Chapter 55: An Exciting Day

Friday, May 2, 2008

I had already learned an important lesson about police work, in that it was like the military in one very specific regard. Just like you never wanted any excitement when you were in a combat zone, as a police officer, I didn’t want anything exciting either. Excitement tended to turn into excruciating terror much too quickly for my taste. Luckily, most of what we did wasn’t all that exciting.

I got some excitement one afternoon my third week when we were sent to ‘see the woman’ in a trailer park up by the Haralson County line. She was the park manager and was complaining about a smell coming from one of the trailers in the park. We talked to her for a minute, but she couldn’t tell us what it was like. She thought it might smell like a doctor’s office, but not really. At that point, Jerry looked at me and twitched his head to bring me out of earshot. “Don’t say anything to her, but a common smell around meth labs is a chemical smell like a hospital or doctor’s office.”

I raised an eyebrow, but kept my mouth shut. Instead, I went back to Mrs. Ryan, the park manager, and told her we’d check it out. We got back into the car, and I said, “Here’s another thought. Somebody dies in one of these things, there’s going to be a stink, too, especially in the summer.”

Wolinski nodded. “That’s true enough. We’ll know in another minute or so. If it is a meth lab, we’re evacuating the park and calling in a hazmat team and backup.”

“I agree.”

We drove through the park to the address and parked about three trailers away. If it was a meth lab, the dealers and manufacturers might be inside, and would probably take exception to our knocking on the door. Better to surprise them. After we got out of the car, I asked Jerry, “Do we need to put on the tactical gear?” By that I meant putting on the heavy ballistic vest with the ceramic insert plates and Kevlar helmet in the trunk.

“Ummm ... let’s hold on that for the moment. Let’s get closer and see if we can smell anything. If it is a meth lab, we can suit up and call in for backup and hazmat. Now, which way do you plan to approach?” he asked.

I grinned at that since it was a real rookie question. Surprise was almost always on the side of the criminal. If I drove down the middle of the street and pulled into the driveway, a real meth lab operator could blow me away any time he wanted. Instead, I said, “We’re going down next to these homes, and stop beside the neighbor.”

“Good answer, Tackleberry.”

I turned to face him, but I didn’t smile. “Jerry, if this really is a meth lab and the bad guys start shooting, stay behind me and do what I tell you to do. I know you’re a lot more experienced than I am, and I am probably out of line, but I have been shot at a whole shitload more than you have. Just back me up.”

He looked at me and looked at me curiously. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Jerry, I am not trying to pull rank or any shit like that, but if you’ve never been shot at and returned fire, I guarantee I will do better than you. Please, just let me take the lead.”

“Okay, let’s see how you do.”

Fortunately, it was the middle of the day, and most people were either at work or at school. We had parked out of sight of the trailer in question, so I led the way over to the nearest trailer and stopped near the hitch. I pulled my baton and flicked it open, and then switched it to my left hand, and then drew my pistol. I knelt and did a low peek around the corner, but still couldn’t see anything, so I motioned for Jerry to stay where he was and scooted around the corner and across the little driveway to the next home. Once there, I peeked again, and motioned Jerry to come up to me. Then I repeated the process to the next home. I used the baton to push aside any toys or shrubs that might block my view. After that was the trailer in question.

When he got up to me, Jerry asked, “Can you smell anything yet?”

“No, but that might not mean much. Listen, I’m going to get closer. You stay here. I know what dead bodies smell like. If I don’t smell that, then it’s something else, and we call in hazmat and backup.”

He nodded and smiled. “You know, if this is a bust and somebody is simply a terrible cook, we are never going to live this down.” He took a quick low peek and said, “Try to angle in from the tail end.”

I just nodded and then slipped around the corner. It was about thirty feet to the target, and I was trying to be quiet, but something happened. Maybe it was the breeze shifting, but suddenly I got a strong whiff of something that was not a dead person. At the same time, a dog started barking in the back yard of the trailer and rushed the chain link fence, barking and growling loudly. I stopped in my tracks, and it was a good thing I did. The next thing I heard was the racking action of a round being loaded into a pump shotgun!

“JERRY, GUN!” I turned and ran backwards. I ran back to the trailer and dove for the ground, just as a loud BOOM announced that somebody inside the trailer didn’t want the police around. I rolled behind the trailer.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” exclaimed Jerry. He peeked around the corner, and then hurriedly pulled back as another BOOM came from the trailer. You could hear the pellets hitting the trailer.

I was on the verge of making a smartass comment about needing to call for backup after all, when a second later there was a much louder BOOM, and flames and shit started flying around. We peeked around the corner to see the trailer had exploded, and a giant fireball and flames were going skyward.

“Holy fucking Christ!” I said, but I was talking to myself. Jerry was already speaking into his shoulder mike and ordering up hazmat, backup, and the fire department. After that it was just a matter of waiting for the circus to arrive and keeping the bystanders away. I think everybody still in the trailer park was out in force by now.

I peeked at the madness. One guy, probably the shooter, was lying about twenty feet out on the road face down, his clothes on fire, and still holding a shotgun. The trailer itself was in shreds, fiery shreds. I noticed an arm off to the side, not connected to anything else, and the shooter still had both arms; we had a second individual who had managed to blow himself up. Even out behind the trailer, the dog was silent, which meant it was probably dead, too.

In a way, I wasn’t terribly surprised by what had happened. Making meth required chemicals and processes that were toxic, volatile, and explosive. Add on the fact that most meth labs were operated by meth dealers and meth addicts, people generally not overly reliable or detail-oriented, and you had a perfect recipe for a big explosion; a spark from a shotgun going off would have been sufficient to set off the whole thing. Several of the trailers nearby, including the one we had hidden behind, had blown-out windows.

We had a real circus that day. Half the emergency vehicles in Matucket showed up. We had the emergency squad, a couple of fire trucks, a hazmat team, three patrol cruisers, two sergeants, and a lieutenant. Of course, with this much amusement, Channel Nine needed to show up, also. Meanwhile, Jerry and I were the guests of honor as everybody and their brother asked us what had happened and what we had done. Fortunately, Jerry backed me up, stating I had made my approach like it was straight out of the textbook. Regardless, it tied us up the rest of the day.

On the plus side, Wolinski stopped calling me Tackleberry after that! We also had another serious conversation about my service in Iraq over a few beers that evening at the Cherokee Grill. “So, you really did see a lot of action over there?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, Jerry, I did. I did thirty-two months in combat, hard combat, damn near three years, and was pretty much on patrol or overwatch the entire time. I did two tours, and pretty much every day somebody was shooting at us, or lobbing a mortar shell, or firing an RPG. Maybe we’d be at a base and maybe we’d be in a convoy, but somebody was always unhappy we were around, and shooting Americans was a fun way to spend the afternoon.”

“Sounds like a real Rambo operation.”

I snorted derisively at that. “Rambo wouldn’t have lasted two days in Anbar Province. Ever see the pictures from that movie? Where’s his armor? Where’s his helmet? What’s with the open shirt? We’d wear long-sleeved uniforms on patrol, so that flash explosions and fires wouldn’t burn us. Where’s his backup weapons? Rambo ran around with a machine gun. When I ran a machine gun, I carried a Berretta as a sidearm, carried at least two or three frag grenades, and a couple of combat knives. Where’s his backup and fire support? The hajjis would have eaten Rambo alive!”

“Just so long as you remember we aren’t in Iraq any longer.”

I gave him a wry smile. “You sure about that? Seeing that meth lab go up reminded me of the bad old days.”

Jerry was looking at me seriously. “This shit give you any flashbacks or anything? Do I need to worry?”

I shook my head. “No, it isn’t like that. Some guys do get spooked. I know one guy that, well, I was with him during a thunderstorm last fall, and lightning hit a tree in the neighbor’s back yard. He dropped and rolled under the table, and then ran to the basement. It took him hours to calm down. My problems aren’t like that. I never had a problem with the combat or the killing or the getting wounded. My problem is in the guilt I feel when somebody I am responsible for gets hurt or killed. It’s why I wanted to be on point today. I know, deep down, that I can handle any form of combat we are ever going to see in this town. What I won’t be able to handle is you getting killed because you had to go in first or something. Let me do that.”

He shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just don’t get your hopes up. If I can spend the rest of my time without any more excitement, I will be very, very happy.”

“Jerry, I have zero interest in getting shot at. I didn’t enjoy it then, and I didn’t enjoy it today. It’s just that when it happens, I am very good at what comes next. If I never have to prove it again, that is fine by me.” I grinned. “Remember, my mission in life is to get you home in one piece, so that your wife can keep nagging you. Do I have to drive you home now, so she can nag me instead?”

“No! Then she’d nag me for dragging you home so she could nag you!”

Friday, May 2^nd, was in the middle of my fourth week on patrol. The weather was nice that day, starting in the sixties and moving up to the seventies and higher, but it was breezy and more hazy than bright sunshine. We got out onto Matucket’s thoroughfares and were directed to patrol in the main Matucket area, rather than East Matucket or West Springs.

Everything was quiet. Nobody was blowing through red lights in search of nuns and schoolkids to run over, the bank robbers were staying home, and no more meth labs had blown up nearby. By 10:30 we were contemplating looking for a nice spot to run radar. Then a brand new bright blue Beemer Z4 went zipping through a yellow light just as it turned red. I told Jerry, “It’s not an exploding meth lab, but it’ll do.” He laughed, and I hit the lights and yelped the siren to get through the intersection, and then chased the car down. The Z4 pulled over.

“One-Six-Three to Dispatch, stepping out on Georgia plates David-George-Henry-Five-Six-Four-Two at the corner of Matucket and Branson.”

“Dispatch to One-Six-Three, stand by for return.” I waited for a minute, and then heard, “Dispatch to One-Six-Three, clear to copy?”

“One-Six-Three to Dispatch. Clear to copy.”

“Georgia plates David-George-Henry-Five-Six-Four-Two are registered to a blue BMW sedan, registered to Merry Meadows Realty. No wants or warrants.”