GOOD GUYS FINISH LAST

GOOD GUYS FINISH LAST

To tell you the truth, I think I was in a state of shock. It almost seemed surreal as 2 police cars and an ambulance came screeching to a stop right in front of my house. For a moment it almost seemed as if everything was happening in slow motion.

I just stood there like a deer in the headlights. My eyes fixated on the flashing lights on top of the patrol cars, it was almost hypnotic. Fortunately I came out of it just in time to see that the lead two officers had drawn their guns and were screaming commands at me. I looked down and realized that I still had my gun in my right hand. My 1911 .45 caliber pistol was still hot and the slide was locked back, indicating that I had somehow emptied all 7 rounds. The whole thing seemed like a dream.

Still standing there wide eyed and astonished at the recent turn of events, I complied with their command and set my gun down on the hood of my car and then went to my knees. I started to explain what happened but my voice was drowned out by the siren and the officers repeated orders for me to lie down, face down with my hands to my sides.

The minute I complied with their wishes, the bigger guy grabbed me by the left wrist and pulled it behind my back, while snapping a handcuff on me. In one fluid motion he quickly grabbed my other wrist and expertly preformed a similar maneuver. With a quick glance up I could see his partner covering me with his pistol while the other officers were shaking their heads after taking the pulse of the guy that lay bleeding by the curb. Needless to say after eating a whole clip of 45’s there was no pulse to be found.

Things were looking pretty bad for me about now, but to put things in perspective, I really should start at the beginning. I really am a good guy, a law abiding citizen, in fact I can’t even remember getting a traffic ticket since I was a teenager.

It all started fairly innocently a few days ago, when I had taken my girlfriend out to dinner. We had an enjoyable and uneventful dinner and were standing in line at the club next door for a few drinks when all of my problems started. I was minding my own business while digging thru my wallet looking for a twenty dollar bill to pay the cover charge.

I hear a voice from behind us in line making a rude comment about my girlfriend. I turn around and look down the line in disgust to determine who made the comment, but everyone seems to be just talking among themselves.

A few minutes later we had worked our way forward in the line and could hear the loud music from inside. Suddenly, I feel a jolt from behind me as a rather large guy bumps me with his shoulder. I could tell by how hard he hit me and the fact that he didn’t turn to apologize that this was an intentional attack. Guys don’t need a body language expert to translate that statement.

Well, I’m as nice as the next guy, but it was evident that this was the same guy that made the rude comment and now he was physically harassing me. I thought about what had transpired for a second and contemplated letting it go unchallenged, but after all the guy was a jerk and I didn’t want to look like a weakling in front of my girl friend.

He hadn’t taken two steps past me as I in turn called him a few choice names of my own, and gave him the one finger salute. Well it was evident that this guy wasn’t one to let by gone’s be by gone’s and he immediately turned on his heels and shoved me backward with both hands. I could hear my girlfriend urge me to just walk away, but the fight was already on.

I had no formal fight training but everyone that knows me, knows I have a short fuse, and this son of gun had just lit it. Well, no sooner then I had I put my hands up in a defensive position, sasquatch throws a big haymaker right at my head. I partially blocked his punch but still managed to catch half of its force right above my ear.

At about that point my adrenaline kicked in and I answered with a 3 punch flurry, the viciousness of which seemed to surprise Mr. Tough Guy. At first he reeled back a few steps but then charged at me with his head down and tackled me to the pavement. By this time everyone in the line had formed a circle around us and a few of the bouncers from the club had managed to pull us apart. The head bouncer said he was going to call the police, so I took that as notice to get out of there and walk back to my car.

Just as we were about to get back into my car, a black S.U.V. pulled up and stopped right next to us. The tinted window rolled down and my assailant gave me a menacing look. I have to admit that I took a certain amount of joy in seeing a trickle of blood from the guy’s nose. He said something I couldn’t make out and then started laughing hysterically as he waived a black object at me. At first I thought it may have been a gun, but then it struck me that it was a wallet, my wallet. A quick but frantic pat on my back pocket confirmed that the bastard had indeed taken my wallet. Complete with cash, credit cards, and drivers license.

Well, as soon as I got home, and had a drink to calm my nerves, I decided to start contacting my credit card companies. I first checked my accounts on line and discovered that the jackass with my wallet was already out running up quite a bill on my credit cards. My girlfriend wisely urged me to call the police, but I didn’t want the hassle. I struggled to think about what else was in my wallet that was now in this guy’s possession. I was up half the night doing damage control before I finally fell asleep around 4 A.M. I was certain I would have to endure a case of identity theft, for the foreseeable future.

I slept in the next morning and woke up still feeling a little sore from last night’s workout. Coffee cup in hand I walked out into the driveway to get the morning paper, only to find my empty wallet, cut up and laying next to the newspaper. The only thing left in the wallet was a picture of my girlfriend and I, with my half of the picture cut out. In my mind, this guy was a sicko and was making this thing personal.

I could only assume that the mental midget I had the fight with, intentionally left my wallet there to send me the unmistakable message that he knew where I lived. I have to admit that it was an unsettling feeling knowing that some half baked criminal, that had a bone to pick with me, knew where my house was.

The next day and a half went without incident, but I was convinced that I hadn’t heard the last of this guy and had decided to carry my home protection gun, just in case. My girlfriend stopped by briefly on her way to work around 5pm to see how I was doing and drop off some dinner she had made for me.

After she left I decided to stay home and watch T.V. when I must have fell asleep on the couch around 11 o’clock. Around 2:30 in the morning I awoke to what sounded like someone trying to open my back door. (it’s funny how you can sleep with the television on but still hear a house sound that is out of the ordinary).

I was still groggy with sleep, but remembered that I hadn’t gone thru my usual routine of checking all the doors before dozing off for the night. My girlfriend doesn’t approve of guns so I had left mine in the nightstand next to my bed. I make a quick dash for the bedroom to retrieve it, and as I left my room I noticed a shadowy figure looking in the front window.

Outraged and with gun in hand, I threw open the front door only to see the same unmistakable black S.U.V. parked directly in front of my house. At this point I was both frightened and enraged. I must have surprised the intruder, as he then made a bee line for his car, shouting threats and obscenities the whole way. I raised my gun and leveled the front sight on his center mass, but then took my finger off the trigger and lowered it to the ground.

I couldn’t bring my self to shooting an unarmed guy running away (although the urge certainly crossed my mind). Just as the guy reached the front passenger door he turned and shouted that I had no guts. He reached inside his vehicle and spun back towards me. This time I was sure it wasn’t my wallet that he had in his hand and by instinct fired what I thought was one or two shots at him. I watched as his car window fractured, bullets ricocheted off his vehicle, and his body slowly slumped to the ground.

One of the neighbors must have called the cops, after hearing the commotion, because they were there in minutes. Now, I find myself being read my rights and then handcuffed and alone in the back seat of a police car. I have to admit I’m afraid. I don’t think I did anything wrong. There are a thousand thoughts rushing thru my mind as we pull away from my house. I’m an innocent victim, and I didn’t start this thing but now I’m facing possible jail time. I guess it goes to show you that some times, even the good guys finish last.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

DETECTIVE

DETECTIVE

I’m overwhelmed with emotion right now. All of my friends and co-workers are here for my retirement party. It seems like my service in law enforcement has just flown by, especially the last 11 years as a detective. As luck would have it, I’m also receiving tonight, the highest commendation from the department, a letter of appreciation from the President of the Unites States, and most enjoyably, an apology from two senior guys. What a way to point an exclamation mark on a 30 year career.

Actually I had planned on retiring a few weeks ago when I got my 30 in, and would have, if weren’t for the Fairbanks case. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was so horrified at the crime scene that I promised myself right then and there that I wouldn’t quit until we brought the perpetrator to justice.

It was around 10:30pm on a Wednesday evening and my shift was just about over. I was looking forward to a stiff drink and a few days off, when I got the call. I could tell by the frantic tone from the first responders that this wasn’t going to be a typical case.

I hit the lights on my unmarked car and made it halfway across town in about 5 minutes. As I rounded the corner I was greeted by the familiar sight of flashing lights and the street was already full of patrol cars and firefighters.

I parked half a block away because the boys in blue had already taped off the area as a crime scene, and they were ushering onlookers away from the house. As I approached the house I was greeted by my old friend Greg Bailey. Greg and I go way back, in fact we were even partners for a while in my patrol days. Greg is a seasoned veteran and has seen it all, that’s why I knew this was something big, by just looking at his face as he approached.

By this time the whole place was crawling with uniforms and reporters. I asked him what the hell was going on here and he held a finger up to his lips and motioned for me to meet him over by his patrol car. I can remember the hair standing up on the back of my neck as we walked towards the car. We are part of a small department and it was very unusual for an officer to feel the need to discuss a crime scene in private.

Greg told me to get to work quickly because he had already received a call from the FBI and they instructed him to preserve the crime scene as they had two agents on the way. He was further instructed to turn over his jurisdiction and command of the crime scene to the suits as soon as they arrived. This must not be your garden variety homicide case.

Our conversation was interrupted by a cell phone call and Greg briefly put one hand over the phone and mouthed the word “Captain” and then he waived me off, while he was evidently getting chewed out on the phone. Judging by the urgency in Greg’s voice, I immediately turned my attention to surveying the area. I briefly talked to a few of the neighbors and eye witnesses and jotted down a few notes. I’ve found that sometimes the most seemingly insignificant facts or statements can latter turn out to be items of key evidence.

Our forensics guy had not yet arrived so I decided to start the investigation on my own. Out of habit I carry my own little digital camera and began taking pictures of the entire area. I’ve learned that it’s a smart practice to capture things in pictures before a bunch of firemen and paramedics start trammeling thru the evidence. As I was putting on a pair of latex gloves I noticed a cell phone, partially covered in blood in the driveway. It might be evidence so I grabbed it. As I made my way to the garage I also picked up a half charred piece of paper with some directions on it.

I hadn’t taken a dozen photos and my cell phone rang. A quick look at the screen showed it to be a call from Captain Miller. I’d never admit to this but I was sure he was calling to tell me to stay outside the perimeter until the FBI guys established control. Well, I would never knowingly disobey an order or hesitate in taking an urgent call from a superior but after all, it was a very noisy crime scene and it would be easy to miss the sound of a cell call.

I put the phone back in my jacket pocket and went about the task of gathering evidence. I counted as least 6 dead bodies that had most likely met their end by a horrendous blast that easily took out the garage and east half of the house. There was debris and body parts strewn everywhere, I figured it would take days to sift thru all the evidence.

I noticed two black Suburban’s making their way past the make shift barricades and toward the house. Well it didn’t take much law enforcement skill to guess who had arrived at the scene. I could see the two agents in their neat suits talking with Greg in the distance and gesturing over toward the house and in my direction. A few seconds latter I heard Greg’s voice over the bull horn instructing all personnel from our agency to meet him over by his patrol car.

At first I pretended that I didn’t hear the announcement but there was no mistaking the exaggerated hand signals that were directed my way, and I figured I had better comply. As I was walking back towards the road, I felt a metallic object under my shoe. I bend down as if tying my shoe laces and quickly scooped up the object into a small plastic evidence bag I had in my jacket pocket.

As we gathered around the command center, the FBI guys introduced themselves and made it clear that they were now in charge and would have their own people here shortly to take over the forensic investigation. They advised us to leave this matter to the “professionals”. I can’t speak for Greg or anyone else but I was aggravated that these Fed’s could waltz into our community and our jurisdiction and just take over our jobs.

We were all asked if we had disturbed or gathered any evidence and I simply shook my head and walked slowly away. As I was leaving the agent in charge made it clear that they would most likely stop by the station the next day to interview our people to see if we could be of any assistance.

I was already beat from a 12 hour shift and headed right back to my house when I left Fairbanks Street. As I drove back across town, I had a hard time getting the mental picture of all that carnage out of my mind. Sure I had been a cop for a long time, but I never really got used to seeing all that type of useless violence.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. The images from earlier in the evening kept running thru my mind. My instincts told me that there was something, something that just didn’t add up. How did the Feds get involved and how could they be on site so quickly. Why were the field agents so insistent on getting our people out of the area so quickly? Where those 6 guys laying scattered on the lawn victims or was it a pure accident? Maybe the whole thing was just my tired cop mind, trying to rationalize the evening’s events. In any case I finally nodded of to sleep.

The next day I was off but I got called into work, because we were to be debriefed by the Field Agents. Each of us that were present the night before were called into the office one at a time. We were told that they had determined the deaths to be accidental from a gas leak explosion. It seemed rather odd to me that they were more interested in what we did or didn’t know then actually trying to gather data to sort out the incident. After telling them that I did a casual walk thru and had no clues or evidence to offer them, they quickly sent me on my way.

Over the course of the next few days I was increasingly sure that the boys from Washington had tried to put one over on our “less sophisticated” small town law enforcement officers. My gut told me this whole deal was being swept under the rug and there was a full scale cover up in progress.

Over the next few days I worked on the case behind the scenes, in my spare time, using my police credentials and resources to interview people and gather evidence. It turns out that our recently departed friends were part of a terrorist cell that also worked part time as apprentice bomb makers. The item I picked up on the lawn that night was a military style detonator and judging by the damage done from the blast, they had a great deal of explosives on hand.

When I tracked the numbers stored in the cell phone I picked up, it lead me to the apartment of a middle eastern women that lived downtown. The FBI had been tracking one of our late friends and a 7th member of the team, a women, who had led them to the house on Fairbanks. As luck would have it she was out doing whatever terrorist type women do on a Wednesday night and missed out on the fireworks. The FBI team picked her up before she got back to the house and brought her back to D.C. for questioning. They figured that was the extent of her involvement in the case. She didn’t tell them anything and they neglected to inform her as to the fate of her x-friends. When they released her a few hours latter, she evidentially figured her clan was still on schedule to show off the efforts of their bomb making house party.

From there it was a no brainer to put a surveillance team on her and after a day to make sure she wasn’t being followed she headed right to the international airport to meet the other half of the cell. I noticed her standing out side the door nervously checking her watch and looking anxiously for her team members. Fortunately for us, the two teams had never met and as a security precaution, our girlfriend was the only liaison between the two groups. She also had no idea as of yet, that the only way she was going to meet up with the Fairbanks six was in the morgue or on her day of reckoning.

From there it wasn’t too hard to spot the rest of her party when they pulled up in a white van. All four of them each only had one piece of luggage, a “golf club case”. They tried to act discreet but I noticed one of them winking at her.

I guess it pays to think ahead because, being a team player, I had an FBI swat team all dressed as baggage handlers that met them at the curb. I can still remember the look on their faces as our boys offered to take their luggage. The look on their faces clearly showed this wasn’t part of their plan. They now had to scramble to open the cases outside on the sidewalk instead of at their leisure inside. The boys in blue were on them in a heart beat. One of the guys had planned ahead and brought a pistol in his belt. From my vantage point I could see him draw the pistol and spin to face the Feds. I guess action is faster than reaction because I already had drawn my Kimber 1911 from its belt holster and cranked off a shot. There is a reason I carry the old style 1911 in .45 caliber, its one hell of a man stopper. That single shot spun him around and he hit the concrete with a thud. One dead Tango. In less then a minute it was all over as the team zipped up the other three perps and I slapped the cuffs on the lady in black.

It turns out that each golf case contained an automatic weapon, and they had planned to wreak havoc in the terminal followed by a rather big bang from their now deceased bomb making brothers.(may they rest in peace)The second team was going to scatter their hardware around in the confusion and cause a secondary incident when the shooting subsided.

Well, I guess everything turned out ok in the end, but if it weren’t for a few bomb makers that failed explosives 101, things could have turned out quite different.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

ENEMY OF THE STATE

ENEMY OF THE STATE

I’m laying here face down on the tile, in a pool of my own blood. I’m breathing very heavily through my mouth, because my nose is certainly broken and I’m slipping in and out of consciousness. My wrists are contorted uncomfortably behind me, and aching from a case of overzealous application of handcuffs. Out of the corner of my eye I can see two guys from the N.P.F. or National Police Force, hi-fiving each other. They are dressed completely in their black uniforms and jump boots, with the NPF gold badge and logo emblazoned on their jackets.

To tell you the truth, I’ve always been a law abiding citizen, and I never figured I’d have a few guys like this kicking my own door down. I’m really not sure why it’s come to this but I guess, I should start back at the beginning

At some point back in the early years of 2000 or 2001, half the people of the United States seemed to increasingly distance themselves politically from the other half. Soon it seemed as if the two sides had little that they could agree on. These differences made themselves all the more apparent each time a national election was decided. Power swung wildly from the left to the right and back after each election.

The parties that eventually came to power tried to overcompensate and alienate the voters that did not want them in power. Eventually dissenters became thought of as dissidents and political trouble makers, and became the subject of increasing government attention. The most vocal and high profile of these dissenters became the targets of endless investigations and harassment by law enforcement and government agencies.

Another dynamic in place at that point in time was heightened concern over national security. We were engaged in several wars overseas with terrorist organizations and they had vowed to bring the war back to American soil. Our people were rightfully frightened and they demanded a new, and even higher level of national security and they were willing to forgo a few civil liberties to achieve it.

New and previously reserved powers were given to enforcement agencies such as the FBI, NSC, Border patrol and the BATF, however these agencies tended to operate independently and with little cohesion. Agents for these organizations all reported to different bosses, had separate budgets, and were careful not to intrude on each others “turf” or domain.

The climate was ripe and the people were trusting, and a few new agencies were born in the shadows, one of which being the N.P.F.

This department was set up in the early months of a very popular presidency. It was originally designed and promoted as a country wide adjunct to the local police agencies, but soon took on the look and firepower of a para-military organization, with broad ranging search, arrest, and pursuit powers.

The N.P.F. was originally conceived as sort of a loaner SWAT team to aide and assist local police departments. The teams were comprised of the best candidates from the military and law enforcement agencies. It was clear from the beginning that these guys were to be the “best of the best”, an elite band of brothers. The problem was they reported directly to the director of the National Police Force who was in turn was selected by, funded by, and reported directly to the president of the United States. This in effect made them the Presidents personal security force, to be used and directed as he alone had seen fit. Even their budget and funding was not subject to review or oversight by congress or the Justice department, making them a very independent entity unto themselves.

In normal times I’m not sure a department like the N.P.F. could ever be formed. The strange thing is that no one actually votes for a thing like this, it just sort of happens. However at the time, every one was very concerned with National Security and most of us were willing to trade off a few civil liberties to feel more secure. Because of their direct chain of command to the commander and chief, the organization grew quickly and was very well funded.

In the beginning the NPF troopers were highly respected and even sought after by local law enforcement agencies, however, as they began to flex their muscle in local jurisdictions, that love affair was quickly ended. It seemed that these national guys had an agenda all their own, and weren’t about to let any lowly street cops or FBI agents stand in their way.

After a few high profile arrests that went bad, and increased media attention, people began questioning the tactics and motives of these “men in black”. However critics were quickly silenced or seemed to disappear. Major media organizations also seemed to quickly abandon their coverage of the NPF and their activities, as watchdogs from the FCC (also strongly influenced by presidential appointments) censored and made their life’s more difficult.

As an independent writer and reporter I felt increasingly compelled to investigate and report on what I perceived as the injustices and excesses that I uncovered by these special police. I guess I have ambitions of following in my fathers footsteps. He was a controversial and award winning journalist in his day. So, I crisscrossed the country at my own expense, gathering data and investigating their tactics and actions. I’d then file my stories anomalously or under fictitious names to keep from drawing undue attention to myself and to the media outlets that bought my work.

Well I guess it didn’t take long for an organization with the power and connections that the NPF has to determine the source of what they considered to be, these embarrassing and disruptive articles and reports. Initially I did not feel threatened by them and felt that I was doing a public service and that my work was clearly protected by my 1st amendment rights. In addition to that, my work only appeared in small community newspapers and oddball radio shows. The big media was afraid to run any of my work due to the possible reprisals by the government.

Evidently my work and writings were being read and closely scrutinized by the powers to be and they felt threatened by the information I was disseminating. Evidently my recent article entitled “Ruthless tactics and accompany illegal search and seizure” pushed the wrong buttons in Washington and made me an undeclared “enemy of the state”.

Even though many of my friends and colleagues cautioned me to temper my exposés, I felt compelled to continue and make the truth know. After all, this is America and I should have no fear of free speech. That’s why I am laying here in a state of disbelief.

As the NPF officers pushed me unwillingly out to the street and into their vehicle, I reminded them quite vocally that I have my rights and that I enjoy protection under the constitution and Bill of Rights. No court in the land would find me guilty of simply exposing the truth. There is Freedom of Speech.

As the officers were locking the cage door behind me one of them took off his dark sunglasses and winked at me “Oh..Don’t be silly…we are not arresting you for your writing or speaking out. You’re getting busted for several felonies….listening to “Conservative Talk Radio” and smoking a cigarette within the city limits.”

Please feel free to contact me at pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.