glass door.
“The suspect?” he asked.
“Couldn’t tell.”
Then there was a shot from inside the bank. It sounded muffled like someone had a silencer on the pistol.
“Christ,” Tilly said with alarm.
Hamner answered, “Yeah.”
By now two more black and whites had arrived followed by the SWAT team. In no time the building was surrounded. The SWAT commander had taken over and had acknowledged with a nod to Tilly that he understood that a shot had been fired from inside the bank.
Using his own bullhorn, “Inside the bank! This is SWAT Commander Burk. Can you hear me?”
Two more shots from inside were the robber’s answer.
“The building is surrounded. Throw down your weapon and come out with your hand’s up!”
This time there was silence.
“We offer you a fair trial. Come out now before anyone gets hurt!”
A kid’s face appeared in the window to the right of the door. Tilly thought she recognized it but wasn’t sure. She waved her hand and finally caught the commander’s attention.
“What?’ he mimed.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” she answered. However in the back of her mind she figured that he needed that much time to dump his current lady-fair.
"You free Saturday?"
"Hold on a sec." She didn't want to sound too anxious.
"Yeah, where and when?"
“The Retro Café on Ramrod? 10 OK?”
"Sounds like a fun place," she answered.
“It is. You'll love it. OK then, that’s great!” his voice had a delightful tinkle sound to it.
Phyllis picked up on the tinkle.
“OK, let’s see what happens here,” she thought. “Play it cool and not get your panties all tied up in knots."
It turned out that Rick had graduated from her high school but it had been years earlier. After graduation he signed up for the Army’s Special Forces—Green Berets, but had to quit after hurting his back in jump school. So he decided to teach. He was a ‘brainiack’ and aced his courses and got his BA in three years. Not satisfied, he continued on for his doctorate. At his level of education he was allowed to sub whenever a professor was sick, needed a day off or went on vacation.
Rick said, “You left your phone number on the quiz sheet. I assumed that you had something other than American Literature to discuss.”
“Yeah, well you know. Well, I just wondered if you’d like to take in a movie or something. That’s all.”
Sipping his beer, he answered, “Sure.”
“Then you’re not in a committed relationship?” she continued. She was pushing him to see if she would have him to herself.
“No. You?”
Just before she took a drink of her Diet Pepsi she shook her head "No."
Glancing at the ceiling as if to gather his thought, “Do you like French movies with sub titles?”
“Not really.”
“Well, how about science fiction?”
“Not really.”
Struggling to find a common taste he said, “You pick something.”
“Bogie and Bergman.”
Rick walked to the old time jukebox, dropped in a quarter and punched in E-7. An old, seven inch 45 plopped into place, the needle dropped and the speakers came to life.
You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss; a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.
In her mind she could hear the last line in Casablanca, “…this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
While the music was playing, Rick confessed that his vice was acting out scenes from old movies. Their date went well ending with each giving the other a peck on the cheek. But more importantly, he squeezed her hand. While performing the classic female hair toss she suggested,
”Tomorrow, same time?”
“You’re on,” he answered.
Phyllis wasn’t able to keep their Sunday date. But not wanting to cause a rift in what looked to be a promising relationship, she phoned the café and left a message rescheduling for Monday evening.
She arrived at their alternate rendezvous on time but had to wait 30 minutes for him to come through the door.
“Sorry,” he said, “flat tire.”
“Flat tire? Right,” she said to herself. "You probably still have that other bitch on the side."
“Well now, where were we?” Rick asked.
Somewhat put off, Phyllis responded sarcastically, “Yeah, where were we?”
Rick picked up on the chill in her voice and asked, “Don’t believe my flat tire story?”
“Yeah, sure,” was her slightly sarcastic answer.
Now convinced that she didn’t believe him he took her by the hand, escorted her to his car, opened the trunk and showed her a tire with a big gash in its side.
“Oh I believed you,” she stuttered.
They walked back into the café.
Still miffed at her doubting Thomas attitude he said, “Maybe we should end this right here. I don’t have time to play games. I take my studies seriously. I take my teaching seriously. I take my relationships seriously. If you want to play girlie games, I’m outa here.”
Phyllis took too long to respond. He flipped a five onto the table and walked out the door.
“God damn it,” she chided herself. “I screwed up this relationship even before it got off its feet or I got off mine. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Two days later a messenger delivered a cactus plant to her room. The attached note read, “We got off to a prickly start. I’ll be at our place at 3 Saturday.” It wasn’t signed.
Wearing a tight sweater, push up bra and a smidgen of Obsession, Phyllis was on time. Rick had already poured a Diet Pepsi over ice.
Twenty minutes later in Rick’s apartment they made love. She thought of it as love making instead of having sex because Rick was so gentle, warm and fuzzy to be in bed with. There was no Karma Sutra, no riding side saddle just Missionary, Doggie, and 69. And that was fine. She felt cozy snuggled in his arms afterward. He didn’t fall asleep, he actually listened to what she had to say, and he’d hug her every now and then just to remind her that he was there, not only with his body, but with his heart as well. This was a new experience for her. She’d had Warren at the prom and Bohdan with his bag of Indian tricks. Then there was the magnificent Jimmy Johns’ encyclopedic knowledge of how to please a woman. Rick hadn’t taken her to Nirvana but he had taken her a place called Comfortville. Comfortville was refreshingly peaceful like a creek meandering through the wood, carrying leaves and twigs gently to a beaver dam below.
The lovely affair was cut too short. Four months after they met, the semester ended, Rick graduated and accepted a job offer in Montreal. When they parted for the last time Phyllis lamented that she hated that they had to part.
Rick responded, “In this crazy world, two people like us don’t mean a hill of beans.”
Phyllis butted in, “But…”
He stopped her by gently placing a finger to her lips. In his always wonderful and ever sentimental way he whispered, “We’ll always have Paris.”
Phyllis could almost hear the engines of an airplane in the background. Emotion consumed her entire being. Her knees turned to rubber causing her to nearly collapse. His arms and hands held her steady. Pulling her close he softly sang,
“And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.”
It was during this truly wonderful relationship with Rick that something happened which caused Phyllis to change her major from Chemistry to Criminal Justice.
A lesbian in her dorm was murdered. She lived just down the hall and Phyllis was privy to how the cops handled the case. They were bold yet efficient. They were persuasive but didn’t steer those they interviewed into any particular direction. The victim’s room had been cordoned off and a policeman stood guard 24/7 until the yellow tape came down. They gave no hint to the other students or the press as to their findings. They wanted to keep the information close to their chest. Phyllis found the whole experience orgasmic.
Within two weeks, the killer had been unmasked. She was a previous lover who had been dumped in favor of a new one. Hell hath no fury like that of a woman’s scorn. Phyllis’ career path, and ultimately her life, was changed forever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Solving the Drug Problem
“All right boys and girls,” Commander Hardesty said, “Listen up. Drugs! We’ve got drugs and I want the pushers caught. I know they are small fish and can seldom lead us to the big ones. But if we put enough pressure on them in our precinct, maybe we can push the pushers out of here.”
Continuing but with a secretive tone in his voice, “I must be careful here. The judicial system in these United States works on the precept that one is innocent until proven otherwise. However, because the wheels of justice move slowly, I think it would be a wonderful idea if we put those wheels into high gear.”
Still with political correctness and judicious caution in his voice, “You and I know who the drug pushers are. We know their names. We know their faces. And we know where they live. It seems to me that God, Jesus, Mohammed, and all of the other universal spirits would want these garden snakes pushed out of this earthly garden.”
Hardesty was now also treading on the sacred. His words needed to be chosen wisely.
“These, let’s call them money lenders, should be cast from the courtyard. Maybe their tables should be overturned and maybe they should be exposed for what they are. Mind you they should not be hurt in any way, just made aware that their presence in our neighborhood is not welcome.”
There was silence in the room because everyone knew that their leader was skating on very thin legal ice. But they got his message. No physical rough stuff, not broken bones and no Glocks drawn from their holsters. But as Hardesty had suggested, adamant motherly and fatherly advice should be strongly offered as an inducement to vacate the area without giving two weeks notice.
Each team of two leaving headquarters that morning in their black and whites was fortified with more than their breakfast Wheaties. They had a new vision. They had a mission. They would not just burn gasoline cruising the streets being reactive but would be proactive to put a dent in drug trafficking.
Officer Tillman and partner Church Hamner knew where to look and who to look for. Each had arrested many pushers time and again. And time and again they were bailed out and back at their trade dealing addiction and death to anyone who had ten bucks.
They were scabs on the city’s streets and they needed to be picked off and thrown in the sewer.
“There! Hamner said pointing to his right.
“Where?” Tilly asked, “I don’t see him.”
“Leaning on the mailbox.”
“Got him,” she said.
She steered the car on down the street so as not to spook the scumbag. Turning around the corner then another one brought them up on the side street where the pusher stood waiting for his next sucker.
She stopped the car a half block away so that Hamner could walk up to their first winner of the day.
“Hello Jerry,” Hamner said.
Startled, Jerry said, “Shit man!”
“Let’s go for a ride, old buddy.”
“Hey man. I’ll be out in 24 hours. Why don’t you pigs just leave me alone? I’m trying to make a buck here.”
"Jerry, we're not taking you downtown. We're taking you for a ride."
Jerry had seen enought old black and white movies on TV to suspect that a "ride" meant he'd be wearing cenent overshoes on the bottom of a river.
"Hey man. I didn't do nuthin'. I ain't got nothin' on me. I'm clean. Honest Injun."
"Sure you are Jerry," Tilly said to him now in the back seat of the squad car. "Sure you are. But you understand, Jerry, that we're not Injuns and we have to be sure."
"Yeah, that's ok with me. Go ahead, search me, I ain't done nothin. I'm clean!"
Looking out the car's windows, Jerry noticed that they were headed for the old abandoned industrial complex that had become derelict through the years. For the first time in a very long time, he was scared.
"Hey, where you guy's takin me?" he asked with a tremor in his voice.
He got no response from the city's finest in the front seat.
"Hey," he hollored again.
Again, nothing from the front seat.
"Hey assholes, what's going on here?"
Tilly turned to Hamner and asked, "Did you just hear someone call us assholes?"
"Yeah I did," he replied. "It came from the back seat."
Turning to look back at Jerry she asked, "Hey Jerry, did you call us assholes?"
Now really scared he answered, "Yeah but I didn't mean nothin' by it. I swear."
Tilly looked at her partner and asked, "Did you hear someone say that he'd swear?"
"Yeah, I think it came from the back seat again. I don't like to hear people swear. Do you?"
"Fuckin no," she replied.
Tilly tilted her head up and looked at Jerry in the rear view mirror.
"Hey Jerry, I heard that you're a fag."
"Hell fuckin' no, I ain't no fag. Where'd you hear that?"
Hamner said, "It's all over the streets, Jerry. I swear we're telling you the truth. It's all over the streets."
"My fuckin' ass," he answered with contempt.
"That's what we're talking abut Jerry, your fuckin' ass."
"No, God damn it, I'm not a fuckin' fag."
"Well, Jerry," Tilly interjected, "since we can't believe anything you tell us, we'll just have to believe the word that's on the street."
"Yeah," Hamner said, "the rumors have to be true."
"Fuck you fuckin' pigs! I ain't no queer and you can ask anyone of the ladies I've screwed."
"We have," Tilly said. "They said you can't get a hard on unless they show you centerfolds from PLAYGIRL."
"Bull fuckin' shit!"
"No bullshit, Jerry," Hamner answered sweetly.
Then Tilly dropped the hammer, "Jerry, we want to help you." Her tone was condescending.
"Yeah," Church added for emphasis.
"Fuck you assholes! You have never wanted to help me. If you had you wouldn't have busted me all those other times. You'd have left me alone to make a lousy buck. And if you really wanted to help me, you wouldn't have picked me up a while ago. So go fuck yourselves."
"There, there, Jerry," Tilly pleaded. "Don't you think that we have your best interest at heart?"
"Fuck you Tillman. I even know your badge number and I'll fuckin' sue your fuckin' ass for harrassment."
Tilly answered, "Now, now Jerry. Calm down. I know that you have my badge number. And you know that I have your address; right?
Jerry clamed up just as the car stopped between two buildings.
“If you assholes think you’re going to beat me up and get away with it, you’ve got another thing coming. Fuck you! Fuck you!”
Hamner got out, opened the car’s rear door and pulled Jerry out by his shirt collar. Tilly dug through her purse until she found what she needed.
Officer Church Hamner held Jerry upright while Tilly flipped on her battery powered hair clippers.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck you gonna do?”
Neither officer spoke as Tilly deftly sheared off all of the hair from the pusher’s scalp.
“Why did you do that?” he asked.
Again neither officer said a word.
Tilly bent down and took off Jerry’s shoes, socks, pants and under ware.
“JE..sus CHRI..ist,” he stuttered.
Tilly grabbed his nose with a vice like grip while her partner took off Jerry’s handcuffs then yanked off his shirt littering the ground with buttons. Then Hamner cuffed him again.
While Tilly looked Jerry directly in his eyes, with her breath hot on his face she whispered in his ear, “Close your eyes.”
“What?” he asked.
“Close your eyes asshole and turn around facing away from us.”
Hamner bent Jerry’s thumb back wards reinforcing Tilly’s command.
Jerry closed his eyes and did an about face.
Hamner stepped away leaving Jerry standing alone and scared shitless.
“Now, sleaze bag,” Tilly said, “open your eyes and turn around.”
Jerry did as he was ordered. Tilly snapped three quick digital pictures, catching him by surprise.
“Don’t move,” Tilly said. “Stand right there or I’ll cut Mr. Vienna Sausage clean off.”
By now the two officers had his undivided attention.
Hamner was already going through Jerry’s clothes. He found two bags of powder, which he scattered in the wind. The paper money in his wallet was torn into a million pieces and the quarters and dimes were thrown yards away.
Tilly took her cuff key from her belt, unlocked Jerry’s cuffs and handed them to her partner. His clothes were stuffed into a garbage, thrown into the back seat then ditched later.
With a goodbye wave, the officers backed out from between the buildings and drove away leaving one stunned drug pusher birthday naked who had to find his own way home.
As the many cruisers pulled into the parking lot at the end of the shift, officers held up the appropriate number of fingers gallantly announcing their tally for the day.
Later, as prearranged, they all met at a noisy bar dressed in civvies. They gave their flash drives to Officer Phillips. Two weeks later pictures of 14 naked men were published in the local GAY VOICE newspaper along with their names, address, and phone numbers. They had also been uploaded to the national gay web site.
Each day, for the next three weeks, Commander Hardesty pretended not to know the significance of the growing number of chalk marks on the blackboard. However, he was pleased to announce during roll call that drug activity in his precinct was decreasing. Even the Chief of Police queried Hardesty as to his thoughts about the decline.
“Must be God’s will, Sir,” Hardesty offered.
But while these shenanigans were taking place, routine crimes had not taken a vacation. Officers Tillman and Hamner responded when called upon to do so.
One was a robbery at a small locally owned bank.
Tilly keyed the mike telling HQ, “Unit 12 on scene!”
The cruiser’s lights and siren were letting everyone in the area know that the Calvary had arrived.
HQ had already told them that the robber was still inside holding everyone hostage so protecting the civilian’s lives was paramount.
Hamner bull-horned his message toward the bank’s front door.
“Police! Throw down your weapon and come out with your hands up!”
There was no sound returned but Tilly told Hamner that she had seen a figure passing by the glass door.
“The suspect?” he asked.
“Couldn’t tell.”
Then there was a shot from inside the bank. It sounded muffled like someone had a silencer on the pistol.
“Christ,” Tilly said with alarm.
Hamner answered, “Yeah.”
By now two more black and whites had arrived followed by the SWAT team. In no time the building was surrounded. The SWAT commander had taken over and had acknowledged with a nod to Tilly that he understood that a shot had been fired from inside the bank.
Using his own bullhorn, “Inside the bank! This is SWAT Commander Burk. Can you hear me?”
Two more shots from inside were the robber’s answer.
“The building is surrounded. Throw down your weapon and come out with your hand’s up!”
This time there was silence.
“We offer you a fair trial. Come out now before anyone gets hurt!”
A kid’s face appeared in the window to the right of the door. Tilly thought she recognized it but wasn’t sure. She waved her hand and finally caught the commander’s attention.
“What?’ he mimed.
Tilly mimed back that she thought she knew the kid. He beckoned for her to sneak over to him.
“I think I know that kid,” she said.
“Who is he?”
“I think his name’s Timothy Tallon. I busted him some time back for purse snatching. He went to court and Judge Manors let him off to give him a second chance.”
Burk asked, “Do you think you can talk him out?”
“I’ll try. Timothy! This is Officer Tillman. Remember me?”
“Yeah. You’re the lady pig that busted me.”
“Yes. Is anyone hurt in there?”
“Yeah. I shot an old fart.”
“How bad is he?”
“Don’t know. He’s curled up on the floor like a little baby.”
“Timothy, the bank is surrounded. You can’t get away. We can wait out here forever but you can’t. So, why don’t you give yourself up?”
"Yeah. Give myself up and go to jail forever.”
Still using Commander Burk’s bullhorn, “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean, maybe not?”
“I mean that maybe you won’t be in jail forever.”
The kid didn’t answer for a long minute.
“If I come out, will you promise that they won’t shoot me?”
“Yes! But you have to throw down your gun in there then come out the door with your hands on top of your head.”
Another long minute expired then the heavy glass door opened and Tallon came out onto the sidewalk.
“I think I know that kid,” she said.
“Who is he?”
“I think his name’s Timothy Tallon. I busted him some time back for purse snatching. He went to court and Judge Manors let him off to give him a second chance.”
Burk asked, “Do you think you can talk him out?”
“I’ll try. Timothy! This is Officer Tillman. Remember me?”
“Yeah. You’re the lady pig that busted me.”
“Yes. Is anyone hurt in there?”
“Yeah. I shot an old fart.”
“How bad is he?”
“Don’t know. He’s curled up on the floor like a little baby.”
“Timothy, the bank is surrounded. You can’t get away. We can wait out here forever but you can’t. So, why don’t you give yourself up?”
"Yeah. Give myself up and go to jail forever.”
Still using Commander Burk’s bullhorn, “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean, maybe not?”
“I mean that maybe you won’t be in jail forever.”
The kid didn’t answer for a long minute.
“If I come out, will you promise that they won’t shoot me?”
“Yes! But you have to throw down your gun in there then come out the door with your hands on top of your head.”
Another long minute expired then the heavy glass door opened and Tallon came out onto the sidewalk.
Tilly looking sharp!
“On your belly, now a SWAT member ordered.
Tallon did what he was told.
Tilly and Hamner ran inside to see how bad the victim had been hurt. After Tallon had fired shots, an ambulance had been called for. Paramedics were on Tilly’s heals.
“He’s hurt pretty bad,” a paramedic said. “He’s taken a bullet to his spine.”
Then turning his head away from the man so he couldn’t hear what was about to be said, “I’m afraid he’ll live the rest of his life in a wheelchair.”
Hamner asked the old man his name.
“Manors. Judge Manors,” he answered.
Tilly stood up with a stunned look on her face.
Hamner asked her, “What?”
“Nothing,” she answered.
Looking down at him, Tilly thought, “Judge Manors, the pious bastard who gave Tallon a second chance. Judge Manors the asshole who let her daughter’s rapist off the hook.” Now she was torn between feeling sorry for him or glad that he got his just deserts for being soft on criminals.
Scanning the lobby, Tilly spotted Tallon’s gun. It was a Saturday Night Special, a Jennings .38 revolver with a plastic water bottle slipped over the barrel to muffle the sound of gunshots.
As Judge Manors was being wheeled out, he looked at Tilly and smiled. Without smiling back she asked herself if he was indeed a man of God or did he simply have his head up his ass?
While walking back to the squad car, Tilly reflected on her new partner. Church Hamner, was a delight to be with. He said he liked to be called Church. He wasn’t a practical joker but was quick to smile and laugh when the occasion deserved one. He was efficient, ‘Johnny on the spot’ with the technicalities of police work and loved his family.
Hamner was married to a lovely lady he had met in a bar.
“I went looking for some nookie one night and met Helen. She was the singer for a three-piece ensemble. We immediately fell into lust. Six months later we realized that we needed to get married or die from exhaustion. Helen and I have been married in accordance with the Buddhist religion for nine years. We have a son Dale, a daughter Shirley and an all black mutt the kids named Spot.”
Answering Tilly’s question about his police background, “I first got into law enforcement as a prison guard. I worked there for three years. I had excrement and urine hurled at me, and was attacked by an inmate when I discovered a home made knife under his mattress. It was the best training I could have had because I was privy to the criminal mind. I learned something new every day. Except for the study of procedural law, the time I served there was far more beneficial than was the academy.”
Tilly reciprocated by telling him about herself. She omitted the recent problem with Warren and his red head because she hadn’t known Church long enough to bring out any family skeletons.
Although Church was not with the precinct at the time the drug pushers voluntarily took off their clothes and turned gay, he had heard rumors about it. When Tilly mentioned that drugs were now less of a problem in this precinct, he just said, “Uh-huh.”
She then knew that he knew. And because he was mute about it, she felt that if other situations arose, he would be equally stoic.
All the while that Church was telling her his life story, Tilly was headed over to Edwards Street. She stopped in front of 816 and radioed in ‘out of service’.
“What’s up?” Church asked.
“Come on. I want you to meet someone.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Mildred and Bruce.”
Tilly knocked on Mildred Webster’s door. After several more knocks the door finally opened.
“Yes?” Mrs. Webster asked.
“Mrs. Webster, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Officer Tillman. I helped you when that boy knocked you down and stole your things a while back?”
“Oh yes young lady. Come in. Is that policeman with you?”
“Yes. He’s my partner. His name is Officer Hamner. He likes to be called by his first name, Church.”
“Well for land sakes, both of you come in, come in. I haven’t had any company in quite a spell. It’s so nice of you to come and visit. How long can you stay? Lucy will be on in a few minutes. Do you want to watch her with me?”
“Oh no. We just wanted to see how you’re doing. And I wanted to see Bruce. Where is he?”
“He’s up there.” pointing to the top of the living room curtain.
“How’d he get up there:”
“Oh I forgot to close his cage door yesterday and he just flew up there.”
“Why doesn’t he come down?”
“Oh he won't do that.”
“Why not?”
“You see, he’s afraid of heights and he’s scared to death up there. He hasn’t budged an inch since yesterday.”
“Officer Hamner, do you think the city will allow us to retrieve a bird from the top of a curtain?"
Going along with the charade, Church answered, “Well now, if we can get cats out of trees, I don’t see why we can’t get a bird off a curtain.”
“Good,” Tilly answered. Then she carried on the farce.
With much gusto in her voice Tilly gave him an order.
“Officer Hamner, I order you to perform your civic duty and get that bird down for Mrs. Webster.”
“Yes ma’am. Right away ma’am.”
Church brought in a straight back chair from the kitchen, stood on its seat and held out a finger for Bruce to jump on to.
Very slowly then, so as not to scare the gray bird, Church walked him over to Mrs. Webster.
“There you are ma’am. He’s as good as new.”
Bruce nearly leaped from Church’s finger onto Mildred’s who was weeping with joy.
Tilly turned her head away because she too had tears in both eyes.
Mildred rubbed her beak against Bruce’s beak. He fluffed his feathers then gave her his best ever chirp-chirp. Mildred and Bruce were in love.
Now Church was the one who turned his head so he could clear the lump from his throat.
“Mrs. Webster, we have to go. We have to get out there and clean up our city.”
“Oh Dearie, I wish you had time to watch Lucy with me. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had company.”
“I wish we could but our commander wouldn’t understand if we took 30 minutes off from our duties.
“I suppose you’re right. You two go along, Bruce is safe now. We’ll be just fine.”
The original purpose of the visit was to tell Mildred that the boy who had robbed her was now in jail for bank robbery. Now, Tilly thought better of it. After all, the mugging was a hundred years ago and it was such a nice day, why bring up unpleasant memories?
Back in the squad car Church said, “You tell anyone I choked up and I’ll tell them you cried.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saving the Taxpayers’ Money
“Unit 12. Robbery and killing at the 7-11 on Blackthorn Drive. Black male armed with AK-47 escaped in blue and white Ford pickup. Last seen headed in your direction.”
Church keyed the mike. “Unit 12, 10-4.”
He then hit the lights and siren. Tilly maintained a steady speed while both looked fore and aft for the truck.
“Behind us!” Church hollered. “He’s going 500 miles an hour. Hit the gas to stay in front of him.”
Tilly knew the plan. Stay in front of the truck, weave back and forth to keep him from passing, slow down and wait for backup.
“Now,” Church said.
Tilly floored the gas pedal just in time to interrupt the trucks lightning speed. The driver slowed down, leaned out the window and fired off five rounds of 7.62 Russian ammo. One bullet sailed right through the cruiser’s rear window, whizzed between the two officers and shattered the windshield into a thousand spider webs.
“I can hardly see,” Tilly said.
“Slow down,” Church urged.
When their car slowed, the killer swerved his truck to avoid a rear end collision. The turn of his wheel was too quick causing it to spin out and roll over three times then crash into a utility pole.
Tilly and Church ran to the scene. The man was hanging upside from the seat belt. His left arm, hanging out of the partially opened door, was severed but he still held onto the assault rifle. Church kicked it away.
“Help,” the killer pleaded.
“What did he say?” Tilly asked Church.
“I’m not sure.
“Sir. What did you say?”
“Help me.”
“I think he asked if we had any doughnuts in the car.”
“Nooooo,” Tilly responded. “Do we?”
“I don’t think so.”
Tilly leaned in toward the bleeding man and asked, “Sir! Sir! Are you in any kind of pain?”
“Yes, please help me.”
“Church, do we have any Tylenol in the glove box?”
“Yes but it’s out of date.”
“Sir!” Tilly said, “Our Tylenol is out of date.”
Church leaned in and asked, “Sir, you seem to be bleeding a great deal. Would you like for us to apply a tourniquet?”
“Yes, help me please.”
Church asked Tilly, “Do we have a tourniquet in the first aid kit?”
“Yes but it’s out of date too,” she answered.
“Sir! Sir! Our tourniquet is also out of date. What else might we do for you?”
“The pain is killing me. Please help me!”
Church said, “I think he said the pain is killing him. Can pain do that?”
“Not that I know of,” Tilly answered.
“Sir! We’re not doctors but we don’t believe that pain can kill you. Maybe you should try biofeedback,” she suggested.
“Sir, why did you kill that Latino woman in the 7-11?” Church added.
“’Cause she wouldn’t give me the money.”
“Yeah. I can certainly understand why that would piss you off. ”
“Do you think we should call an ambulance?” Tilly asked.
“I’m not a trained doctor so I’m not qualified to make a medical diagnosis.” Church replied.
Tilly changed the subject, “I wonder what it would cost the taxpayers to pay for his hospital bill.”
“Lots I suppose.”
“What do you think it would cost the taxpayers to give him a trial?”
“Lots I suppose.”
“And what do you think it would cost the taxpayers to keep him in jail?”
“Lots I suppose.”
The driver’s moans and groans were getting weaker. Blood had pooled on the pavement and his eyelids were at half-mast.
“Please,” the bleeding man begged, “It’s your sworn duty to help. Isn’t it?”
“Yes sir,” Tilly said. “It’s our sworn duty to help the good citizens of this city by reducing crime and preventing habitual criminals from returning to the streets. And we have to do that without going over budget. It’s a daunting task, sir. You’d just die if you knew the lengths that we go to save the taxpayers’ money.”
“I think the poor fellow has passed away,” Church said.
"So much for biofeedback, huh? “
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should check his pulse.”
“I’m not going to touch him. You touch him.”
I’m not going to touch him," Tilly said concluding the banter.
At the same time, Tillman and Church realized that they had unknowingly slipped into the Mickey cereal commercial.
Doing her best to sound serious, Tilly keyed her shoulder mounted mike, “HQ, Unit 12,
11-44” (coroner required.)
After the coroner left and they were back in a fresh squad car Tilly asked, “You’re a Buddhist and you believe in reincarnation, right?”
“Right.”
“So, what will happen to him?”
“Karma. He’ll probably come back as a Latino woman working in a 7-11.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Young Nazis
Roll call was rather mundane, no great emergencies needed to be addressed. Commander Chuck Hardesty's guys and dolls were the best in the city and didn't really need pep talks yet he wanted to end on a positive note.
"The Gay Pride parade is tomorrow. Martin? Are you and your partner marching again this year?"
"I'll be alone. My partner is gone."
Without realizing that he was about to pry into Martin's private life, Hardesty asked, "What happened?"
"Same-o, same-o I guess. As the years went by things got dull in the bedroom. I wanted to go to couple's counseling but he refused. Yadda, yadda, yadda."
The room went deathly silent. Here was one of their own, lost in the moment, exposing his heart and his pain to his pears. Quietly they empathized with his anguish.
"I was mad as Hell and couldn't take it any more. Finally I threw his clothes out on the street."
Everyone nodded in agreement with what he did yet remained silent.
"To top it off," Martin continued, "he forgot our anniversary again this year."
Suddenly there was a buzz throughout the room. The women jumped to his defense, "Just like a man." "How could he?" "I don't blame him for kicking him out." "Martin gave him the best years of his life and just look at what it got him."
After things settled a bit, "All right now," Hardesty urged. "Let's all be in the front row at the parade tomorrow to show our support for our brother. He needs us this year more than ever."
Then he hollered, “Tilly!”
“Sir!” she answered.
“You’re on parade duty and don’t say oh shit!”
“Sir. Can I mumble oh shit?” sir.
Hardesty paid her no never mind.
Continuing, "The annual after parade party at my house will begin one hour after it ends. Martin, maybe you can do some networking during the parade and find someone you'd like to bring."
"Thanks Commander. I'll do my best."
"I know you will. Now who's bringing the karaoke machine?"
Bob, way in the back, raised his hand. Hardesty gave him a thumb's up.
"I'll be in drag as usual. My wife found a stunning outfit at Goodwill for $19.95. Who else is joining me?"
He counted five hands.
"Five? Five! You're a bunch of pussies."
One more hand went up.
"Good!" he said, “an even half dozen. We have enough for a decent drag queen contest this year.”
“Tillman! Since you’ll still be hyped up from the beeee-utiful parade, you can be the fairy judge too."
"Fuck! Again?”
Continuing with the party's itinerary Hardesty said, "By popular request, we will have the co-ed leap frog contests again this year."
The room erupted with "Yea’s!!!!!!!!!!"
"Hancock! NO goosey, goosey this year!"
"Thumbs up sir," she answered. The room broke up.
"Officer Joyce Linton? I believe you have a request."
"Yes sir, thank you sir. We ladies think there should be a male wet T-shirt contest for a change."
"Excellent idea! Draft anyone you need to carry out this mission."
"Sir, thank you sir."
"Now, this is important. While at the party my name is Cindy Lou." Anyone who doesn't call me Cindy Lou will spend next week working inside headquarters rearranging mug shots."
Hardesty's buffoonery caused him to lose control of the meeting thus converting everyone into instant third graders. Someone began chanting, "Cindy Lou, Cindy Lou, Cindy Lou." Then it became a chorus.
"All right, all right you ruffians go out there and rid this city of crime once and for all so I can retire. DISMISSED!"
They were still chanting, "Cindy Lou, Cindy Lou as, one by one, they stomped out in formal military cadence.
Tillman's unit 12 was back in action with new rear window and windshield installed. It was like driving an old friend again. The engine purred, responded immediately when the pedal was pushed to the metal, and cornered like a Lynx chasing prey.
Officer Church Hamner was proficient at his duties, prompt to respond to any situation and a partner on whom she could rely. His crusade for justice matched her's and met Merriam Webster's definition, "Crusade: a remedial enterprise undertaken with zeal and enthusiasm."
"All units" the radio blared, “Shooting at John F. Kennedy High School. All units respond."
Church reported "Unit 12, 10-4"; Tilly hit the lights and siren. Unit 12's tires squealed responding to the thrust of the 456 supercharged Ford engine.
Tilly and Church were first on the scene. Children and adults were pouring out of the doors screaming, crying, and waving their hands in the air as if to ward off evil spirits.
The sound of a gunshot rang out from the left side of the building. Two more from elsewhere followed.
"Two douche bags," Church hollered.
"Right," Tilly answered.
They rushed through the front door brushing aside the oncoming flood of humans, behaving like hordes of salmon swimming to their spawning grounds. Both cops leaped the stairs three at a time. On the second floor Church went left, Tilly right.
Another shot rang out. It sounded like a shotgun's blast.
"Fuck," Tilly said. "The bastard can turn a child into hamburger with that thing."
The hallway was empty except for an adult woman, probably a teacher, who lay on the floor with half of her head blown away.
Tilly stopped a few steps beyond the corpse, desperately needing to catch her breath, to steady her nerves and to listen for the location of the shooter.
There were scuffling sounds in the room two doors down on the left. Deliberately and proceeding as she was trained, Officer Tillman eased her body forward making certain that her heavy-soled shoes made no sounds on the tile floor.
Another shotgun blast broke the air.
Taking advantage of that momentary cascade of noise Tilly opened the door, saw the shooter and yelled, "Freeze."
The kid, who looked to be about 17, dressed in black with a swastika emblem on his arm,
swung his weapon in her direction. For an instant the officer of the law and the killer were frozen in time. It was a Mexican Standoff. Her brain was now operating at hyper speed; Tilly saw the shotgun's muzzle rise toward her. Without knowledge of doing so, her trigger finger sent three .40 caliber bullets into the boy. The first hit him dead center in the heart. The second went into the left shoulder; the third clipped his left ear.
The room echoed with the sounds left by her pistol. For a full ten seconds or so, no one talked, cried or moved.
Aware that Church was in the other end of the building, Tilly ran to help.
"Church!" she hollered.
"Yeah!"
His voice came from around the corner.
Upon her arrival at Church's side he asked, "Get him?"
"Yep."
"Mine is bottled up in that room over there. He has the door locked."
After the shooting at Columbine, schoolroom doors were equipped with locks to protect students from outside intruders. Now the lock was preventing police officers from getting inside to catch a killer.
"You shoot the lock open and we'll rush him together. Sound like a plan?" he asked.
Tilly nodded, and then said "Wait."
She rammed a new magazine containing 17 rounds into her pistol then fired at the lock.
The wood shattered, Church kicked open the door and they rushed in. One student lay dead in the corner. Another was wounded and bleeding from a chest wound. The remainder of the class was huddled together, faces frozen with fear. Blood was missing from their faces, their pallor chalk white and they were trembling. They were all in shock. The shooter stood dressed in black, wore a swastika armband and had a smirk on his face. He looked at the two cops and knew his that killing spree was at an end.
Holding his two semi-automatic handguns by his sides, the under aged assassin said,
"I had to do it."
Officer Phyllis Tillman, a veteran cop of 12 years said, "Me too."
Her well-aimed bullet found its mark squarely between the murder's eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Just Doing Her Job
Phyllis was not one to butt into other people's lives but seemed to be plagued with other people bumping into hers.
Her next door neighbors were a couple, not married and with a one-year-old, who were bad drunks. Phyllis never really thought of them as alcoholics but was acutely aware that they drank too much and weren't really meant for each other. The match might have been God's Will but He must have had an off day when he put the two of them together.
One summer, while visiting her mom and dad in Milwaukee for Daddy's birthday, the couple had a physical altercation resulting in the cops hauling the husband off to jail. Phyllis hadn't learned of it until a few months later when the wife, Amanda, came crying through the hedge separating the two properties. Phyllis was lounging in the hammock enjoying her O magazine and getting some sun.
"Phyllis," Amanda cried out, "I don't know what to do. Chris is drunk again and I'm afraid of him!"
"Why don't you call the cops?"
"I can't."
"Why not."
"We got in a quarrel last summer when you were gone so I ran to the neighbors behind us. They talked me into calling the police. They told me to file charges, which I did. Now our lives are all screwed up. I don't want to go through that again. It'll just make things worse."
"Sweetie, pull up a chair, sit down, and let things settle down a bit," Phyllis said softly.
Amanda did sit but she couldn't stop crying. A few minutes later her boyfriend Chris walked through the bushes and began telling his side of the story. Both stories were full of blame toward the other and all Phyllis could determine was that their lives were not much better than a can of tangled worms.
Amanda, before meeting Chris, had been hospitalized for drugs, drink, and on suicide watch. The couple was friendly, never raised a ruckus, and appeared to be Mr. and Ms. Average unwed couple sharing their lives and loving Charlie, their newborn son. This new situation shed a new light on things altering Phyllis' perception immediately. However, apologies were exchanged and together they disappeared back through the hedge.
A couple of days later Chris came over, while Amanda was at work, and repeated what Amanda had said earlier. But now he added what Amanda had left out.
As a result of that earlier police report he was court ordered to attend AA meetings and had a breathalyzer in the house. When it beeped, he had to breathe into it. It then sent the result electronically somewhere to be analyzed. He was also on one-year probation for domestic battery.
Chris said that he had phoned a lawyer regarding the court summons he and Amanda both had received. The attorney told him that if Amanda didn’t appear in court, the charges she had filed would be dropped. Two days later, the same attorney realizing that he'd lost a fee, called back and said he'd represent Chris in court for $1,400. Chris, now bewildered, agreed. Amanda appeared in court and now Chris is a convicted felon. Any further problems could cause him to go to jail. Phyllis had assured them that if, in the future, they got into a knock down, drag out to come to her house to cool down and she wouldn't call the police.
Several weeks later, at three in the morning, Warren woke Phyllis telling her that he heard seven shotgun blasts from out of doors. She knew that shotguns normally hold no more than five so the sounds Warren heard probably were not gunfire. Both she and Warren searched the rooms to make sure that no one had broken in. Both kids were still asleep and nothing was disturbed. Then there was violent banging at the back door.
Outside, with tears streaming down her cheeks stood Amanda. Phyllis immediately let her in and sat her in Warren's big easy chair. She then whispered to him to go back to bed, "This is girl stuff."
Amanda had a bulging black right eye. Phyllis found out later that Chris had a split lip and a chipped tooth. The two had been drinking again, more to the point, still!
The woman's sobbing was such that her words were intelligible. "Amanda, Honey, I can't understand you. Just sit there a few minutes, get your breath and then tell me what's going on. OK Sweetie?"
Amanda understood and nodded so.
Finally she was able to say that they had been fighting again and she was afraid to go back home. While telling her story, the phone rang. It was Chris calling from their house across the driveway.
"Is Amanda there?"
"Yes."
"Can I talk to her?"
"Honey, its Chris. He wants to talk to you."
Amanda waved her arms and shook her head, "No."
'She doesn't want to talk to you."
"Is she OK?"
"Yes."
Chris hung up. Amanda continued to cry and wiggle her body in the chair obviously in great emotional distress. Five minutes later Chris called again.
"Has she called the police?"
"No."
"Can I talk to her now?"
Amanda took the phone. They talked for a couple of minutes then she handed the phone back to Phyllis.
Chris told her that Amanda's dad, Ray, was on the way. She took that to mean that he would take Amanda home with him. From her kitchen window, Phyllis was able to see when he arrived. She walked Amanda back home through the bushes that separated the two driveways. Amanda nearly collapsed into her dad's waiting arms.
The next day, Phyllis asked Chris when Amanda might be coming home.
"Oh, she never left. She's in the house."
"I thought he was taking her home."
"On no," Chris answered. "Ray lives in only one room of his house. The rest of the house and furniture are covered with mud and dog feces. He never cleans the house. In the winter he heats only the one room where he sleeps and watches TV. The rest of his waking hours are spent at a bar."
Several weeks later Chris phoned Phyllis and said that Amanda was drunk again. He had phoned Ray to come and pick her up because he couldn't handle her. Not only was Ray on the way to rescue his daughter but also to clean Chris' clock for mistreating Amanda. Chris knew that Phyllis was a cop and asked if she'd come over to prevent the altercation. She agreed.
Half an hour went by and, Ray hadn't come. Phyllis phoned Chris and asked if Ray was coming and Chris said, "No."
Now wide-awake, Phyllis sat down and turned on the TV.
Suddenly Chris banged on the back door. He said he needed her help because Amanda had threatened to kill herself with a butcher knife. He had taken it away from her then she had frantically thrown everything off the back porch including a heavy BBQ grill. After that she locked herself in the house leaving Chris outside without a key.
Phyllis grabbed her flashlight and followed him back to his house and saw the pile of debris lying on the ground. Suddenly, the back door opened and Amanda waltzed onto the porch wearing nothing but a bra, which she immediately took off and threw onto the ground.
"There," she exclaimed, "that's the way Chris likes to see me."
Phyllis tried to make her way through the mess to grab her but she was too fast. She bolted behind the door, slammed it and locked herself in again.
By now Ray and her brother John, had arrived. Ray began pushing Chris and calling him names and told him that he was, "History."
Phyllis, standing out of sight on the front porch, shined her flashlight on the arguing pair and said, "I heard that. If you touch him, I'll phone the police."
Phyllis was in her robe and slippers and had no handcuffs and was not equipped to take on the man dressed as she was.
Ray backed off allowing Chris to walk onto the porch. Ray was right on his heels and the two glared and growled obscenities at each other. Chris took out a credit card hoping to open the door while glaring backward at Ray. Phyllis grabbed Chris' head firmly and twisted it back toward the door to focus his effort on getting into the house.
It didn't work. In frustration, Chris thrust his shoulder into the door breaking through on the third effort. Everyone rushed in.
Amanda had retreated to the bedroom. Chris was first in, then Ray. Amanda lay naked in the bed but covered with a blanket. Ray was embarrassed and left the room. Then her brother John went in.
"Get him out of here!" she shouted. "He molested me and I don't ever want to see him again. I hate him! I hate him!"
Amanda tried to break a wall mirror with her fist succeeding only to scratch up her hand. The men all left the room retreating to the kitchen.
Phyllis suggested they call the fire department so paramedics could care for Amanda. They didn't want to call the police because of the existing trouble plaguing the household.
The men ruled out the fire department.
Phyllis asked for a phone book and looked up the number of the hospital just down the street. She told the situation to the woman who answered the emergency room phone if they could keep Amanda over night for observation. She replied that they should call an ambulance and have her brought in. Only the attending doctor would determine if Amanda should be kept. None of the family members wanted to call an ambulance and there was no way they could get a screaming, kicking, squalling woman into a car.
Chris, not wanting Amanda to be hospitalized said, "She has to be at work by eleven tomorrow or loose her job."
Phyllis angrily replied, "What is more important, Amanda or her job?"
Then her father Ray said in a disgusted tone, "All I wanted was to have a few beers at the bar tonight with my friends. Now this had to happen!"
The three men went outside. Phyllis stayed in the living room hoping to find a way to calm Amanda. Finally she came out having dressed herself. She wrapped her arms tightly around Phyllis and tried to talk through waves of tears. The two women stood there in each other's embrace finding comfort in mutual loving care.
"I hate my life. I want to be with my mother." Amanda's mother was dead.
Phyllis noticed that the men had finally come back into the kitchen so the pair joined them. Suddenly Amanda grabbed a butcher knife from the counter and held it up like a trophy. Chris rushed forward and took it away from her causing her to go ballistic and throwing everything she could grab. From behind and at the first opportunity, Phyllis wrapped her arms around the frantic woman, clasping her hands tightly locking her arms into a wrestling hold.
Amanda screamed to be freed. When she bent forward to break away, Phyllis forced her to the floor. She had fallen into a sitting position and screamed that her legs were being crushed. Phyllis backed up a bit allowing Amanda to stretch her legs straight back. She continued screaming that her legs were being crushed. Phyllis knew this was a ploy to get away because her own legs were flat on the floor between hers.
Amanda was squirming like a freshly caught shark sliding around on a wet boat deck. Holding her still was impossible. She scratched and clawed at Phyllis hands hoping to break free. She twisted her head to bite Phyllis' arm but her teeth caught only the cuff of Phyllis' robe.
All the while, Ray was on the cell phone with three different 911 operators. Chris and John were outside doing God knows what while Phyllis was wearing out.
Grabbing a great glob of Amanda's hair to hold her head still, Phyllis hollered, "I need some help here!"
Ray knelt down and pushed his daughter's head firmly against the floor.
Finally two lady cops rushed in. One stood aside, the other knelt down and cuffed Amanda's left wrist. Her right arm was at the wrong angle to cuff, and it took both the cop and Phyllis together to bend it backward for the second handcuff.
"You can get up now," the cop told Phyllis.
As she stood she noticed that blood was flowing from several wounds on the back of both hands. She had felt the scratching during the struggle on the floor but didn't know the extent of the damage. A paramedic in the doorway asked if she wanted him to tend to her. She said she lived next door and had some peroxide to put on them.
The cop asked if Phyllis wanted to press charges against Amanda for assault. She shook her head, no.
Phyllis now exhausted asked, "Do you need me any more?"
The cop said, "No." Then looking at her straight on added, “Good job."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Time for Tears
Life in the Tillman home was not limited to the neighbor's trials and tribulations. Weekends were like those of most married folks'. Warren’s to-do list included cleaning out the garage, washing his truck, Phyllis’ car, and then mowing the yard. The kids were absent because Mom had shooed them out of her way. Her to-do list was to vacuum, dust, and then Pledge the furniture room by room. While she was half way done in the dining room the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi Sis.” It was Phyllis’ sister Eileen in Milwaukee.
“Are you sitting down?” Eileen asked.
“No but go ahead. Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” followed by long sobbing.
“Eileen. Is it Mom?” Their mother has been falling lately and Phyllis thought that this was another such call.
“Yes and…..” more sobbing.
“What Eileen?”
“Dad.”
“What about Dad?”
“They’re gone.”
“Where did they go?"
“No Sis, they’re both dead.”
The aerosol can of Pledge slipped from Phyllis’ hand and banged onto the hardwood floor spraying wax all over her leg.
“How did it happen?”
Eileen tried to get enough air in her lungs to form words.
Then finally, “Sis, they committed suicide!”
“Oh Dear God in Sweet Heaven. NO!”
“Yes dear. The police phoned me an hour ago. The neighbors called them because Mom and Dad hadn’t left the house for several days. They even missed bingo at the church.”
“Oh Dear God in Sweet Heaven,” Phyllis repeated.
Then she asked, “How’d it happen? I mean how’d they do it?”
“Sweetheart, they closed the garage door, started the car and asphyxiated themselves.”
“When?”
“The police are guessing four days ago but aren’t sure.”
“No signs of foul play?” Phyllis, now the cop, asked.
“No. None.”
“We’ll be up tomorrow.”
“OK we’d love to have you. I need you here.”
“I’ll phone you back as soon as I get our flight arranged. OK?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Oh, Eileen, can you book us over at the Holiday Inn?”
“Why don’t you stay with us?”
“Your place can’t handle all of us for four or five days maybe even more.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call the motel.”
“Thanks. I call you back as soon I get all of our ducks in a row.”
Phyllis hung up the phone and sat down leaning her back against the wall. Her legs wouldn’t carry her to the door to holler at Warren. She needed a couple of minutes. Then the rain clouds in her brain flooded their torrent through her eyes, her stomach wrenched bending her over until her head fell far below her knees. Uncontrollably she screamed the scream of screams.
Warren heard the horrific noise and burst through the door. He had never seen his wife, in all their years together, in such pain. He misread her anguish thinking it was physical pain and asked if he should call 911.
All she could do was shake her head and wave frantically, “No.”
“What?” he asked.
Phyllis let out another scream that could be heard by the neighbors through the open front door.
“Mom……”
“Mom what?”
“Mom and Daddy.”
“Mom and Daddy, what?”
“They’re dead.”
“What?”
All Phyllis could do was violently shake her head up and down as a “Yes,” they were.
“Car wreck or what?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Oh Warren. They killed themselves.”
“Suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Eileen just called. The police called her an hour ago. They found their bodies in their car in the garage.”
“Oh my God.”
“Why did they do it?”
“I told you I don’t know why. Eileen doesn’t know either.”
“When do you want to go up?”
“Tomorrow. Eileen is going to book us at the Holiday Inn.”
“I’ll call Delta and get us a flight. You know we get a discount if we’re going to a funeral.”
“God damn it Warren!” she shouted.
“Sorry.”
“Use your Visa. Mine is max’d out,” she ordered.
Warren noted out loud that the kids would take it pretty hard too.
“Yeah, “she agreed.
“Honey, go sit down. I’ll fix you a drink.”
“Make it a double.”
“Yes, dear.”
Delivering the seven and seven he asked, “When will Tad and Jennifer be home?”
Looking at her watch she said, “In about forty-five minutes. They’ll be home for supper.”
“I’ll phone Domino’s,” Warren said.
Phyllis nodded “OK, and then added, “Wait a few minutes to call so it’ll be hot when they get here.”
“Right.”
Warren knelt down in front of his wife and asked, “Want me to stay here or leave you alone?”
“Stay.”
Then her convulsions erupted again. She dropped the glass spilling the seven and seven all over the carpet.
“Sorry,” she said looking at him through tear-laden eyes.
“No big deal,” he soothed.
After giving her two pats on the shoulder, he disappeared into the kitchen to make her another drink.
When he returned holding out the fresh glass, she brushed it off and said, “Hold me.”
*******
No one touched the pizza.
Jennifer had her head in Mom’s lap sobbing profusely. Grandma had taught her how to sew on buttons. Grandma bought her lipstick that her mom didn’t want her to have, and Grandma helped her learn the words to Jingle Bells.
Tad was stomping from room to room punching right and left fists into mythical punching bags venting his hurt. Grandpa had showed him how to make fart sounds in his armpits, how to put a worm on a hook, and how to whistle through two fingers.
*******
Delta landed in Milwaukee right on time. Eileen’s husband Tom met them just outside the security zone.
“Which carrousel?” he asked.
“Two,” Warren answered.
“Good flight?” Tom asked not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah,” Warren answered.
Phyllis and the kids knew better than to engage in any conversation because they still had hurt bottled up inside. To pull the cork from the bottle now would cause a flood of anguish filled words to echo off the airport’s porcelain tile walls.
Eileen was standing at the living room window watching for Tom’s car. When it pulled into the driveway she ran to Phyllis. Neither could speak. Their arms were so tight around one another that neither could hardly breathe. Their tears soaked each other’s clothes while Tad and Jennifer pressed hard against their dad’s side. They thought they had cried out all of their tears at home but they were wrong. Tom stood dutifully silent.
Once inside the house, the suitcases resting by the front door and everyone gathered around the kitchen table, Eileen detailed the arrangements she had made with the funeral home. She asked older sister Phyllis if she wanted to make any changes.
“Everything sounds beautiful, Eileen. You did a great job!”
“Thanks Sis. We just never know from one day to the next what our job will be, do we?”
“No.”
The funeral was beautiful. The weather had cooperated even though the buxom weather girl had predicted rain. She had the only job in the world where one can be wrong most of the time and not get fired.
Aunts, uncles, nephews, cousins not seen in years showed up for the funeral. Mom and Dad had never burned bridges and never cut anyone from their Christmas card list just because they didn't get one back.
After the funeral at Eileen and Tom's house, every room was crowded with relatives and friends exchanging stories about the past and the present. Mom’s Ladies Club had brought and served food galore, and made sure that everyone was free to love and mourn in his or her private way. No one went unattended and cleanup was done in Olympic record time. When they left, the house was spotless.
Phyllis, Warren, Jennifer and Tad stayed one more day. Most of the talk was about times gone by but the lingering question on everybody’s mind was why? Why had Mom and Dad killed themselves?
Delta returned the Tillman’s home Thursday and had credited their Visa account to reflect the funeral rate.
They had been in the house for at least twenty minutes when Tad hollered, “Mom. The answering machine is blinking.”
Phyllis hit the Play button.
“Sis. A policeman just brought two envelopes by the house. They couldn’t give them to us until they had completed their investigation. Each had been opened then resealed with police stickers over the flaps. One had my name on it and one had yours. The letter is in Dad's handwriting. I’ve already read mine. I suspect yours is the same. Don’t call me to ask what it said. It's important that you read it yourself. I’ll over night it to you. It’s too precious to email as an attachment. Thanks for your warmth, kindness and your strength. Warren was wonderful too. It’s obvious that you two are meant for one another. Call me when things settle down. Love you. Bye, bye.”
The special delivery guy knocked on the door at 10:13. Phyllis had been chomping at the bit with anxiety. She called Warren and the kids into the living room for the reading.
To our loving children and grandchildren
You are undoubtedly surprised, maybe even dismayed, that Mother and I have decided to leave you in this manner. We began discussing our future six months ago when her pain became so bad that even the pills Doctor Morris gave her didn't work.
In our culture, suicide is frowned on but in others it is readily accepted. That begs the question as to who is right.
We want you all to know that we are so very pleased with what you have done with your lives. It was our job to teach you right from wrong, give you a moral compass and insist that you learn early in life that you are responsible for your own actions. You have never disappointed us.
As you know from the stories that I told you, perhaps too many times, Mother and I have been in love since elementary school. There was never another woman in my heart and she tells me that I am her only true love. I don't know what she ever saw in me but I am grateful that I was the apple of her eye. She is sitting beside me now.
Ten years after we were married, I was able to buy my bride a more expensive wedding ring. When I gave it to her she cried of course. Then she put it back in the box and said, "Take it back. The one you gave me ten years ago is just fine." It had cost $90.
There were times when the sledding was rough and money was in short supply. Mother darned my socks and I had my shoes half-soled. She never asked for new dresses until her old ones were threadbare. She never complained, even once.
There were many times when we disagreed. We quickly learned that only the people in the dispute can work out their differences. That's why we refused to interfere when you had difficulties in your marriages.
We never told you this but when were married for about six months, we had a very bad argument. We hollered at each other but never called the other bad names. I thought that my manhood had been questioned so I left. Ten minutes later I was back. I just couldn't live without the woman who made my life worth living. The thought of her leaving me now for longer than ten minutes is more than my fragile heart can stand. We will walk the new road together.
Mother and I know that we mortals are mere extensions of a higher Spirit whether it is called God, Mohammed, Buddha, or The Holy One. Historians and archeologists tell us that today's religions are the compilation of Mesopotamian Sumerian beliefs simply re-packaged and re-branded under new names. If so, the continuation of those ancient beliefs is further proof that the Spirit lives and has been omnipotent since the beginning of time.
Mother and I embrace that precept and know that our passing is a natural progression back to the Original Spirit. It is wit that philosophy that we hope that you will at least condone our joint decision to leave at this time.
We witnessed history at its best and its worst. We saw newsreels of the gas chambers in the concentration camps, we read newspaper accounts of murders, rapes and child molestations. We marveled at Lindbergh's flight over the Atlantic, Dr. Jonas Salk's polio vaccine and Neil Armstrong's one small step for mankind.
You too will witness history unfold in your time. Your children make you smile, as you did with us, when they tell you that their history studies include events that took place during your lifetime.
Savor the joys and the heartaches your children bring you. Embrace those events, nurture them, lie in bed at night and etch them into your heart and into your soul for each one is the alchemy that creates another golden cobblestone that paves the streets in Heaven.
Our love always,
Mother and Dad
Phyllis laid the letter in her lap. No one spoke because nothing they could say could equal what was said in the letter.
A couple days later Phyllis needed to get out of the house and be alone with her thoughts. Before leaving she made a fresh pot of coffee for Warren, left ten dollars so Jennifer could go to the movies, and put a roll of toilet paper under Tad’s bed next to his girlie magazines.
“Warren, watch the kids. I’m going out to get some fresh veggies.”
Some time back her neighbor had clued her in to some farmers out of town who sold fresh produce right from their field. You had to pick it yourself but that was part of the fun and the charm.
Approaching a large arched-sided steel bridge she saw a man standing on the railing.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she thought. “Can’t at least one fuckin’ day go by without me playing superwoman?”
She stopped the car near the jumper. When he turned his head, she could see that he was just a teenager.
“Hey you! Buster Brown!”
The kid turned around, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”
“My girlfriend dumped me. I just want to die.”
“Are you sure?”
Not waiting for an answer she put the car into drive and sped on down the road.
About 45 minutes later she returned with two grocery sacks filled with veggies all speckled with Mother Nature’s topsoil. Approaching the bridge she noticed that the youth was missing. She stopped the car, got out, looked way down to the river below, scanned the bank on both sides and saw…no body.
“Humm,” she thought.
Two miles on down the gravel road she spotted the young man headed in the same direction. Creeping along side she lowered the window and asked, “Everything OK now?”
Without breaking stride he said, “Yeah, thanks to you.”
Smiling she replied, “Just doing my job.”
For he who does good in his heart nay seeking reward, the reward is great.
For he who stands against convention is of worthy conviction.
For he who seeks justice for the sake of justice is of true soul.
Anonymous
END
3-5-10
(Author's note: The attempted suicide described in chapter 14 is true and happened to me. I am protrayed as Officer Tillman in order to maintain the continuity of this, otherwide, fictional story.) COMMENTS to: [email protected] Subject: Weebly
Tallon did what he was told.
Tilly and Hamner ran inside to see how bad the victim had been hurt. After Tallon had fired shots, an ambulance had been called for. Paramedics were on Tilly’s heals.
“He’s hurt pretty bad,” a paramedic said. “He’s taken a bullet to his spine.”
Then turning his head away from the man so he couldn’t hear what was about to be said, “I’m afraid he’ll live the rest of his life in a wheelchair.”
Hamner asked the old man his name.
“Manors. Judge Manors,” he answered.
Tilly stood up with a stunned look on her face.
Hamner asked her, “What?”
“Nothing,” she answered.
Looking down at him, Tilly thought, “Judge Manors, the pious bastard who gave Tallon a second chance. Judge Manors the asshole who let her daughter’s rapist off the hook.” Now she was torn between feeling sorry for him or glad that he got his just deserts for being soft on criminals.
Scanning the lobby, Tilly spotted Tallon’s gun. It was a Saturday Night Special, a Jennings .38 revolver with a plastic water bottle slipped over the barrel to muffle the sound of gunshots.
As Judge Manors was being wheeled out, he looked at Tilly and smiled. Without smiling back she asked herself if he was indeed a man of God or did he simply have his head up his ass?
While walking back to the squad car, Tilly reflected on her new partner. Church Hamner, was a delight to be with. He said he liked to be called Church. He wasn’t a practical joker but was quick to smile and laugh when the occasion deserved one. He was efficient, ‘Johnny on the spot’ with the technicalities of police work and loved his family.
Hamner was married to a lovely lady he had met in a bar.
“I went looking for some nookie one night and met Helen. She was the singer for a three-piece ensemble. We immediately fell into lust. Six months later we realized that we needed to get married or die from exhaustion. Helen and I have been married in accordance with the Buddhist religion for nine years. We have a son Dale, a daughter Shirley and an all black mutt the kids named Spot.”
Answering Tilly’s question about his police background, “I first got into law enforcement as a prison guard. I worked there for three years. I had excrement and urine hurled at me, and was attacked by an inmate when I discovered a home made knife under his mattress. It was the best training I could have had because I was privy to the criminal mind. I learned something new every day. Except for the study of procedural law, the time I served there was far more beneficial than was the academy.”
Tilly reciprocated by telling him about herself. She omitted the recent problem with Warren and his red head because she hadn’t known Church long enough to bring out any family skeletons.
Although Church was not with the precinct at the time the drug pushers voluntarily took off their clothes and turned gay, he had heard rumors about it. When Tilly mentioned that drugs were now less of a problem in this precinct, he just said, “Uh-huh.”
She then knew that he knew. And because he was mute about it, she felt that if other situations arose, he would be equally stoic.
All the while that Church was telling her his life story, Tilly was headed over to Edwards Street. She stopped in front of 816 and radioed in ‘out of service’.
“What’s up?” Church asked.
“Come on. I want you to meet someone.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Mildred and Bruce.”
Tilly knocked on Mildred Webster’s door. After several more knocks the door finally opened.
“Yes?” Mrs. Webster asked.
“Mrs. Webster, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Officer Tillman. I helped you when that boy knocked you down and stole your things a while back?”
“Oh yes young lady. Come in. Is that policeman with you?”
“Yes. He’s my partner. His name is Officer Hamner. He likes to be called by his first name, Church.”
“Well for land sakes, both of you come in, come in. I haven’t had any company in quite a spell. It’s so nice of you to come and visit. How long can you stay? Lucy will be on in a few minutes. Do you want to watch her with me?”
“Oh no. We just wanted to see how you’re doing. And I wanted to see Bruce. Where is he?”
“He’s up there.” pointing to the top of the living room curtain.
“How’d he get up there:”
“Oh I forgot to close his cage door yesterday and he just flew up there.”
“Why doesn’t he come down?”
“Oh he won't do that.”
“Why not?”
“You see, he’s afraid of heights and he’s scared to death up there. He hasn’t budged an inch since yesterday.”
“Officer Hamner, do you think the city will allow us to retrieve a bird from the top of a curtain?"
Going along with the charade, Church answered, “Well now, if we can get cats out of trees, I don’t see why we can’t get a bird off a curtain.”
“Good,” Tilly answered. Then she carried on the farce.
With much gusto in her voice Tilly gave him an order.
“Officer Hamner, I order you to perform your civic duty and get that bird down for Mrs. Webster.”
“Yes ma’am. Right away ma’am.”
Church brought in a straight back chair from the kitchen, stood on its seat and held out a finger for Bruce to jump on to.
Very slowly then, so as not to scare the gray bird, Church walked him over to Mrs. Webster.
“There you are ma’am. He’s as good as new.”
Bruce nearly leaped from Church’s finger onto Mildred’s who was weeping with joy.
Tilly turned her head away because she too had tears in both eyes.
Mildred rubbed her beak against Bruce’s beak. He fluffed his feathers then gave her his best ever chirp-chirp. Mildred and Bruce were in love.
Now Church was the one who turned his head so he could clear the lump from his throat.
“Mrs. Webster, we have to go. We have to get out there and clean up our city.”
“Oh Dearie, I wish you had time to watch Lucy with me. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had company.”
“I wish we could but our commander wouldn’t understand if we took 30 minutes off from our duties.
“I suppose you’re right. You two go along, Bruce is safe now. We’ll be just fine.”
The original purpose of the visit was to tell Mildred that the boy who had robbed her was now in jail for bank robbery. Now, Tilly thought better of it. After all, the mugging was a hundred years ago and it was such a nice day, why bring up unpleasant memories?
Back in the squad car Church said, “You tell anyone I choked up and I’ll tell them you cried.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saving the Taxpayers’ Money
“Unit 12. Robbery and killing at the 7-11 on Blackthorn Drive. Black male armed with AK-47 escaped in blue and white Ford pickup. Last seen headed in your direction.”
Church keyed the mike. “Unit 12, 10-4.”
He then hit the lights and siren. Tilly maintained a steady speed while both looked fore and aft for the truck.
“Behind us!” Church hollered. “He’s going 500 miles an hour. Hit the gas to stay in front of him.”
Tilly knew the plan. Stay in front of the truck, weave back and forth to keep him from passing, slow down and wait for backup.
“Now,” Church said.
Tilly floored the gas pedal just in time to interrupt the trucks lightning speed. The driver slowed down, leaned out the window and fired off five rounds of 7.62 Russian ammo. One bullet sailed right through the cruiser’s rear window, whizzed between the two officers and shattered the windshield into a thousand spider webs.
“I can hardly see,” Tilly said.
“Slow down,” Church urged.
When their car slowed, the killer swerved his truck to avoid a rear end collision. The turn of his wheel was too quick causing it to spin out and roll over three times then crash into a utility pole.
Tilly and Church ran to the scene. The man was hanging upside from the seat belt. His left arm, hanging out of the partially opened door, was severed but he still held onto the assault rifle. Church kicked it away.
“Help,” the killer pleaded.
“What did he say?” Tilly asked Church.
“I’m not sure.
“Sir. What did you say?”
“Help me.”
“I think he asked if we had any doughnuts in the car.”
“Nooooo,” Tilly responded. “Do we?”
“I don’t think so.”
Tilly leaned in toward the bleeding man and asked, “Sir! Sir! Are you in any kind of pain?”
“Yes, please help me.”
“Church, do we have any Tylenol in the glove box?”
“Yes but it’s out of date.”
“Sir!” Tilly said, “Our Tylenol is out of date.”
Church leaned in and asked, “Sir, you seem to be bleeding a great deal. Would you like for us to apply a tourniquet?”
“Yes, help me please.”
Church asked Tilly, “Do we have a tourniquet in the first aid kit?”
“Yes but it’s out of date too,” she answered.
“Sir! Sir! Our tourniquet is also out of date. What else might we do for you?”
“The pain is killing me. Please help me!”
Church said, “I think he said the pain is killing him. Can pain do that?”
“Not that I know of,” Tilly answered.
“Sir! We’re not doctors but we don’t believe that pain can kill you. Maybe you should try biofeedback,” she suggested.
“Sir, why did you kill that Latino woman in the 7-11?” Church added.
“’Cause she wouldn’t give me the money.”
“Yeah. I can certainly understand why that would piss you off. ”
“Do you think we should call an ambulance?” Tilly asked.
“I’m not a trained doctor so I’m not qualified to make a medical diagnosis.” Church replied.
Tilly changed the subject, “I wonder what it would cost the taxpayers to pay for his hospital bill.”
“Lots I suppose.”
“What do you think it would cost the taxpayers to give him a trial?”
“Lots I suppose.”
“And what do you think it would cost the taxpayers to keep him in jail?”
“Lots I suppose.”
The driver’s moans and groans were getting weaker. Blood had pooled on the pavement and his eyelids were at half-mast.
“Please,” the bleeding man begged, “It’s your sworn duty to help. Isn’t it?”
“Yes sir,” Tilly said. “It’s our sworn duty to help the good citizens of this city by reducing crime and preventing habitual criminals from returning to the streets. And we have to do that without going over budget. It’s a daunting task, sir. You’d just die if you knew the lengths that we go to save the taxpayers’ money.”
“I think the poor fellow has passed away,” Church said.
"So much for biofeedback, huh? “
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should check his pulse.”
“I’m not going to touch him. You touch him.”
I’m not going to touch him," Tilly said concluding the banter.
At the same time, Tillman and Church realized that they had unknowingly slipped into the Mickey cereal commercial.
Doing her best to sound serious, Tilly keyed her shoulder mounted mike, “HQ, Unit 12,
11-44” (coroner required.)
After the coroner left and they were back in a fresh squad car Tilly asked, “You’re a Buddhist and you believe in reincarnation, right?”
“Right.”
“So, what will happen to him?”
“Karma. He’ll probably come back as a Latino woman working in a 7-11.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Young Nazis
Roll call was rather mundane, no great emergencies needed to be addressed. Commander Chuck Hardesty's guys and dolls were the best in the city and didn't really need pep talks yet he wanted to end on a positive note.
"The Gay Pride parade is tomorrow. Martin? Are you and your partner marching again this year?"
"I'll be alone. My partner is gone."
Without realizing that he was about to pry into Martin's private life, Hardesty asked, "What happened?"
"Same-o, same-o I guess. As the years went by things got dull in the bedroom. I wanted to go to couple's counseling but he refused. Yadda, yadda, yadda."
The room went deathly silent. Here was one of their own, lost in the moment, exposing his heart and his pain to his pears. Quietly they empathized with his anguish.
"I was mad as Hell and couldn't take it any more. Finally I threw his clothes out on the street."
Everyone nodded in agreement with what he did yet remained silent.
"To top it off," Martin continued, "he forgot our anniversary again this year."
Suddenly there was a buzz throughout the room. The women jumped to his defense, "Just like a man." "How could he?" "I don't blame him for kicking him out." "Martin gave him the best years of his life and just look at what it got him."
After things settled a bit, "All right now," Hardesty urged. "Let's all be in the front row at the parade tomorrow to show our support for our brother. He needs us this year more than ever."
Then he hollered, “Tilly!”
“Sir!” she answered.
“You’re on parade duty and don’t say oh shit!”
“Sir. Can I mumble oh shit?” sir.
Hardesty paid her no never mind.
Continuing, "The annual after parade party at my house will begin one hour after it ends. Martin, maybe you can do some networking during the parade and find someone you'd like to bring."
"Thanks Commander. I'll do my best."
"I know you will. Now who's bringing the karaoke machine?"
Bob, way in the back, raised his hand. Hardesty gave him a thumb's up.
"I'll be in drag as usual. My wife found a stunning outfit at Goodwill for $19.95. Who else is joining me?"
He counted five hands.
"Five? Five! You're a bunch of pussies."
One more hand went up.
"Good!" he said, “an even half dozen. We have enough for a decent drag queen contest this year.”
“Tillman! Since you’ll still be hyped up from the beeee-utiful parade, you can be the fairy judge too."
"Fuck! Again?”
Continuing with the party's itinerary Hardesty said, "By popular request, we will have the co-ed leap frog contests again this year."
The room erupted with "Yea’s!!!!!!!!!!"
"Hancock! NO goosey, goosey this year!"
"Thumbs up sir," she answered. The room broke up.
"Officer Joyce Linton? I believe you have a request."
"Yes sir, thank you sir. We ladies think there should be a male wet T-shirt contest for a change."
"Excellent idea! Draft anyone you need to carry out this mission."
"Sir, thank you sir."
"Now, this is important. While at the party my name is Cindy Lou." Anyone who doesn't call me Cindy Lou will spend next week working inside headquarters rearranging mug shots."
Hardesty's buffoonery caused him to lose control of the meeting thus converting everyone into instant third graders. Someone began chanting, "Cindy Lou, Cindy Lou, Cindy Lou." Then it became a chorus.
"All right, all right you ruffians go out there and rid this city of crime once and for all so I can retire. DISMISSED!"
They were still chanting, "Cindy Lou, Cindy Lou as, one by one, they stomped out in formal military cadence.
Tillman's unit 12 was back in action with new rear window and windshield installed. It was like driving an old friend again. The engine purred, responded immediately when the pedal was pushed to the metal, and cornered like a Lynx chasing prey.
Officer Church Hamner was proficient at his duties, prompt to respond to any situation and a partner on whom she could rely. His crusade for justice matched her's and met Merriam Webster's definition, "Crusade: a remedial enterprise undertaken with zeal and enthusiasm."
"All units" the radio blared, “Shooting at John F. Kennedy High School. All units respond."
Church reported "Unit 12, 10-4"; Tilly hit the lights and siren. Unit 12's tires squealed responding to the thrust of the 456 supercharged Ford engine.
Tilly and Church were first on the scene. Children and adults were pouring out of the doors screaming, crying, and waving their hands in the air as if to ward off evil spirits.
The sound of a gunshot rang out from the left side of the building. Two more from elsewhere followed.
"Two douche bags," Church hollered.
"Right," Tilly answered.
They rushed through the front door brushing aside the oncoming flood of humans, behaving like hordes of salmon swimming to their spawning grounds. Both cops leaped the stairs three at a time. On the second floor Church went left, Tilly right.
Another shot rang out. It sounded like a shotgun's blast.
"Fuck," Tilly said. "The bastard can turn a child into hamburger with that thing."
The hallway was empty except for an adult woman, probably a teacher, who lay on the floor with half of her head blown away.
Tilly stopped a few steps beyond the corpse, desperately needing to catch her breath, to steady her nerves and to listen for the location of the shooter.
There were scuffling sounds in the room two doors down on the left. Deliberately and proceeding as she was trained, Officer Tillman eased her body forward making certain that her heavy-soled shoes made no sounds on the tile floor.
Another shotgun blast broke the air.
Taking advantage of that momentary cascade of noise Tilly opened the door, saw the shooter and yelled, "Freeze."
The kid, who looked to be about 17, dressed in black with a swastika emblem on his arm,
swung his weapon in her direction. For an instant the officer of the law and the killer were frozen in time. It was a Mexican Standoff. Her brain was now operating at hyper speed; Tilly saw the shotgun's muzzle rise toward her. Without knowledge of doing so, her trigger finger sent three .40 caliber bullets into the boy. The first hit him dead center in the heart. The second went into the left shoulder; the third clipped his left ear.
The room echoed with the sounds left by her pistol. For a full ten seconds or so, no one talked, cried or moved.
Aware that Church was in the other end of the building, Tilly ran to help.
"Church!" she hollered.
"Yeah!"
His voice came from around the corner.
Upon her arrival at Church's side he asked, "Get him?"
"Yep."
"Mine is bottled up in that room over there. He has the door locked."
After the shooting at Columbine, schoolroom doors were equipped with locks to protect students from outside intruders. Now the lock was preventing police officers from getting inside to catch a killer.
"You shoot the lock open and we'll rush him together. Sound like a plan?" he asked.
Tilly nodded, and then said "Wait."
She rammed a new magazine containing 17 rounds into her pistol then fired at the lock.
The wood shattered, Church kicked open the door and they rushed in. One student lay dead in the corner. Another was wounded and bleeding from a chest wound. The remainder of the class was huddled together, faces frozen with fear. Blood was missing from their faces, their pallor chalk white and they were trembling. They were all in shock. The shooter stood dressed in black, wore a swastika armband and had a smirk on his face. He looked at the two cops and knew his that killing spree was at an end.
Holding his two semi-automatic handguns by his sides, the under aged assassin said,
"I had to do it."
Officer Phyllis Tillman, a veteran cop of 12 years said, "Me too."
Her well-aimed bullet found its mark squarely between the murder's eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Just Doing Her Job
Phyllis was not one to butt into other people's lives but seemed to be plagued with other people bumping into hers.
Her next door neighbors were a couple, not married and with a one-year-old, who were bad drunks. Phyllis never really thought of them as alcoholics but was acutely aware that they drank too much and weren't really meant for each other. The match might have been God's Will but He must have had an off day when he put the two of them together.
One summer, while visiting her mom and dad in Milwaukee for Daddy's birthday, the couple had a physical altercation resulting in the cops hauling the husband off to jail. Phyllis hadn't learned of it until a few months later when the wife, Amanda, came crying through the hedge separating the two properties. Phyllis was lounging in the hammock enjoying her O magazine and getting some sun.
"Phyllis," Amanda cried out, "I don't know what to do. Chris is drunk again and I'm afraid of him!"
"Why don't you call the cops?"
"I can't."
"Why not."
"We got in a quarrel last summer when you were gone so I ran to the neighbors behind us. They talked me into calling the police. They told me to file charges, which I did. Now our lives are all screwed up. I don't want to go through that again. It'll just make things worse."
"Sweetie, pull up a chair, sit down, and let things settle down a bit," Phyllis said softly.
Amanda did sit but she couldn't stop crying. A few minutes later her boyfriend Chris walked through the bushes and began telling his side of the story. Both stories were full of blame toward the other and all Phyllis could determine was that their lives were not much better than a can of tangled worms.
Amanda, before meeting Chris, had been hospitalized for drugs, drink, and on suicide watch. The couple was friendly, never raised a ruckus, and appeared to be Mr. and Ms. Average unwed couple sharing their lives and loving Charlie, their newborn son. This new situation shed a new light on things altering Phyllis' perception immediately. However, apologies were exchanged and together they disappeared back through the hedge.
A couple of days later Chris came over, while Amanda was at work, and repeated what Amanda had said earlier. But now he added what Amanda had left out.
As a result of that earlier police report he was court ordered to attend AA meetings and had a breathalyzer in the house. When it beeped, he had to breathe into it. It then sent the result electronically somewhere to be analyzed. He was also on one-year probation for domestic battery.
Chris said that he had phoned a lawyer regarding the court summons he and Amanda both had received. The attorney told him that if Amanda didn’t appear in court, the charges she had filed would be dropped. Two days later, the same attorney realizing that he'd lost a fee, called back and said he'd represent Chris in court for $1,400. Chris, now bewildered, agreed. Amanda appeared in court and now Chris is a convicted felon. Any further problems could cause him to go to jail. Phyllis had assured them that if, in the future, they got into a knock down, drag out to come to her house to cool down and she wouldn't call the police.
Several weeks later, at three in the morning, Warren woke Phyllis telling her that he heard seven shotgun blasts from out of doors. She knew that shotguns normally hold no more than five so the sounds Warren heard probably were not gunfire. Both she and Warren searched the rooms to make sure that no one had broken in. Both kids were still asleep and nothing was disturbed. Then there was violent banging at the back door.
Outside, with tears streaming down her cheeks stood Amanda. Phyllis immediately let her in and sat her in Warren's big easy chair. She then whispered to him to go back to bed, "This is girl stuff."
Amanda had a bulging black right eye. Phyllis found out later that Chris had a split lip and a chipped tooth. The two had been drinking again, more to the point, still!
The woman's sobbing was such that her words were intelligible. "Amanda, Honey, I can't understand you. Just sit there a few minutes, get your breath and then tell me what's going on. OK Sweetie?"
Amanda understood and nodded so.
Finally she was able to say that they had been fighting again and she was afraid to go back home. While telling her story, the phone rang. It was Chris calling from their house across the driveway.
"Is Amanda there?"
"Yes."
"Can I talk to her?"
"Honey, its Chris. He wants to talk to you."
Amanda waved her arms and shook her head, "No."
'She doesn't want to talk to you."
"Is she OK?"
"Yes."
Chris hung up. Amanda continued to cry and wiggle her body in the chair obviously in great emotional distress. Five minutes later Chris called again.
"Has she called the police?"
"No."
"Can I talk to her now?"
Amanda took the phone. They talked for a couple of minutes then she handed the phone back to Phyllis.
Chris told her that Amanda's dad, Ray, was on the way. She took that to mean that he would take Amanda home with him. From her kitchen window, Phyllis was able to see when he arrived. She walked Amanda back home through the bushes that separated the two driveways. Amanda nearly collapsed into her dad's waiting arms.
The next day, Phyllis asked Chris when Amanda might be coming home.
"Oh, she never left. She's in the house."
"I thought he was taking her home."
"On no," Chris answered. "Ray lives in only one room of his house. The rest of the house and furniture are covered with mud and dog feces. He never cleans the house. In the winter he heats only the one room where he sleeps and watches TV. The rest of his waking hours are spent at a bar."
Several weeks later Chris phoned Phyllis and said that Amanda was drunk again. He had phoned Ray to come and pick her up because he couldn't handle her. Not only was Ray on the way to rescue his daughter but also to clean Chris' clock for mistreating Amanda. Chris knew that Phyllis was a cop and asked if she'd come over to prevent the altercation. She agreed.
Half an hour went by and, Ray hadn't come. Phyllis phoned Chris and asked if Ray was coming and Chris said, "No."
Now wide-awake, Phyllis sat down and turned on the TV.
Suddenly Chris banged on the back door. He said he needed her help because Amanda had threatened to kill herself with a butcher knife. He had taken it away from her then she had frantically thrown everything off the back porch including a heavy BBQ grill. After that she locked herself in the house leaving Chris outside without a key.
Phyllis grabbed her flashlight and followed him back to his house and saw the pile of debris lying on the ground. Suddenly, the back door opened and Amanda waltzed onto the porch wearing nothing but a bra, which she immediately took off and threw onto the ground.
"There," she exclaimed, "that's the way Chris likes to see me."
Phyllis tried to make her way through the mess to grab her but she was too fast. She bolted behind the door, slammed it and locked herself in again.
By now Ray and her brother John, had arrived. Ray began pushing Chris and calling him names and told him that he was, "History."
Phyllis, standing out of sight on the front porch, shined her flashlight on the arguing pair and said, "I heard that. If you touch him, I'll phone the police."
Phyllis was in her robe and slippers and had no handcuffs and was not equipped to take on the man dressed as she was.
Ray backed off allowing Chris to walk onto the porch. Ray was right on his heels and the two glared and growled obscenities at each other. Chris took out a credit card hoping to open the door while glaring backward at Ray. Phyllis grabbed Chris' head firmly and twisted it back toward the door to focus his effort on getting into the house.
It didn't work. In frustration, Chris thrust his shoulder into the door breaking through on the third effort. Everyone rushed in.
Amanda had retreated to the bedroom. Chris was first in, then Ray. Amanda lay naked in the bed but covered with a blanket. Ray was embarrassed and left the room. Then her brother John went in.
"Get him out of here!" she shouted. "He molested me and I don't ever want to see him again. I hate him! I hate him!"
Amanda tried to break a wall mirror with her fist succeeding only to scratch up her hand. The men all left the room retreating to the kitchen.
Phyllis suggested they call the fire department so paramedics could care for Amanda. They didn't want to call the police because of the existing trouble plaguing the household.
The men ruled out the fire department.
Phyllis asked for a phone book and looked up the number of the hospital just down the street. She told the situation to the woman who answered the emergency room phone if they could keep Amanda over night for observation. She replied that they should call an ambulance and have her brought in. Only the attending doctor would determine if Amanda should be kept. None of the family members wanted to call an ambulance and there was no way they could get a screaming, kicking, squalling woman into a car.
Chris, not wanting Amanda to be hospitalized said, "She has to be at work by eleven tomorrow or loose her job."
Phyllis angrily replied, "What is more important, Amanda or her job?"
Then her father Ray said in a disgusted tone, "All I wanted was to have a few beers at the bar tonight with my friends. Now this had to happen!"
The three men went outside. Phyllis stayed in the living room hoping to find a way to calm Amanda. Finally she came out having dressed herself. She wrapped her arms tightly around Phyllis and tried to talk through waves of tears. The two women stood there in each other's embrace finding comfort in mutual loving care.
"I hate my life. I want to be with my mother." Amanda's mother was dead.
Phyllis noticed that the men had finally come back into the kitchen so the pair joined them. Suddenly Amanda grabbed a butcher knife from the counter and held it up like a trophy. Chris rushed forward and took it away from her causing her to go ballistic and throwing everything she could grab. From behind and at the first opportunity, Phyllis wrapped her arms around the frantic woman, clasping her hands tightly locking her arms into a wrestling hold.
Amanda screamed to be freed. When she bent forward to break away, Phyllis forced her to the floor. She had fallen into a sitting position and screamed that her legs were being crushed. Phyllis backed up a bit allowing Amanda to stretch her legs straight back. She continued screaming that her legs were being crushed. Phyllis knew this was a ploy to get away because her own legs were flat on the floor between hers.
Amanda was squirming like a freshly caught shark sliding around on a wet boat deck. Holding her still was impossible. She scratched and clawed at Phyllis hands hoping to break free. She twisted her head to bite Phyllis' arm but her teeth caught only the cuff of Phyllis' robe.
All the while, Ray was on the cell phone with three different 911 operators. Chris and John were outside doing God knows what while Phyllis was wearing out.
Grabbing a great glob of Amanda's hair to hold her head still, Phyllis hollered, "I need some help here!"
Ray knelt down and pushed his daughter's head firmly against the floor.
Finally two lady cops rushed in. One stood aside, the other knelt down and cuffed Amanda's left wrist. Her right arm was at the wrong angle to cuff, and it took both the cop and Phyllis together to bend it backward for the second handcuff.
"You can get up now," the cop told Phyllis.
As she stood she noticed that blood was flowing from several wounds on the back of both hands. She had felt the scratching during the struggle on the floor but didn't know the extent of the damage. A paramedic in the doorway asked if she wanted him to tend to her. She said she lived next door and had some peroxide to put on them.
The cop asked if Phyllis wanted to press charges against Amanda for assault. She shook her head, no.
Phyllis now exhausted asked, "Do you need me any more?"
The cop said, "No." Then looking at her straight on added, “Good job."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Time for Tears
Life in the Tillman home was not limited to the neighbor's trials and tribulations. Weekends were like those of most married folks'. Warren’s to-do list included cleaning out the garage, washing his truck, Phyllis’ car, and then mowing the yard. The kids were absent because Mom had shooed them out of her way. Her to-do list was to vacuum, dust, and then Pledge the furniture room by room. While she was half way done in the dining room the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi Sis.” It was Phyllis’ sister Eileen in Milwaukee.
“Are you sitting down?” Eileen asked.
“No but go ahead. Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” followed by long sobbing.
“Eileen. Is it Mom?” Their mother has been falling lately and Phyllis thought that this was another such call.
“Yes and…..” more sobbing.
“What Eileen?”
“Dad.”
“What about Dad?”
“They’re gone.”
“Where did they go?"
“No Sis, they’re both dead.”
The aerosol can of Pledge slipped from Phyllis’ hand and banged onto the hardwood floor spraying wax all over her leg.
“How did it happen?”
Eileen tried to get enough air in her lungs to form words.
Then finally, “Sis, they committed suicide!”
“Oh Dear God in Sweet Heaven. NO!”
“Yes dear. The police phoned me an hour ago. The neighbors called them because Mom and Dad hadn’t left the house for several days. They even missed bingo at the church.”
“Oh Dear God in Sweet Heaven,” Phyllis repeated.
Then she asked, “How’d it happen? I mean how’d they do it?”
“Sweetheart, they closed the garage door, started the car and asphyxiated themselves.”
“When?”
“The police are guessing four days ago but aren’t sure.”
“No signs of foul play?” Phyllis, now the cop, asked.
“No. None.”
“We’ll be up tomorrow.”
“OK we’d love to have you. I need you here.”
“I’ll phone you back as soon as I get our flight arranged. OK?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Oh, Eileen, can you book us over at the Holiday Inn?”
“Why don’t you stay with us?”
“Your place can’t handle all of us for four or five days maybe even more.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call the motel.”
“Thanks. I call you back as soon I get all of our ducks in a row.”
Phyllis hung up the phone and sat down leaning her back against the wall. Her legs wouldn’t carry her to the door to holler at Warren. She needed a couple of minutes. Then the rain clouds in her brain flooded their torrent through her eyes, her stomach wrenched bending her over until her head fell far below her knees. Uncontrollably she screamed the scream of screams.
Warren heard the horrific noise and burst through the door. He had never seen his wife, in all their years together, in such pain. He misread her anguish thinking it was physical pain and asked if he should call 911.
All she could do was shake her head and wave frantically, “No.”
“What?” he asked.
Phyllis let out another scream that could be heard by the neighbors through the open front door.
“Mom……”
“Mom what?”
“Mom and Daddy.”
“Mom and Daddy, what?”
“They’re dead.”
“What?”
All Phyllis could do was violently shake her head up and down as a “Yes,” they were.
“Car wreck or what?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Oh Warren. They killed themselves.”
“Suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Eileen just called. The police called her an hour ago. They found their bodies in their car in the garage.”
“Oh my God.”
“Why did they do it?”
“I told you I don’t know why. Eileen doesn’t know either.”
“When do you want to go up?”
“Tomorrow. Eileen is going to book us at the Holiday Inn.”
“I’ll call Delta and get us a flight. You know we get a discount if we’re going to a funeral.”
“God damn it Warren!” she shouted.
“Sorry.”
“Use your Visa. Mine is max’d out,” she ordered.
Warren noted out loud that the kids would take it pretty hard too.
“Yeah, “she agreed.
“Honey, go sit down. I’ll fix you a drink.”
“Make it a double.”
“Yes, dear.”
Delivering the seven and seven he asked, “When will Tad and Jennifer be home?”
Looking at her watch she said, “In about forty-five minutes. They’ll be home for supper.”
“I’ll phone Domino’s,” Warren said.
Phyllis nodded “OK, and then added, “Wait a few minutes to call so it’ll be hot when they get here.”
“Right.”
Warren knelt down in front of his wife and asked, “Want me to stay here or leave you alone?”
“Stay.”
Then her convulsions erupted again. She dropped the glass spilling the seven and seven all over the carpet.
“Sorry,” she said looking at him through tear-laden eyes.
“No big deal,” he soothed.
After giving her two pats on the shoulder, he disappeared into the kitchen to make her another drink.
When he returned holding out the fresh glass, she brushed it off and said, “Hold me.”
*******
No one touched the pizza.
Jennifer had her head in Mom’s lap sobbing profusely. Grandma had taught her how to sew on buttons. Grandma bought her lipstick that her mom didn’t want her to have, and Grandma helped her learn the words to Jingle Bells.
Tad was stomping from room to room punching right and left fists into mythical punching bags venting his hurt. Grandpa had showed him how to make fart sounds in his armpits, how to put a worm on a hook, and how to whistle through two fingers.
*******
Delta landed in Milwaukee right on time. Eileen’s husband Tom met them just outside the security zone.
“Which carrousel?” he asked.
“Two,” Warren answered.
“Good flight?” Tom asked not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah,” Warren answered.
Phyllis and the kids knew better than to engage in any conversation because they still had hurt bottled up inside. To pull the cork from the bottle now would cause a flood of anguish filled words to echo off the airport’s porcelain tile walls.
Eileen was standing at the living room window watching for Tom’s car. When it pulled into the driveway she ran to Phyllis. Neither could speak. Their arms were so tight around one another that neither could hardly breathe. Their tears soaked each other’s clothes while Tad and Jennifer pressed hard against their dad’s side. They thought they had cried out all of their tears at home but they were wrong. Tom stood dutifully silent.
Once inside the house, the suitcases resting by the front door and everyone gathered around the kitchen table, Eileen detailed the arrangements she had made with the funeral home. She asked older sister Phyllis if she wanted to make any changes.
“Everything sounds beautiful, Eileen. You did a great job!”
“Thanks Sis. We just never know from one day to the next what our job will be, do we?”
“No.”
The funeral was beautiful. The weather had cooperated even though the buxom weather girl had predicted rain. She had the only job in the world where one can be wrong most of the time and not get fired.
Aunts, uncles, nephews, cousins not seen in years showed up for the funeral. Mom and Dad had never burned bridges and never cut anyone from their Christmas card list just because they didn't get one back.
After the funeral at Eileen and Tom's house, every room was crowded with relatives and friends exchanging stories about the past and the present. Mom’s Ladies Club had brought and served food galore, and made sure that everyone was free to love and mourn in his or her private way. No one went unattended and cleanup was done in Olympic record time. When they left, the house was spotless.
Phyllis, Warren, Jennifer and Tad stayed one more day. Most of the talk was about times gone by but the lingering question on everybody’s mind was why? Why had Mom and Dad killed themselves?
Delta returned the Tillman’s home Thursday and had credited their Visa account to reflect the funeral rate.
They had been in the house for at least twenty minutes when Tad hollered, “Mom. The answering machine is blinking.”
Phyllis hit the Play button.
“Sis. A policeman just brought two envelopes by the house. They couldn’t give them to us until they had completed their investigation. Each had been opened then resealed with police stickers over the flaps. One had my name on it and one had yours. The letter is in Dad's handwriting. I’ve already read mine. I suspect yours is the same. Don’t call me to ask what it said. It's important that you read it yourself. I’ll over night it to you. It’s too precious to email as an attachment. Thanks for your warmth, kindness and your strength. Warren was wonderful too. It’s obvious that you two are meant for one another. Call me when things settle down. Love you. Bye, bye.”
The special delivery guy knocked on the door at 10:13. Phyllis had been chomping at the bit with anxiety. She called Warren and the kids into the living room for the reading.
To our loving children and grandchildren
You are undoubtedly surprised, maybe even dismayed, that Mother and I have decided to leave you in this manner. We began discussing our future six months ago when her pain became so bad that even the pills Doctor Morris gave her didn't work.
In our culture, suicide is frowned on but in others it is readily accepted. That begs the question as to who is right.
We want you all to know that we are so very pleased with what you have done with your lives. It was our job to teach you right from wrong, give you a moral compass and insist that you learn early in life that you are responsible for your own actions. You have never disappointed us.
As you know from the stories that I told you, perhaps too many times, Mother and I have been in love since elementary school. There was never another woman in my heart and she tells me that I am her only true love. I don't know what she ever saw in me but I am grateful that I was the apple of her eye. She is sitting beside me now.
Ten years after we were married, I was able to buy my bride a more expensive wedding ring. When I gave it to her she cried of course. Then she put it back in the box and said, "Take it back. The one you gave me ten years ago is just fine." It had cost $90.
There were times when the sledding was rough and money was in short supply. Mother darned my socks and I had my shoes half-soled. She never asked for new dresses until her old ones were threadbare. She never complained, even once.
There were many times when we disagreed. We quickly learned that only the people in the dispute can work out their differences. That's why we refused to interfere when you had difficulties in your marriages.
We never told you this but when were married for about six months, we had a very bad argument. We hollered at each other but never called the other bad names. I thought that my manhood had been questioned so I left. Ten minutes later I was back. I just couldn't live without the woman who made my life worth living. The thought of her leaving me now for longer than ten minutes is more than my fragile heart can stand. We will walk the new road together.
Mother and I know that we mortals are mere extensions of a higher Spirit whether it is called God, Mohammed, Buddha, or The Holy One. Historians and archeologists tell us that today's religions are the compilation of Mesopotamian Sumerian beliefs simply re-packaged and re-branded under new names. If so, the continuation of those ancient beliefs is further proof that the Spirit lives and has been omnipotent since the beginning of time.
Mother and I embrace that precept and know that our passing is a natural progression back to the Original Spirit. It is wit that philosophy that we hope that you will at least condone our joint decision to leave at this time.
We witnessed history at its best and its worst. We saw newsreels of the gas chambers in the concentration camps, we read newspaper accounts of murders, rapes and child molestations. We marveled at Lindbergh's flight over the Atlantic, Dr. Jonas Salk's polio vaccine and Neil Armstrong's one small step for mankind.
You too will witness history unfold in your time. Your children make you smile, as you did with us, when they tell you that their history studies include events that took place during your lifetime.
Savor the joys and the heartaches your children bring you. Embrace those events, nurture them, lie in bed at night and etch them into your heart and into your soul for each one is the alchemy that creates another golden cobblestone that paves the streets in Heaven.
Our love always,
Mother and Dad
Phyllis laid the letter in her lap. No one spoke because nothing they could say could equal what was said in the letter.
A couple days later Phyllis needed to get out of the house and be alone with her thoughts. Before leaving she made a fresh pot of coffee for Warren, left ten dollars so Jennifer could go to the movies, and put a roll of toilet paper under Tad’s bed next to his girlie magazines.
“Warren, watch the kids. I’m going out to get some fresh veggies.”
Some time back her neighbor had clued her in to some farmers out of town who sold fresh produce right from their field. You had to pick it yourself but that was part of the fun and the charm.
Approaching a large arched-sided steel bridge she saw a man standing on the railing.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she thought. “Can’t at least one fuckin’ day go by without me playing superwoman?”
She stopped the car near the jumper. When he turned his head, she could see that he was just a teenager.
“Hey you! Buster Brown!”
The kid turned around, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”
“My girlfriend dumped me. I just want to die.”
“Are you sure?”
Not waiting for an answer she put the car into drive and sped on down the road.
About 45 minutes later she returned with two grocery sacks filled with veggies all speckled with Mother Nature’s topsoil. Approaching the bridge she noticed that the youth was missing. She stopped the car, got out, looked way down to the river below, scanned the bank on both sides and saw…no body.
“Humm,” she thought.
Two miles on down the gravel road she spotted the young man headed in the same direction. Creeping along side she lowered the window and asked, “Everything OK now?”
Without breaking stride he said, “Yeah, thanks to you.”
Smiling she replied, “Just doing my job.”
For he who does good in his heart nay seeking reward, the reward is great.
For he who stands against convention is of worthy conviction.
For he who seeks justice for the sake of justice is of true soul.
Anonymous
END
3-5-10
(Author's note: The attempted suicide described in chapter 14 is true and happened to me. I am protrayed as Officer Tillman in order to maintain the continuity of this, otherwide, fictional story.) COMMENTS to: [email protected] Subject: Weebly