Venus Smiles AU mature M/L complete feb 10 08

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ken_r
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Venus Smiles AU mature M/L complete feb 10 08

Post by ken_r » Thu Oct 04, 2007 8:36 am

Venus Smiles

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A story about one of the first women who became a member of a state Police unit.

Title: Venus Smiles
Author: Ken_r, AKA Ken 242, AKA Kenneth Renouard.
Rating Mature because of the language and sexual innuendo.
Couples Liz/Max AI KT MM
Disclaimer: I am using the characters of Roswell only as actors in a story. None of the names are claimable by me or is anything about the story Roswell. I have tried to use the characters with respect.

This story is a mixture of experiences that happened in the many years I was associated with the New Mexico State Police and the stories I gleaned from other agencies. Nothing is implied to have actually happened to any certain person or in any certain agency. Rather, I am trying to catch the feelings of the first women who became lady state cops.

Summery: In a way this is a love story, a Pygmalion or My Fair Lady story about a woman who was strengthen by her mentor.

I dedicate this story to the women who first became members of the New Mexico State Police.

To the truckers and to those listening on Citizen band radios her CB handle was Venus smiles. She was a lady State Police officer.

Venus Smiles.

My name is Elizabeth Parker and five days ago I died. I guess I should have said I almost died. If it hadn’t been for my partner, a man who I thought hated me, I would have.

It was 1972. The civil rights movement was becoming a reality. Hippies were the thing for many youth and women were coming into their own. We were in an unpopular war, as if there ever could be a popular war. Yes I know thirty years before this we were fighting for our lives in Europe and in the South Pacific. It just seemed, now, that the world was changing so fast.

Senator Jacobs spoke to our class. This class was one of the first classes offered to study the position of women in society. Senator Jacobs was known as one of the most powerful senators who was supporting the women’s movement. He was known for having several projects. His subject for the class was, “women in the workforce.” His thesis was that our state had just decided to open its state police force for women. The senator was drumming up candidates for the first class for our state police.

I had been taking courses in sociology and I felt driven by what I had learned in class and, also, the words of the fiery politician. My parents were the coolest parents I could have. Of course, they worried about me, but they also realized that the world was changing and my daddy wanted his little girl to be able to change with the world. I know it was hard for him, who had only loved one women in his life, to see me parade boyfriends before him. Especially, since he was sure that these young men were more than just friends. He knew that I was sleeping around. He just was careful what he said to me. I think he was attending mass more often and saying more rosaries for my welfare, but he still let me decide for myself how to run my life.

Choices for my life, was what had brought me to this point. I was lying in a hospital bed with two bullet holes in me. I would have died except for my partner.

After senator Jacobs had finished his speech and concluded his question and answer time, and he was fixing to leave, I just couldn’t help it. I walked up to him with a question. “Senator, could a person like me ever hope to be a policewoman in the state police?”

I do not know what I was expecting, but he sat down and faced me. “Little lady, if you are serious, you are just what we have been looking for.”

Me? What they had been looking for? I just couldn’t believe this! I was only five foot three inches tall and, although I tried to run and keep in shape, I didn’t have much weight to throw around. I pictured a lady policewoman to be sort of a lady wrestler. I pictured a woman who could out cuss, out fight, out drink and out love, at least in my vivid imagination, any man in the house. That, I would be just what they might be looking for, was a surprise.

“Ma’am if you are serious about this, I will personally carry your application through the investigation. If a woman like you could succeed as a woman cop, then any woman, if she so chooses to work hard enough, should be able to succeed.” Senator Jacobs was looking at me as if I was the personal cheerleader for his cause of women in the police. That brought me to the single most humiliating day of my life.

Why do men have private offices if they are going to shout at the top of their lungs? Why do they have a row of chairs just outside of these offices if they are going to talk or yell about the person who they placed just outside the thin walls?

“I don’t want to be responsible for the safety of any damned woman,” voice number one said.

“You aren’t being asked to be responsible for her safety! You are being ordered to undertake her training. Teach her how to not get her ass blown off!” voice number two answered.

“Well, place her with someone else. I have enough on my plate. I don’t need the welfare of any woman added,” voice number one answered.

“Right, you want me to place her with Louie on the freeway? Louie hasn’t arrested a drunk in his life. All he does is write speeding tickets. She will really learn to take care of herself with him!” Voice number two stated sarcastically.

“Well, find someone else. Look Captain, I don’t even get along with women very well. You are still trying to get me out of decking that ‘dumb broad’ who mouthed off and swung her purse at me,” voice number one pleaded.

I heard a chuckle, “Yes, that wasn’t your most diplomatic moment. Maybe being with a woman, you might learn some manners. Would you have me place her with Valenti? He can’t keep his pants zipped up. I lock up the cocker spaniel when he comes over. If she were to become pregnant by a police officer, there wouldn’t be a man in this district who wouldn’t spend the rest of his career on school bus inspections.” I already knew the school bus inspections were the curse of state police work. You had to go over the busses, most of which were old, and check brakes and safety equipment. It was about as far from police work as you could get. The inspection should be done by the department of transportation, not us. I could hear voice number two going on, “This program of women in police patrol is the senator’s baby. It has to be given a chance. No, face it Evans. You have the reputation of being the best. You have the highest number of drunks arrested. You have the highest number of narcotics busts, at least for an officer in uniform. You have the highest number of contacts averaged over any time period. If she learns from you, maybe she will live long enough to see this program succeed or fail, but we won’t be putting her in a box and sending her back to the senator.”

Number two was freaking me out. I had no desire of being put into a box and being carried back home. I wanted to learn to live as a policewoman, not die as one.

“Yeah, and I have the highest number of complaints. The highest number of civil rights violations and the highest number of excessive force violations of anyone on the force.” Number one seemed to feel that he had scored points on that one.

“Then, Evans, teach her how not to be an animal like you and teach her to use more than brute force. Hell, son, maybe she will bring out some of your feminine side. Lord knows you need something to calm you down. Get your butt out in that squad car and I will send her out and, damn it Evans, teach her how to stay alive! I don’t like putting women in harms way any more than you, but we don’t have a choice! We both have jobs to do and you do yours, like I know you are able. Teach her how to survive and be a good cop.” That settled it. Voice number two was the captain and I suppose voice number one was my new partner. Oh brother, sitting in a patrol car with a man like that for ten hours a day would really try my soul. The door was slammed so hard that the thin walls of the office shook. I saw a man in his early thirties stalk past me. He didn’t even notice me cringing in my seat just outside the office. He was good looking, but at the time, I only saw that life, for the next few months, would be difficult.

“Parker, get in this office!” That must be voice number two of my new captain. “I guess you saw your new partner? You are the first female this district has ever had, one of the first females in the whole fricken state police. I don’t know where to begin. I am not used to women around the office any more than Evans is. You have a good report from your drill sergeant. He said that if you are broken in right you will make a good cop.”

My drill sergeant said that? I couldn’t believe it. That son-of-a-bitch hated me! The use of the term son-of-a-bitch was a sign that I had gone through a male training program. I am not saying I didn’t occasionally use profanity but normally I didn’t have that much reason to cuss. The Academy surely gave me reasons.

“A gawd damned woman, for pete’s sakes! What am I supposed to do with a woman in this class? Teach her how to serve tea and cookies?” My sergeant hated me. I just told you that.

“Teach me to be a police person, sir!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Two days at the academy at Capital City and I had learned that every one in the academy, especially the training staff, was permanently deaf. The only thing they accepted was shouting.

If you talk in any reasonable or normal manner, the instructors will keep yelling , “I can’t hear you girlie. This isn’t a social, girlie! learn to talk like a man, girlie.”

I wanted to scream, “Asshole, I am a girl and I am proud of it.” There was some guardian in my brain that kept whispering, “Don’t do it. Just keep playing the game.”

From then on, that was the tone of the academy. I would do something and the sergeant would scream, “You fight like a cheer leader, girlie!”

I never was so tired of references to my gender in my life. I wondered if the sergeant had a sister the way he talked to women. I wondered if he even had a mother. Once, I voiced in a whisper, this question. Jeremy Martinez heard me and whispered back, “Don’t you know? Drill sergeants aren’t born like normal folk. They are dredged out of the mud of the sewer plant and given life by the devil himself. Their only purpose in life is to make us miserable.”

Jeremy was a truly nice man. He was gentle and I wondered why he would want to be one of these animals. I couldn’t think too hard about this one as I might think, “Why did I want to be a police person when there were so many secretarial jobs just waiting?”

The sergeant was very hard on Jeremy. The sergeant was Hispanic, but that didn’t stop him from using every racial slur he could think of, when he spoke to Jeremy. He made references over and over about the spawn of a Juarez whore who thought he wanted to be a police-a-man, the sergeant stressing each syllable.

I asked Jeremy why he put up with that? We were told in our rulebook when we arrived that we didn’t have to put up with any abuse of personal or racial nature. “Well, the sergeant don’t care anything about me. If I can’t stand his jabs when I know he has no meaning, how will I work in the field when the people I arrest truly hate me? If I break down here, I don’t deserve to be a policeman, with the power that I would command, of life and death, in the real world.”

This made me think. What did the sergeant really think of me? Did he really hate me like he seemed too? There were eight other females in our class. I didn’t talk to them very much. When we weren’t doing physical exercise, we were memorizing laws and procedures. As the days passed the physical training stepped up and I mean, it really got harder! I was just totally fatigued at the end of a day. There was neither time nor desire to bond, or anything else, in rookie school.

Speaking of physical training, it wasn’t anything like I had envisioned. Personal defense was one point. I had expected to be shown some super secret moves that I could learn that would make me invincible. Yes, they did show us moves and we practiced on each other. We teamed up and practiced throwing each other. My partner, invariably, was a big goodlooking farm boy. He had a devilishly cute, boyish grin. His blond curly hair, by the time we were into intense physical training, was starting to grow out. Now, that was another thing. I will get to that in a moment. Anyway, this big farm boy weighed 220 pounds and he was all muscle. He delighted in throwing me on my back, hard. Before I could get my breath back, he would be sitting on my stomach pinning my shoulders back. Trouble was, each time he pinned my shoulders he got a little closer to my breasts. It was almost as if he was taunting me to report him for sexual harassment. I had hoped the sergeant would see that he was getting more and more personal, but the sergeant would just walk by and say, “Parker, Billy Bob here isn’t half as big as some cowboy you are going to meet in a bar. If you let him throw you, how are you ever going to arrest someone with out being an ‘officer in-need-of-assistance?’” He made this sound so bad.

Then one day, that did it. He had me pinned and he had one hand on my breast. I saw that I wasn’t going to get any help from my sergeant so, in a fit of anger, I rolled over. I was small enough that he couldn’t hold me with his legs. On my stomach, I arched my back. Reaching over my shoulder I grabbed and pulled. I put everything I had into the move. Billy Bob just flew over my head to land hard on the mat in front of me. Sergeant walked up, “Good move, Parker. I was wondering if you were going to have to sleep with Billy here to get him to lay off.” Then, he turned to Billy, nice work rookie! I will bring that case of beer by your room this week end.

I just sat there. That son-of-a-bitch had set me up! Billy had earned a case of beer to see how far I would go before I really fought back. See that is where and why I learned to use language like that. Oh pshaw just wouldn’t do, any longer, to settle my feelings.

By this time, there were only six females in the school. Of course, half of the men had washed out also. I was still here and I was beginning to feel invincible. I could run and when they were all scrambling up the wall, they practically threw me to the top of the wall, Then I would give a hand to get the others up and over the wall. I used to watch the cheerleaders at school. They were just starting to do more at games than say, “Rawh, rawh, rawh.” They would make a pyramid and the smallest girl would climb to the top. Well, they didn’t know half the thrill as being thrown to the top of a wall and then helping other officers up until we had enough men to pull the heaviest guys up and over.

I almost forgot about that hair. Everyone got their head shaved when they arrived. There was no real reason, but that was traditional. When the barber got to me, he saw the tears in my eyes. He was fingering the long strands of dark brown hair that I had had since I was a baby. He shook his head at the sergeant who, as usual, was observing the procedure. Sergeant walked up to me. "You want to keep your hair, Parker?" Then, he twisted his hand in my long hair and pulled my head back. "Leave then, Parker. It would be better for you to leave than to have someone cut that pretty throat while they held your head back pulling on your hair." With that, the barber did cut my hair. He just didn’t cut it as short as he did for the men.

That man who was pulling my hair had said I would make a good cop? I just couldn’t believe it! The captain went on, “Parker, I don’t know anything about working with women. I am not your daddy and if I was, you wouldn’t be in the state police, so keep your personal life just that. Keep it personal. I do not want to hear about who you are sleeping with. But, if I do hear, it had better not be a man in a black and gray uniform. If you get yourself pregnant, make sure the daddy ain’t one of my men. Senator Jacobs feels this program of women in Police uniforms is his own personal baby. Don’t screw it up and have the senator mad at me!” The captain rearranged some papers on his desk as he was thinking what else to say to me. “Evans has personal issues with women. You will have to discover those yourself. He is good. He also does some things that no officer should do. You watch him. Learn to do what is legal and works. Also, learn what not to do and remember what you were trained at the academy. Good luck trooper.” With that, I was dismissed.

I was about as low as I could get. What had I gotten myself into? I was carrying a loaded revolver and a night stick. I was being sent out to ride for ten hours a day with a psycho. I was admonished to learn what he did right and practice that. Then, learn what he did wrong and avoid it. I really hoped my father went to mass every day this week and I hope he said a bunch of rosaries on my behalf.
Last edited by ken_r on Mon Feb 18, 2008 10:26 am, edited 22 times in total.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

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ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
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Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
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chapter 2 Oct 18

Post by ken_r » Thu Oct 18, 2007 9:28 am

Begbonia9508 yes this is a story as dear to me as the story Goodbye Mr. Evans, Hey Max. That story was about teaching and this is about the police. Women did not have an easy time of breaking into new vocations. The men of that time did not have an easy time of knowing how to react with women either. Please notice in this chapter how Max has trouble when he and Liz are at dinner. He pays because that is the way he was raised but he reminds Liz that the state reimburses their officers for their meals. Later he has to remind himself that his job is to teach Liz how to survive. He is not to protect her. Notice her training sergeant singles her out to toughen her up. She doesn’t realize this until the end of the story. They do not want to send her back in a box.

I appreciate anything you or Martine can tell me to help me in my writing. I know something is wrong but it is hard for me to see.

Legal Alien to me this is an out standing story. I only hope that I can do it justice in telling it.

Martine the main thing Liz has to see is how to be a policewoman. Her problem is Max is successful but just like in teaching Liz has to find a way to function within her ability and character. She can’t imitate Max.

Allie Xie I ony hope you and others can stay with me long enough to see the whole story. This was a difficult and important for women expanding into a new field where now we all see how much they were needed.

Behrlyliz thinking back the ladies I am using as a pattern weren’t much bigger than Liz. writing this now is giving me a better picture of their trials.

Tamashil thank you for being here.

L-J-L 76 Lizza the answers to your questions are the story. You have just outlined what must happen and be understood.

Chapter 2

When I walked out to the car, it was running. As I approached, Evans did something inside and the trunk opened. I threw my briefcase in the trunk and slammed it closed. When it was closed, I was staring into the amber eyes of my partner. “Let me see your gun, rookie,” he demanded. I handed it to him. “First of all, be careful of ever letting someone else see your weapon. Only show it to an officer who has the right to inspect it. Second, and don’t ever forget this, always empty your weapon holding the bullets in your hand and hand it over empty with the cylinder open.” With that, he reached over and took one of the bullets he had taken out of the revolver. “Who ever told you to carry 38 specials, rookie?”

I choked, “I made my best score with those. That is why I carry them.”

“Piss on your score! These won’t stop a man on a mule. You were lucky they issued you a Smith model 19. It is a good weapon. Go buy some 357s and we will practice at the range for a time every morning.”

I had to take control of my self. He knew how much a box of 357 cost. I wouldn’t be paid for three weeks and I barely had enough money to make it through to that time. I had only shot 357 magnum shells once and I didn’t like the recoil. It took me time to learn the complicated names for bullets. The 38 special and 357 magnums would both fire in my gun. The names seemed arbitrary. The 357 shells were probably three times more powerful and they were the normal cartridges of the state police.

We got in the car and he headed out. I glanced over and looked at his gun belt. “Oh my gawd!” He was carrying a 44 and, if I was right, it was a 44 magnum. I had never shot one of those but I had heard that they had a hellish recoil. I ventured a question. “Why are you carrying such a cannon?”

He looked at me and there was just the hint of a smile, a hint that quickly disappeared. “Because they don’t make a 50 magnum yet.”

Evans didn’t waste any time. We were on the freeway immediately. He was cruising about two or three miles over the speed limit. I carefully didn’t say anything about his speeding. It was for me to learn, not to teach. We slowly passed most of the traffic. In the distance, we saw a sports car that we were not catching up to. Evans looked at me to see that I had buckled up. Seat belts were still new to a lot of cars and not everyone wore one. Evans reached over and flipped a switch. I could hear the whine as the red lights turned and the wind noise rose as our speed increased. I glanced over at the speedometer and saw that we were traveling over 90 miles per hour.

As we would approach groups of cars, Evans would press his horn ring and the siren under the hood would wind up its sound. The cars would pull over to the right. I knew that the law said, “pull over and stop,” but now I was just thankful for the concession that they gave us some right of away. I looked at Evans. He appeared relaxed as the cruiser flew ahead. As we got behind the sports car, Evans threw another switch and the most horrendous noise I ever heard came from the top of the car. Evans had turned on the electric siren. The noise kept changing sounds, until the sports car slowed and, finally, pulled over on the shoulder. I noticed that Evans pulled his cruiser so that it shielded the car he had stopped. He turned to me. “Now, this is our first stop. You get out and stand behind the door unless I call you to come up. There is no problem here. I know this kid, but if anything ever happens, your first duty is to get to the radio. Call for help, 10-33, officer down. That will get them here in a hurry. Of course, if I am not down, we don’t have a problem, do we?” It was the way he looked at me that brought me down to earth. I was to call for help. He didn’t think I could back him up. Well, he was boss.

He approached the speeder. Evans didn’t have anything in his hands. I noticed that his right hand was not swinging and was near his holster which he had unsnapped. If I remember right, this was strictly against departmental policy. He talked to the man for a few minutes. I could see the driver’s hands waving in the air. He was very unhappy at whatever Evans said he was going to do. I noticed that driver made no moves toward Evans. He just was gesturing in the air. On his return as Evans approached the squad car, I could hear the sports car’s engine rev up. “Damn it, Willy, you spin those wheels and I will tow this thing all the way to your daddy’s ranch!” Evans shouted. I heard the engine slow down and the sports car slowly took off and worked back into traffic.

Evans took his daily log, a list of things we did and times when we did them. Evans wrote contact Willy Otero’s dad and talk to him about Willy’s driving. He handed the clip board to me. I looked at him, “How do you know which ones to give tickets to and which ones to let off?”

Evans laughed, “I didn’t let Willy off. He would rather face any judge than the wrath that awaits him when his father finds out. The old man runs a tight ship and his oldest son was seriously hurt in an automobile accident. Alfred Otero told me the other day that if I ever caught Willy speeding to call him. Willy is in for a hard time tonight when he gets home and he knows it.”

I thought for a few minutes, “How do I know what to do? I don’t know any of these people. How will I learn which to give tickets to and which to do something else?”

Evans just smiled for the first time. “I am sure that Captain Whitman told you to learn what I do right and, also, to avoid what I do wrong. Well, here is the first lesson. You ticket everyone who is doing anything wrong and you won’t get into trouble. Put what I did today into the list of things to avoid.”

We drove for a while just going a bit faster than the flow of traffic. Evans stopped a couple who were having trouble with their trailer hitch and he directed them to get off at the next exit. There was a truck stop there and they would fix the hitch. We stopped a few tourists and Max wrote tickets for speeding. He never stopped anyone unless they were going more than ten miles per hour over the speed limit.

“Evans, how do you tell who to stop? Is the ten miles per hour a rule with you?” I asked.

“Evans frowned as he was thinking up an answer, “No, it is just that most speedometers are a little off. Usually, if the driver is going considerably more than ten miles per hour over the speed limit, they know it. When I cite them, it is for speeding ten miles per hour over the marked speed. Most drivers know they were doing more than this and will accept the ticket, pay their fine and go on.”

It was almost lunchtime. We got a call that there was a minor accident in the parking lot of a filling station just up the road off the freeway. The sheriff was clear on the other side of the county and would we please take it? Evans increased his speed and, shortly, we pulled into the parking lot. There were two cars. One had obviously backed into the other. Evans motioned for me to follow him up to the scene. I didn’t know what was expected of me, so I just followed.

“Good morning, gentlemen, what can I do for you.” That just started both parties off. Evans let them rant for a few minutes as he wrote on his clipboard. “Now, gentleman, let’s try this one person at a time,” Evans motioned to one of the drivers.

“I was backing out of my parking place when this car just ran right up behind me. It was speeding and I had no chance to stop,” one of the drivers stated.

With that the other driver immediately began to explain, “I was driving and this person just pulled out and hit the front of my car. I was going slowly and this driver never looked behind him.”

The first driver yelled, “Liar, you were speeding! When I looked back, you weren’t there.”

“The hell you say! I never saw you look back at all. I was watching you the whole time.”

They went back and forth for sometime. Evans put his clip board down on the hood of one car. He was holding both of their driver’s licenses. “If you both don’t shut up, I am going to cite both of you for POP. Now go back to your cars and I will talk to each of you later. Make sure you have copies of your insurance to share with each other.”

One of the drivers looked at Evans, “What the hell is POP? I never heard of it.”

Evans looked at him. “Pissing off a Police officer. You are 100 miles from city courts so don’t think these county judges won’t agree that it is a valid law. Now, go back in your cars and I will tell you what I am going to do when I get around to it.”

Evans picked up his clipboard. He had made a sketch of the accident. It was minor so he didn’t bother measuring the location of the vehicles. He looked at me, “Okay, Parker, we have an accident and someone has to be at fault. What do you do?”

I was not expecting this so I stuttered for a minute. “I do not see how the car pulling out could not see the other car unless they didn’t bother to look behind them. I, also, don’t know see how the other car could have missed the car backing out unless they, also, weren’t paying attention.” I looked at Evans for vindication of my reasoning. Max nodded so I went on. “The law says that the driver backing up must give right away to the driver crossing the parking lot. It just seems that the other driver could have stopped if they had been driving slower and paying attention.”

“Very good, Parker,” Max answered. “Having the right of way does not mean you do not have to be careful. It took two people to have this accident and it would have only taken one to avoid it”. He handed me his ticket book. The first ticket read, “failure to yield right of way when backing.” The second ticket read, “failure to use due care while driving through parking lot.” Evans smiled the first genuine smile I had seen from him since I got in the car this morning.

“What if they challenge your findings in court?” I asked.

Max laughed, “That is the privilege of living in America. We all know that with high power lawyers you can challenge anything.” Then he went on, “Contrary to what many policemen will say, there are some intelligent, sensible judges. They can tell if the officer was sincere in what he believed and many times they will agree. Again that is the privilege of living in America. I make an honest opinion and the judges either accept it or not. I am satisfied with my decision.”


Evans went to the first car and got a paper, which I assumed was the insurance information for the second car. He had the second driver sign the ticket. Then, he waved them on their way. Returning to the first car, he handed them their information and, also, had them sign a ticket. They were, likewise, waved on their way.

Evans returned to me. As we pulled out, he stated, as if giving a lecture, “Each driver was being an idiot. They were taking it out on each other when we got there. They were both at fault, but I made it that they were at fault and their stories were insulting to me. That shut them up.”

“What would happen if you ever took that worthless law, POP to a real judge? Wouldn’t you probably be in trouble?” I asked.

Evans was clearly enjoying himself for the first time. “Probably, but that only happened one time. When the subject told the judge I had threaten him with that law, the judge gave the subject such a tongue-lashing for annoying a policeman, that everyone forgot whether the law was valid or not.”

I frowned this time, “Is this some sort of law of Evans or something?”

“Yeah, and it is also one of those things that you file under what not to do,” Evans stated.

We stopped for lunch. I had a small salad. The prices were high enough that I had to figure how long my account would last. “Parker, the state will pay enough for two or three meals a day. They pay in retrospect so you will just have to be careful the first three weeks until your first check comes in. Let me get it for you to day. Remember that we each, normally always pay for our own meals.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was going to have to be careful, I knew. Then there was that added expense for the box of 357 shells that Evans had demanded that I buy.

We had only two more hours before the night shift would take over. We had been drifting back nearer the Central City. We should hear the night shift go on and, then, we would be clear until early morning. The two shifts split the early morning. The wide open spaces were safe enough so the time between two o’clock and whenever morning shift came on had no regular patrol. The night crew would come back out for any accidents or incidents up to four o’clock and we would be called out if anything happened between four o’clock and whenever we went into service. As we were cruising the highway, the sounds becoming almost intoxicating as the trucks and cars were passed, when we slightly exceeded the speed limit or they passed us when Evans would slow down. He didn’t slow down very many times. I think he did mostly for me to see that there would be a massive back up because so many cars were not willing to pass a patrol car no matter what it’s speed. “Car 256, what is your location?” the radio squawked.

Max took the microphone. “We are about ten miles outside of town.”

“Be advised there has been a roll over reported about fifteen miles back. Please advise when you get there,” the bodiless voice stated.

The first thing I noticed was the politeness in the transmission. I had been taught in the academy to not say any extra words. I would have to ask Evans about this later. Much later, I was to appreciate the fact that the radio operator was like the father or mother of the patrols. When things were stressed, it was the calm, polite voice on the radio, which gave the officers a chance to calm themselves. It was the radio operator’s disembodied voices that would give the field officers a feeling of security. The operator would do all the officer asked without question and be there if help was needed. They were always behind the car door where they safely could send or call for help.

Evans had flipped on his red lights. When it came up, he took a cross over path through the median, to go back the other way on the freeway. Civilians were not allowed to do this because it was very dangerous. Highway crews and police were the only ones supposed to use these crossovers.

There was a congestion of traffic ahead of us. Evans took the radio microphone and stated that we were at the location. We were informed that an ambulance and wreckers were on the way. He was using police code, but even though I had studied the codes, it was all still strange to me. Several truckers had already put out flares, those chemical torches that burned bright red even on the brightest of days. Evans pulled into the middle of the median. Here it was a slight depression between the two lanes of traffic. He opened his trunk. He had already turned up the radio so we could hear it outside the car. Calling to me, we carried our first aid kit over to the victim. Evans was cordially greeted by one of the regular truckers in this area.

“What you got, Jake?” Evans asked.

“He came up over that hill and a gust of wind just carried him off the road, Max. You have my card. If you need me, give a whistle, but I need to get my rig back on the road,” the trucker replied.

Come to think of it, that was the first time I had heard Evans first name, Max. Was it for Maxwell, or Maximillion, or…? Well, we had an accident with injuries. Max had taken a flash light and was checking the subjects eyes. I walked over to the wreck and looked inside the upside down car. There was definitely a smell of alcohol. I rummaged through the glove compartment and I found a wallet. I took this to Max. It was strange how since I knew his first name, I had started to think of him this way.

I was bending over the victim trying to help them take care of him. Max whispered, “Smell his breath and remember it for later.” I nodded and did as Max requested. The breath definitely had the aroma of alcohol. When I got back to the squad car, I would note this on my daily report. When the ambulance arrived, Max filled out a paper and requested they take a blood sample to test for alcohol. He called to the office. Yes, the night officer would meet the ambulance and witness taking the blood sample.

As soon as the victim was heading for the hospital, we took a garbage bag and filled it with all the loose things we found in the car. Max had kept the driver’s license and, after we inventoried the car’s possessions, the wreckers removed it. This time, Max was very careful how he sketched the accident scene. He had me run out to certain points with his tape measure. We used a mile marker to be our data mark. This would be a location that, supposedly, could be found at a later date if there was any question about the accident. Normally, we would be heading home by four o’clock that afternoon, but, now, it was already almost seven o’clock in the evening. It was way after seven o’clock when Evans dropped me off at the station.

I got into my little car and drove home. I went right to sleep, but I had visions of speeding sports cars, stupid wrecks in parking lots and, then, blood flowing from the patient as Max stood by holding part of a six pack of beer. In between these scenes, I was trying to figure out who was Officer Evans? The man who had issues with women, who the truckers referred to on a first name basis? The man who did so many things and told me that was what I wasn’t supposed to do? We had spent a long day indeed.
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Please read the testamony in the parking lot. how would you handle that situation?

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Smugglers of Antar this is a Max Liz story of adventure and action. It takes place in the southwest and in northern Mexico. it is the second in the series Liz of the Desert.. so far there are three stories planned in this series. This character of Liz is my favorite that i have created.
Last edited by ken_r on Fri Oct 19, 2007 9:44 am, edited 6 times in total.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

User avatar
ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

chapter 3 oct 24

Post by ken_r » Wed Oct 24, 2007 9:35 am

Begonia 9508 I hope you continue to like police stories. I have started a new police story. It is more like a Micky Spalane type homicide detective story with a ghost. It is about ½ finished so we shall see if it gets posted.

The job is stressful because there are many who do not think the laws are for them. Remember this was 30 years ago. People in the state police had to be self sufficient. Max is trying to give Liz the tools to survive.

The Job is intoxicating in its excitement. Please observe the changes in Liz as the excitement becomes addictive.

My life in high school and college in English class was A/F that averaged out to a C and that was me in English. I find some stories just fall from my fingers. I think those are ones I took from my past.

Please notice the changes in chapter 2 presumed guilt is a fact of law but it is not absolute. In chapter 2 the man backing up was obviously at fault but in New Mexico that doesn’t absolve the other driver from paying attention. Liz is to learn that police work in not black or white but so many shades of gray.

Martine Liz being who she is, learns. Part of the story is about those who won’t learn. You will see later. Yes Max is macho. The man I patterned him after only lost two fights in his life to my knowledge. I went to school with him. He was shy around women, he did things that were outside the rules, he was respected even by those he arrested. He tells Liz to constantly judge his actions.

The fights he lost? The first was as a sophomore in high school when four boys jumped him after an appendicitis operation. The second was when he was 45 and he came by my house after a bar fight, he had several cuts and bruises. He said he might be getting old.

Notice how Max is trying to cover his feelings for liz. It is difficult to know why.

Allie Xie then I just hope I can last to keep writing the stories at least for a while.

Chapter 3


I was preparing to get ready to leave for the station when I got a call. “Look Parker, I got your address and phone number from the radio room. How about, I come by and pick you up? Then, you won’t need pick up your car at the office when we get through?”

I didn’t know what to say. Yes, that would be a lot easier. I would have another fifteen minutes this morning, to get ready and tonight, if he dropped me off, I could be home without that long drive.

When we started, Max called in and turned off the freeway. We dropped off the hills into a river valley. There were villages and stores right along the road. Max stopped at a store and we went in. When we entered, the patrons of the store all called out to Max. “Hey, officer, how’s it going today?”

We sat and Max introduced me. There was a lot of good natured, at least I hope it was good natured, jokes about the fact that I could arrest them any day I wanted. Max just smiled, but I didn’t quite know how to take it. The storekeeper brought over coffee and donuts. He served us and I looked to see how we were supposed to pay. Max didn’t seem to be paying attention to that. We talked about sports, the weather, politics and I do not know what else. After about 15 minutes, Max stood up and looked at the store keeper who nodded. Max went back and I could hear him flush the toilet. He returned and looked at me. He mouthed, “You go.” I frowned. It had been a long time since someone ordered me when to go to the bathroom. I started to refuse, but his look convinced me this wasn’t one of those battles I wanted to fight.

When we were back in the car, Max started talking, “There are many things a good cop always knows. You always know where free coffee and donuts are. You know which of the locals will help you in a pinch. You always know where the bathrooms are and you go every chance you get.”

He sort of laughed, and he continued, “You can’t do it, but there was that cop, Lee, who just let it hang out one night as he was on road block. The captain got calls all next day from people saying that there was a policeman urinating on the street as he directed traffic. When the captain called Lee in, and he just said, ‘Captain when you gotta go, you just gotta. I didn’t like leave my assigned post. I was doing my job.’” Max, to himself thought that is why even though Captain Alex was only a few years older than he, Alex was turning prematurely gray. Max might make sergeant someday, but he had no intention of going higher. Most of the day was spent just visiting from one store or fire station to the next. When Max took me home that day, I asked, “What police work did we do today?”

He stretched and said in that simple drawl of his, “Well first off you found where a lot of the bathrooms are. The storekeeper at the first store has been trying to get me information on a group of kids who might be into burglary. One of those old men sitting around the stove was a drug dealer. He knows I am on to him and every time he sees me, it reminds him that it is only a matter of time. Just, maybe, you learned that police work involves knowing people. All in all, we accomplished quite a bit.”

I was thankful that I wasn’t as tired this night as I had been the night before. We had quit at almost four o’clock, our normal time. I even called my dad and mom to tell them about my first two days.

My head had just hit the pillow when the phone rang. It was a little after four o’clock in the morning. We weren’t supposed to go on patrol until about seven. Having to cover from four o’clock on as the morning shift, was one of the curses, but having a phone installed immediately without having to be on a waiting list, was one of the perks of being a state police officer. You got a telephone ahead of anyone else and the state police paid for at least part of our bill. You had to be reached when needed at unearthly hours in the morning. “Rise and shine, Parker, I will be by in 30 minutes. We have a bad one out on the interstate,” Officer Evans had called me.

I showered and dressed. There was no time for breakfast. Just as I was finishing dressing, I saw the lights of Max’s patrol car. I was just buckling on my gun belt when Max knocked on my door. He hurried me. That worried me, this was one of the few times I ever saw Max hurry. With my briefcase in the trunk, me buckled in, we were flying through the residential area with the red light spinning. We were quickly on the freeway and passing everything. Max reached forward and turned on his Citizens Band radio.

“Breaker, breaker, Smokey is on the move. He is headed out of town and flying low. Give him a pass, boys. There is a four wheeler up ahead that tried to edge out an 18 wheeler and lost.” We were hearing the colorful vocabulary of the truckers.

Max reached for the microphone I had not noticed, “Breaker, breaker, this is the ‘Eyes of Mars.’ It’s a bad one, so be careful!”

“Hey Eyes of Mars, how you doing, good buddy?” a called came back.

“Ask me later, tailgator, I am busy right now.” Max handed me the microphone. I hung it up under the dash. I looked at the speedometer. It read 110 miles per hour. I frowned, I knew the rule for emergency vehicles was ten miles per hour over the speed limit. This was the 70s. The official speed limit was 55 miles per hour. Max didn’t seem to notice. As we cleared the crest of a hill, we gazed upon what could have been a tomato farm. There were red lights everywhere and where there weren’t red lights, there were red flares. The last ambulance was just loading as we arrived.

Two men were leaning against a county car each holding a cigarette. The cigarettes weren’t lit. The smell of gasoline was too strong. The men were just holding something familiar to keep their sanity. They had been the drivers of the two trucks. One of the sheriff officers came up. He had the names of all involved. He promised to fax this to the state police office as soon as he got back to town. I started an inventory on the squashed little foreign car. I had already learned this much. The little car had somehow gotten between the two semi trucks and trailers. Inside, the car was a mess. My uniform was covered in blood. It, also, was getting torn from the sharp metal. There was no help for this as I had to crawl into the little car looking for anything that would help us understand what had happened. In the back of my mind, the thought was that I had been given a clothing allowance for only a few uniforms. The way I was going, I was loosing more money every day than I was going to make.

One of the county officers was reading through the driver’s logs of the semi truck driver. He was looking for times when they last took a break, when they last ate, whether they were tired, or other things, which might affect their driving. There was a Department of Commerce man looking at the manifest to see if the load was of the proper weight and distribution. Every person was trying to gather data to bring to the state police who, always, when there might be a jurisdictional argument, would be declared in charge. Max was interviewing one of the drivers when I brought my findings to him.

Max:
She had a spot of blood on her forehead and a smudge of grease on her cheek. For a second, I thought… but then I caught myself. She sure was a cute thing! She was trying to work so hard, I almost felt sorry for her. No, she wasn’t someone I could afford to care about. My job was to toughen her up so she could survive. I had to give it to her, she was very game. Many women would have turned in the shield having to go through the blood and grease of the wrecked car.

Liz:
We were four hours before we could leave. We would probably have three or four more hours before we could go on to other things besides the wreck.

Max surprised me by driving me home. “Parker, go shower and change your uniform. Then bring all your dirty uniforms out to the car,” Max stated in that way which was really an order. As I went into my apartment, Max sat in the car and worked on his report of the accident.

It took about 30 minutes to accomplish this. When I came out, Max indicated for me to throw my uniforms in the back seat. He drove me to a small laundry and drycleaner near the police station. “Take your uniforms here. He will do them for less than half of what the other places charge. It is not gratuity. He has a deal with the state. He will also do hurry up jobs, but try not to take advantage of his good will.” Max was helping me gather up my uniforms.

The laundry:
Mr. Chavez had a son who he was inordinately, proud of. That son had joined the state police and was now a lieutenant down in the southern part of the state. “Hey, Max, ¿qué pasa? Whooee, the recruits are getting better looking all the time.

Max smiled at Mr. Chavez. “She is going to replace me someday, Freddie. She needs some laundry done and, probably, a little tailoring while you are at it. We had a bad wreck out on the interstate this morning. There is a lot of blood on one of her uniforms and, probably, several tears.”

Liz:
Next we were going to the hospital. Max turned to me, “Parker, I am sorry, but this is a set up. The district wants you to be interviewed. It will be the first for a woman to be the spokesman for the state police,” Max chuckled, “or should I say spokswoman?”

I felt faint. “What do I say, Max? I barely know what has happened.”

Max smiled at me, “I wrote this out for you. It is simple and to the point. There will be some questions and answers after you make the statement, which I can’t help you with. Just say the truth.”

Well, this was a little help. Max had encapsulated the events of this morning. When I finished my, or rather Max’s statement, which I know was totally disregarded, the first question was: “How were you treated at the academy, Officer Parker?”

I frowned at that, “What do you mean?”

The reporter rephrased his question, “Were they easier on you because of your gender?”

“No, not hardly. They kicked the fuck out of me… I mean they kicked the shit out of me… That doesn’t sound much better. I guess I am trying to say, they were every bit as hard on me as they were on the men. I received no special treatment.” I was, now, beet red.

Max was standing beside me, “Officer Parker is every bit as prepared to be an officer as any man coming out of the academy. She will be every bit as tough as any man when called upon.”

The interview was soon terminated. When we were back in the squad car, heading for the station, I was almost in tears. “Did I blow it?”

“No, Officer Parker, you stood there a beautiful woman and told them you could kick anybody’s ass just as well as would any male officer.” Then, Max added, “It might have been better if you had used a little better description.”

When we got to the station, the TV news had been aired. I was even more embarrassed. “Hey, Parker, that’s telling them! Way to go Parker!”

Of course, I knew I would be in Captain Whitman’s office soon. “Officer Parker, looks like you will be a pain in the butt, just like Max. I was always scared you wouldn’t measure up to the job. Now, I am worried that with both you and Evans, I might never live to see my retirement. In the next few weeks, you are to be sent to several schools to give interviews. Please remember that these little bastards have delicate ears or at least their parents do. Tone it down.” I found my self excused, but I didn’t know if I had been complemented or censured.

As I made my way back to the wardroom, I was accosted, by “Atta-girl, Parker.” At least, I was recognized by my fellow officers. As I was sitting at the table, Max came in, “Sleep in tomorrow Parker. We go on nights for two weeks and, then, you go off solo on a public service tour.

I hadn’t had time to get the 357 ammunition Officer Evans had told me to get, so I used the next morning for this. I went by the sporting goods store Max had recommended. I was surprised when they sold it to me wholesale using my police Identity. I bought three boxes and that made me way over budget. I picked up my uniforms and Mrs. Chavez was there to help me. Mrs. Chavez had sewed several of the rips that I had gotten crawling through the car. They had removed all traces of the blood. The amount she charged was remarkably reasonable. I had tried to catch as much sleep as I could get. Four o’clock that afternoon came faster than I was ready for. I showered and gathered my things. When Max drove by, I went quickly to the car. Max told me he usually ate about six or seven o’clock if that was all right. I nodded my head. He was the boss and I was learning.

While the sun was up, patrolling was just like it was when we were on the day shift. We had a few speeders and a fender bender or two. As the sun went down, the character of the world completely changed. We were behind a car that was weaving completely out of his lane. I looked at Max, “Is this a DUI, driving under the influence?”

Max shrugged, “Never know. I stopped one man like that who was all over the road and he had dropped his lit cigarette in his lap. If there is a couple in the car, you do not know what they are doing.”

My eyebrows went up, “I thought that was just a tale at the academy.” Every one in police work has heard about a couple having oral sex as their car drove erratically down the road.

Max laughed, “No I stopped one couple and what they were doing while driving had to be against some law. When he drove across the railroad track, I guess there was as much thrill as could be allowed. I threatened them with POP and they apologized.”

I had to laugh over that one. Stories were becoming fact. When Max turned on his lights and hit his siren one time, the car pulled over so fast that it almost rolled over. “Now we have no idea what we have here. It may be a simple drunk or it could be almost anything else. You stay back behind the door and keep watching for any thing out of the ordinary. Watch the trunk of the car and watch for anything in the back seat. Remember, first thing is to call for assistance”

I grimaced, but I had my orders. Did Max still not trust me? Max walked up to the door. I saw that he carried his aluminum flashlight in his left hand and had nothing in his right. I observed that he, carefully, did not stand in front of the door. He was positioned slightly behind the door which made the driver turn to face him. Max, from time to time, would flash his light in the windows of the rear of the car. With his right hand, Max motioned for me to come on up. As I moved up closer to Max I heard him say. “How much did you have to drink tonight, Mr. Lesten?”

“Only a couple of beers I got them at the bar over there and I am going over here.” The slurred speech of Mr. Lesten was heard as he vaguely pointed around his head.

Still keeping away from the door, Max leaned forward and opened the door. “Mr. Lesten, please step out of the car.”

The man slowly climbed out of his sedan. He stood up tall and stretched. “Now, Mr. Lesten, I want you to touch the tip of your nose with your finger.”

I watched as Mr. Lesten tried to find his nose by walking his finger across his face. “That is fine now, Mr. Lesten. Now I want you to walk down this line,” Max was pointing to a line painted to mark the edge of the road.

Lesten was trying to see the line, much less walk down it. He was muttering to himself, “I only had two beers, I can’t be drunk.” Mr. Lesten had trouble getting either foot on the line.

Now, Max said, “Mr. Lesten, I want you to lean back and do not sway.” Lesten leaned back and passed out. Max caught him as he swooned. “Mr. Lesten, I arrest you for driving under the influence.” It is doubtful if Mr. Lesten ever heard Max. We cuffed him and helped him into the back of Max’s car. Max called for a wrecker and I started to inventory the contents of Mr. Leston’s car before it could be towed. By the time the wrecker had arrived to tow his car, we were ready to proceed to the county jail.

It was almost seven thirty when we were again back on the street. Max drove to a Mexican restaurant. This time we were, able to complete our supper. Max had warned me that, many times, we could be interrupted.

Now, Max drove out into the small towns surrounding the city. We had a call. The county was at a domestic dispute, so would the state take a call at the Blue Lagoon Bar. I answered “10-4 we are on our way.”

“Max, why do they use the 10-something for different calls? Is it a code or what and why the ten?” Liz asked.

“Parker, all I can tell you is what they told me. Long time ago, the radios would have terrible scratchy noise when every sentence started. It had something to do with the carrier wave or something like that. The word ten got this out of the way and the other number gave a code so that if the explanation was garbled during transmission, at least you got the idea across. I don’t know if that is true, but that is what I was told.”

When we arrived at the Blue Lagoon Bar it looked like a convention of Pickup trucks. We called in on the radio that we were 10-10 at the blue Lagoon. I put my stick in it’s holder, but I noticed that Max carried nothing except for his flashlight. Max and the Captain had both told me to do as I was trained and disregard, Max, when he did anything different. We went in the bar. I was the only woman in the place. It was strictly a bluecollar bar for working “men.” There were two men at the bar who were obviously arguing. Max’s voice rang out, “Gentlemen, what the hell is the problem?”

Now, maybe, I was appreciating the shouting I had done in the academy. The bar tender leaned over, “I told them to take it home. They are both drunk and I am not going to serve either of them anymore.”

As they were talking, I could feel someone coming up behind her. I smelled his drunken breath as he leaned against my backside. “Back off, asshole,” I said with the same voice I had learned to answer my drill sergeant.

“Or what if I don’t?” the voice behind me asked.

I reached up as if to scratch my head. I made a fist and brought it down, hitting the man behind me in the groin. “I guess you will be singing soprano in the Sunday choir.” I felt a satisfying thump as my fist connected with the man’s lower extremities.

I turned around. There were now several men collected behind me. I was thinking about what I was going to do. Then I heard Max. “If you men don’t behave, I am going to go outside and then, I can’t protect you. You lost the fight the minute she put on her uniform this afternoon. If you hurt her, it is assault on a police officer. If she hurts you, it is a story that you got your ass kicked by a five-foot-three inch woman. I will just take you to jail or to the hospital.”

Men at bar
The men just looked confused. They stared into the brown eyes of the little woman. She didn’t seem to have any fear of them. What if she could whip their collective asses? How could they ever hold their heads up in the community? Their women would always refer to the time a small police woman put them in the hospital. No, she had won and they, gladly backed off. Somehow the evening wasn’t nearly as much fun as it had been an hour ago. The patrons of the bar slowly drifted off.

Max looked at the bar tender, “Sorry about your business.”

The bartender just shrugged, “Maybe, I can spend some time with mama tonight. Good night, Guys.”

Liz
When we were back in the squad car, I turned to Max, “Would you really have left me alone with that bunch of men?”

Max shrugged again, “If the sergeant hadn’t have believed you could take care off yourself, he wouldn’t have let you graduate. Liz, how did you learn self defense?”

That was a great question. I wasn’t sure, myself, how I had learned. After the Billy Bob episode, the training was mostly the sergeant calling for volunteers. Volunteers, right! Sarge would call for volunteers and then, before anyone could speak, he would call out names. “Parker, get your candy ass over here! Now, Parker take me down! I would use everything I had been taught, but I knew that I would, eventually, end up on my back. I wasn’t the only one. Billy Bob had taken the sergeant down once, but I was sure that had been an accident. The sergeant wasn’t expecting what Billy Bob did and he fell. The sergeant was a good sport. He shook Billy Bob’s hand and, then, he sent him flying across the room.

“Liz!” This brought me out of my reverie, “Who in that room was tougher than the sergeant? You have already fought the best. These others are just a piece of cake,” Max said

For most of the night, I thought, “Yes I had fought a trained instructor. I had endured everything he had thrown at me and survived. A bunch of drunks at a bar would be just that, a piece of cake.” I was beginning to build up my self-esteem immeasurably.
-------------------------
Stories by Ken

Smugglers of Antar this is a Max Liz story of adventure and action. It takes place in the southwest and in northern Mexico. it is the second in the series Liz of the Desert.. so far there are three stories planned in this series. This character of Liz is my favorite that i have created.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

User avatar
ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

chapter 4 oct 31

Post by ken_r » Wed Oct 31, 2007 10:14 pm

Begonia I try to build their history with in the story. At the end I hope those who remain with me will understand both Max and Liz. their teacher–student relationship is similar to the story, “Good Bye Mr. Evans” but there Liz was a child at the start of that story. These two here, are both adults.

Martine I try to make Liz be a strong person and I remember the woman I use for a pattern. I was working that night when she was in her first bar fight.

Just keep your feelings of romance. I promise some steamy passion at the end of the story. At least steamy for me.

Chapter 4

As the week progressed I saw more and more excitement. In police work, I found that excitement ruled the night. It seemed that after dark people just acted different. On my day off, I managed to go out with my friends. Maria and Tess had been after me to go out since I joined the academy. This was the first time I felt that I had time to call my own.

“Liz, you just have to go out. You haven’t had any fun since you started that old, stuffy academy. Come with us, we are going to the club,” was Maria’s plea. They were right. It had been so long since I had worn hose and high heels I found they felt strange. We were sitting at a table. Maria had been flirting with a man sitting behind her. Soon, we had attracted a man or two to our table.

Simon:
Simon had always been a lady’s man. He was always confident. The three women gave him thought that at least one of them might go home with him tonight. The cheerful blonde was flirting with every man who came by. The other blonde was good to look at, but she had already found the company of a cowboy who had just bought her a beer. That left the little brunette. She was cute and her body had excellent tone. She must work out regularly. “Hi, my name is Simon. What’s yours, sweet thing?” he asked.

Liz:
I looked at him. Yes, he was good looking in a soft sort of way. “Liz,” I replied. Simon leaned close to me, “Can I buy you another drink, honey?”

I thought of the drunk I had arrested with Max just the other night. There was a time when drinking with a man was a pleasure, but now, I was watching my self more. “I have one,” I replied. “No, thank you.

“I am way ahead of you then. That’s not fair. You need to catch up,” he slurred.

I was thinking, had I ever been like Simon. The answer, unfortunately, was yes. I even remembered a few times when I had just let my car find its way home. I had been lucky because this was one of the few things the state police wouldn’t forgive. A DUI was the final nail in your application. I was also having visions of the little car squashed between those semi trucks. “Simon, I think you have had enough for the night,” I politely said to him.

“Aw, no. I haven’t had near enough and I think you should join me,” Simon was beyond the point of reason. He tried to put his arm around me. Yes, I remembered the times when I had been afraid of a man when he got this drunk. I, usually, managed to slip away to the lady’s room to wait him out. This time, I just removed his arm from around me and slowly taking his wrist, I just gave it a little twist. I was careful not to use enough force to break, it but to hurt enough to get a message through the alcoholic haze in Simon’s head.

Simon stood up, “Dumb, bitch! What are you here for if you don’t want to get drunk and laid?”

Dumb, bitch! Now that was something I was familiar with. “Parker, what does a dumb bitch like you want to be in the police force for?”

I was trying to wrestle the sergeant. This was a futile thing that by my calculation, I had to do every two days as he rotated who he used for illustration and practice. I remembered Jeremy saying, “The sergeant doesn’t care. He is just trying to get you riled. If you can’t handle it when you know that he is only an instructor giving you a turn at being insulted how are you going to do when you are out and confronting those who do mean it?”

I added “dumb bitch” to my list. I didn’t like being called girlie, I didn’t like being called Ma’am when it was said with a sneer and I didn’t like being called a dumb bitch. I wonder if I could take being called a smart bitch. Well, the sergeant had once called me a smart-assed bitch. I hadn’t liked that much, but it wasn’t as bad as the other things. I watched Simon’s retreating ass as he made his way to another table looking for a more willing conquest.

Neither Maria nor Tess had found anything they had liked so we decided to all call it a night. As Maria stumbled toward her car I reached over and took her keys. “You have had enough for tonight, babe. Let me drive.”

Five more days on night duty and, then, I would be two weeks on school detail. That was funny because I was having a panic at the thought of not having Max for support. The first night back on duty was a rough one. We had just gone 10-8, police talk for I am now working. When we got a call for a fight at the Blue Lagoon Bar. The dispatcher warned, “Max, there are several units dispatched so look out. Please don’t hit a county unit. The captain is still trying to explain the last one you drove off the road.”

I looked at Max. His face was a real study. It showed excitement and worry at the same time. “Parker, now we are going into something we know nothing about. There is only one rule. Watch your own ass! You don’t know which side is right and which side is wrong. The only rule of Evans here is, ‘If they strike at me, they are going to the hospital and, then maybe, to jail.’ Also watch for officers in other departments. Sometimes, they cause more trouble than they are worth.

When we called in 10-97, which I now knew was arrived at scene. Now Max called to me, “Parker 10-48.” I knew that was his way of warning me to use caution. Things could get dangerous. I had my nightstick in its holder, but again, I saw that Max carried nothing. This time not even his flashlight.

We entered. At first, I thought I was at a western movie site. There were county officers wrestling a suspect as they handcuffed him. There was a security guard being held by two men as a third was hitting him. Max waded in. I only had a glimpse of his face. He was in heaven. He loved this. Max grabbed one of the men, hitting the security guard he spun him around and punched him in the gut. The man went whosh and, then, threw up all the beer he had been drinking. A man grabbed Max by the face and then, screamed. Max had bitten a chunk out of his hand.

I didn’t have much more time to observe Max because a giant of a man, at least a giant of a man to me, charged. His arms were open and he intended to catch me in a front hug. I wasn’t thinking any more. How many times had the drill sergeant called out the numbers, “One,” and we would grip our night stick at the top with our strong hand, “Two,” we would withdraw the stick from its holder straight out with the butt protruding about two inches beyond our hand. Well, two got the man charging me right in the teeth. He was down with his bleeding mouth. “Three,” the stick would be swung so our weak hand was about two inches back from the front of the stick. From now on, it was what we called “teeth and groin.” We would direct a sliding strike with the weak hand and, propelled by the strong hand at the butt of the stick, we would never swing the stick again, but rather, we jabbed it. Yes, that was it “Teeth and Groin,” half the men couldn’t talk and the other half would be unable to do any more than talk for some time.

I moved through the crowd. I tried to watch my back, but in this crowd, it was hard. I had relieved a county officer pinned by a subject by poking the subject in the butt very hard. When I felt hands around me pinning me, I didn’t release my stick. But, when another man tried to hit me from the front, I reared back and kicked him in the face with both boots. Oh, I never thought I would think boots were better than high heels, but the crunch of his face as he also went down was so satisfying. This sounds like it would take a long time, but looking at my watch within two minutes, all was quiet.

There was beer all over the floor. The smell, itself, was almost intoxicating. Littered in the beer were several men in various stages of pain. I wondered how many I had accounted for. Oh my gawd, now, I was keeping score. I was seeking a body count. What had happened to daddy’s little girl?

When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I spun ready to deck the jerk who dared touch me. It was Max. “Hold on, Parker. It is over now.” His voice was calming to me. I was breathing hard, but I was standing and in better shape than some of the other officers. Max went looking for his hat. He found it in a puddle of beer. He just shook it off and carried it. County officers had started this so they made all the arrests. I started to say something, but Max, again, put his hand on my shoulder. “No, Parker, let them handle it. The arrest will be chicken shit and take hours to write the reports and hours later in court. We are listed as assisting officers and that is all.

We went back to the car. I called in 10-98 just like I really knew that it meant back in service. I was now even thinking police talk. Max drove and I wondered where we were going. He had cast his hat in the back seat and I knew that that was against regulations. “Parker, don’t you ever do that. I hate that hat. It is one of the most dangerous things about our uniform. More cops are killed putting their hats back on when getting out of a car than at any other time. When they duck to put the hat on, they loose sight of the vehicle and its occupants.”

I hadn’t noticed that, but I was just a little over five foot three and I never took the hat off. Max was almost six foot he had to duck to get out of the squad car. His hat would be knocked off so, he put it on by regulations when he faced the public, sometimes. Yes, that was another of those things for me not to imitate.

Max hadn’t said anything to me, but he pulled up to one of the large motels. “Car 256, we will be 10-10 in the dining room of the Holiday Inn on the west side.” I was learning that 10-10 meant that we would be out of the car, but they could call us by telephone if necessary.

“That is 10-4, 256. How did Parker do in her first brouhaha.”

“Just be careful what you say to her Sarge. She will do to ride the river with.”

I looked at Max, “Parker, after that, what ever it was, I need to go to the bathroom. I also need to get my nerves back together. You may be made of steel, but us mortals need to calm our nerves. Wash up, Parker, and meet us all in the dining room.”

Another revelation, Max could get rattled. He just didn’t show it. Walking into the lady’s room was somehow disturbing. There were several women standing around smoking and talking. When I came in, seeing my uniform, they seemed to quickly fade away. It is a bit difficult to go to the bathroom with a gun belt on. You have to release the Sam Brown belt which is a cross strap that goes across your shoulder and helps support the weight of your revolver. Then, as you take your pants down, you can either take off your gun belt or just make sure the pistol is secure when you drop them. The academy wasn’t very helpful in this area. When I asked the sergeant, he just answered. “Ladies, I haven’t the slightest idea! I stand when I piss, so I guess you are just on your own.”

It did feel good to rinse my face off and clean my hands. When I came out I proceeded to the dining room. There weren’t many people in the room, but the officers had pulled several tables together so we all could face each other. As I came up, one of the county officers raised his ice tea and said, “Officer Parker, she swings a mean stick guys. When you piss her off, just cover your balls.”

I do not know why, but I was blushing after that speech. I didn’t find it offensive at all, but rather, I was proud of being accepted. I looked over at Max. He had a bottle of rubbing alcohol and was cleaning the cuts in his hand with it. It was an evening to remember. Everyone was telling stories on everyone else. One officer told about me poking that guy in the butt. Everyone was laughing at that, even Max showed a grin or so. We stayed over an hour. Then we began to break up and return to patrol.

When we got back into the car and went 10-8. See I have it all down now. I mean, I now knew that we were back in service. I asked Max a question I that had been bothering me. “Max, why don’t you take your night stick with you when you go into a venture like that?”

He grunted, and maybe smiled, “Parker, I grew on a farm just outside of the city. I have been rough and tumble fighting as long as I remember. I admit, I may be getting old and I am going to have to, someday, start following rules. Just don’t let me, the sergeant or the captain ever catch you not going in without your stick.”

Max was quiet for a while. “I just do not feel comfortable with things in my hands,” he said finally.

“What about that tear gas stuff some of the officers carry?” I asked. This was something new and only a few officers had any of it.

Max made a face, “Are you figuring on getting some of that stuff, Parker?”

I shrugged, “I was just wondering if it was a good idea?” I asked him.

“Parker, there isn’t any such thing as a non-lethal weapon. I have seen men killed with the gas, the blackjack and with a flashlight. I do carry a flashlight, but that is as far as I want to go now. Later, maybe, when they outfit my squad car with a wheel chair lift and I am carrying a cane,” Max was chuckling over this, kind of a private joke of his.

“Parker, the best weapon and the only one which won’t let you down, is under your hat. As long as you are still thinking, you always have a chance.” Max stated.

This was to come back to me, along with many other things Max had said, much later. I had Max in a good mood. No matter what was said, he had enjoyed that fight. I decided to push a little harder. “They say you have issues with women, Evans, care to explain?”

I wished I could have called back that question. It was clearly wrong. Max’s face fell. “No, Parker I don’t,” and he said no more.

Max drove the car back onto the highway and I saw the speed rise up to ninety miles per hour again. I knew that this was one of those do not imitate moments. We had gotten clear out to the district limits before he turned around and returned to the city. We saw a car pulled to the side of the road. Max, without a word, pulled behind it. He hadn’t said a word since I set him off someway. “Parker, be real careful. Keep your eyes on the surroundings. Call out if you see anything.” Max was scaring me.

Max walked up to the car. He tried the trunk and, then, he looked in the windows. I kept looking around in the night, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Max reached in the passenger side and withdrew a shelf of papers from the glove compartment. He returned to the squad car. We both got in. He handed me a sticker which he directed me to place on the windshield. It simply said the state police had found this car abandoned and gave the date. After a certain time, the state or, maybe, the county would have the car towed. They would give the owners a couple days to retrieve the car before they did this.

Max directed me to get out with him. “Parker, tell me what you see.”

I thought a minute, “I see a sedan, American make,” we walked up on the car, “ Nothing in the rear seat, radio in front.” I continued.

“What kind of radio, Parker? What kind of sedan? Is this a car you would buy for your self? Is that the radio you would have installed in your car?”

Max was pushing me for some reason. “No, I would probably want a better radio. If I could afford this model, I would want a few more amenities.” I went over the car. It had no dings or dints.

“Right, Parker, this is a car you might rent, but would definitely not buy.”

We got back in the squad car and Max called it in, “We have a possible rental abandon. Please 10-28 …” and Max read off the plate number. He had just asked for the office, which this late at night, meant the radio room to see who owned the car. We pulled back in traffic. “There might be many reasons for the car being there. There might be some felony connected with it. We just do not know. We have no due cause to further inspect this car, so we will just wait and see,” Max continued. I thought that this was strange. Max, for once, was following the rules.

We were back on patrol. Right out of the blue, Max said, “Sorry about that back there, Parker. I was married a few years ago. She was killed by a 10-47, a drunken driver. I just avoid women. I do not want to ever have those feelings again.”

I said nothing. This was Max’s way of apologizing to me. We spent the rest of the patrol in semi silence.

This would be my last night with Max for two weeks. I would go on school detail right after my days off. We had never gotten around to the shooting, but I was going try to get some time in at the city police range. We barely got 10-8 before we got a call about a 10-44, an accident with no injures. Right after we got that call mopped up, we got another call for a 10-45 on the other side of out patrol. This was an accident with injuries. We were running red lights when we were called 10-22, take no further action. The accident was taken by the county and they wanted us to pick up a 10-41, female prisoner/passenger or whose knows what, and relay her to the truck stop just outside of town.

See what I mean? Those 10 signals got confusing, but soon they were just like a second language. This was what police work was mostly like. Either it was boring or they ran your ass all over the place, mostly for things that made little or no sense. The night was soon over and I would be a schoolteacher for two weeks. I almost felt like I was leaving a friend that night when Max left me off at my apartment.

I had only been a state policewoman for a few weeks and I had crammed more adventure into this time than many people enjoyed in several years. Trying to understand the complications of Max, my mentor, trying to see what he did right so I could learn and, also, to see the many things he definitely did wrong, was difficult. But, I was starting to feel the thrill at the fact that I was a member of the State Police.

Author note

I do not mean to imply that Police do not drink. Many of them do. Many police are under stresses which cause personal problems just like civilians.

Drinking for a cop is a little different. The police on the interstate constantly have the experience of what alcohol does to driving. At time of the story a DWI which is the old name for DUI on your record would kill your application. As the years progressed I saw acceptance for slight use of Marijuana in college or juvenile years but as long as I was in the reserve a DWI arrest made your application automatically excluded. The reason given to me was if you have a DWI on your record you do not have credibility when you go before court as the arresting officer of a drunk. DWI driving while intoxicated. DUI Driving under the influence.

Liz in this case had visions of wrecks that were caused by drinking and driving. Working nights and weekends like I did DWI counted for maybe 80% of accidents we checked.

Later Liz is going to be faced with arresting another officer who is driving under the influence. You might see some of the problems.

The night stick drill Liz uses was developed by the Los Angeles Police department and as far as I can see it has long been forgotten. The Rodney King affair was an example. The swinging of the batons was ridiculous. Going by the numbers was efficient and did not have that connotation of being out of control. I used it several times in riot lines. It does move people.

It will be seen by this posting that Max isn’t superman. The fight exhilarates him but after it is over all he can think of is going to the bathroom and sitting down to get his nerves together. Through the story please watch how Liz learns that it is Okay to get rattled but she must try to keep calm on the outside.

“She will do to ride the river with,” the Texas Rangers and the border patrol would patrol the Rio Grande on horse back.. Usually there would be two officers. Help might be hours or long time ago, it was days away. “Do to ride the river with” was a complement that your partner trusted you to back him up.

I don’t know all the problems the female officers had using uniforms made for men but going to the bathroom was one of them. The ladies practically had to undress while all the time being aware of protecting their firearm.

Max does react wrongly to the pressure of Liz question about his problems with women, when he takes off speeding. He is doing the very thing that he would ticket someone else for. There is no excuse except he is human.

--------------------------
Goodbye Mr. Evans, Hey Max

Smugglers of Antar this is a mystery which ends up Sci Fi. It is a sequel to the story Liz of the Desert.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

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ken_r
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police signals 101

Post by ken_r » Sat Nov 03, 2007 12:55 pm

Police radio signals 101 primer

Ten signals used in state police transmission in 1970s

10-4 yes or understood
10-7 out of service or at home
10-8 in service ready for assignment
10-9 repeat your transmission
10-10 out of unit subject to phone call
10-12 visitor or partner present
10-13 weather
10-14 Escort
10-15 Prisoner In Custody
10-18 Livestock On Highway
10-19 Return To Your Station
10-20 what is your location
10-21 Call This Station By Phone
10-22 Take No Further Action
10-28 check who owns this vehicle
10-29 check for wanted
10-33 emergency
10-41 female in unit give milage and location at start of trip and at the end of trip.
10-42 officer at home
10-44 accident no injuries
10-45 accident with injuries
10-46 send a wrecker
10-47 drunk or possible DUI
10-48 use caution
10-49 Do you have any information for me?
10-55 ambulance requested
10-57 drunk pedestrian
10-58 mental patient
10-60 emergency assistance needed. This can mean officer is down and injured.
10-72 road block
10-75 stolen car
10-97 arrived at scene
10-98 finished last assignment now back in service

Indulge my teaching soul for a minute. Radio transmission is much better than it was in my day. Police for the most part still use these ten signals. Every department uses different codes so there are few universal ones. Listening to police calls on a scanner is a interesting hobby but it takes skill to learn to follow the story. Your local ten signals can be found on the internet. Google ten codes and your state.

In talking on radio you used ten signal and then explained it with plain speech. The redundancy assured the transmission was understood.

The language was a living thing. Thus your 10-12 could become your husband or wife. The signal 10-7 as in the man was 10-7 means he was dead. The state police were out in bad weather. So 10-13 was very important. I do remember once working on on the phones that when I was asked for weather I was tuned into the local Television station. I just gave their weather report. Problem was I later learned the caller I kept having was the TV station of we were going in circles. Many of the districts made their own signals. I remember in our district 10-101 meant you need to go to the bathroom. That was never official.

In looking at the list that I used to refresh my memory there were many other signals but they were seldom used and usually meant the officer or the radio room had to scramble for their ten code sheet to see what they meant.

Driving while intoxicated or DWI meant drunk driver
Driving under the influence or DUI meant there were now so many other things that could impair a driver. DUI prescriptions drugs would be how it would be used.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

User avatar
ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

Post by ken_r » Wed Nov 07, 2007 11:39 pm

Chapter 5


I had two days off. They just happened to be Saturday and Sunday. Maria had left me a message that she was having a party. I dressed in hose again. This was again strange. My high heels felt almost fragile compared to my boots. My dress was not nearly as comfortable as my slacks and even my Sam Brown.

I felt naked with out my sidearm and gunbelt. I did not know if I would be drinking tonight, so just to be on the safe side, I left my Chiefs Special, the tiny revolver that was carried in my purse when out of uniform, locked in its drawer.

The party should have been fun. It is just that the people I normally enjoyed, all seemed trivial and shallow. Maria was a wonderful hostess, as normal. She would start everyone who came single by introducing them to the person, who in her opinion, would be a congenial partner. Harvey was a businessman. In sales, he stated. “What do you do?” he asked.

For some reason, I just said, “I work for the state.”

He shook his head, “I know those offices are rough. The quantity of paper work they want must be a trial to those who must process it.” He assumed I was a secretary.

I knowingly nodded my head and listened to his rendition of how offices should be run. He railed about the governor and politics in general. Someway, he got on to the legal system. Seems his friend had gotten a DUI, driving under the influence, citation recently. “You don’t know someone important who could help me get him off do you?” he said with a knowing wink. I shook my head. I just wondered how many DUIs Harvey’s friend had gotten through the years. Harvey was shaking his head, “It just makes me so mad that the damned cops bother decent people like us when there is so much crime for them to investigate.”

I just couldn’t resist, “Are you driving home tonight, Harvey?”

He looked at me, “Of course, I am. You don’t think I am drunk, do you?”

I just smiled. I would bust his ass in a minute. It was strange how my thinking had changed. We drifted apart. I assumed Harvey was looking for someone who could fix his friend’s ticket.

The next man I met was a young man about my own age. He was a friendly talker who was starting to suggest that I go home with him tonight. I was tempted. He was smart and fun. It had been sometime since I had made love, but there was still something about him that kept me back. “I have some great candy at home. It is the best quality that I can get. A line of that will send you into heaven for a week!”

Now, I knew. He was too perfect. His flaw was, he was a narcotics user. I thought back. Yes, I had known a few narcotics users. What the hell! They were junkies. Why try to dress them up? Let’s see them for what they were. Again, I drifted.

There was a group of people gathered around talking about something. They all seemed to be interested in what was being said. I walked up and the group made room for me in their circle.

“I’ll tell you one thing. We could get rid of some of these lazy cops. That would save a bundle. Make them get off their lazy asses and do an honest days work.”

I started to leave quickly, but there was something compelling to what was being said. I stayed, probably for longer than I should have. “I called 911 the other day,” he continued, “to find out some information. They got snotty that they only answered emergencies. I wrote the mayor a thing or two about that one. It was an emergency. If I didn’t get to that office I could have lost a bundle.”

I could feel myself heating up. The 911 phone number had been created so you could call in life and death emergencies. It wasn’t for the convenience of some lost businessman. I should have left then but my contrary soul just anchored me to the spot.

“Put a businessman in there and I would show those dumb cops how to do real work.” That was about it.

“You think you could do the work of a policeman?” I asked.

He glared at me. “Of course I could, little lady, just try me!”

I just laughed, “How big are you?”

He reared up, “I am six feet tall.”

I just chuckled, “You know, I put a six foot cowboy in the back seat of a squad car the other day for being drunk. Of course, to make him bend ove,r I kicked him in the nuts. I worked the other night for 14 hours straight to take care of a wreck with injuries. I will probably work for 14 more getting the driver into court, where I hope, the judge will park his sorry ass in jail for as many years as he can. There was a woman who probably won’t make it and two little girls that will not have either mother or father if she dies.

I have been on the force for less than three weeks and I have had two fist fights, arrested four drunks and investigated two fatalities. I just wonder what kind of business you could be in to work harder than that.” I looked around. The whole damned party was surrounding me. I was ready to burst into tears. I had opened my big mouth again.

I felt an arm around me and I felt someone standing beside me. I looked up and it was Maria. On the other side, I saw her latest bow. The arm belonged to Michael Guerin of the district attorney’s office. I heard his mellow voice.

“Don’t ever fault the police as not working hard enough. We may fault the department for how it uses its officers and the politicians about how they finance the police department, but never fault the officers out in the field. I repeat, never fault officer Parker when she enters a bar fight with her night stick. You can end up with that stick up your ass if you do.”

I looked at him. I hadn’t told that story to Maria. In fact, I hadn’t seen Maria for a couple weeks. After this, I sort of wandered off by myself for the rest of the night. When the party broke up, I hoped it wasn’t my fault in any way. I was one of the last to leave. Maria came up to me. She whispered that Michael wanted to talk to me before I left. I could just envision the many things that I had done wrong.

“Miss Parker, may I call you Liz? That is the way Maria refers to you. I just want you to not worry about that blow hard tonight. Senator Jacobs is very proud of you. He hears all the stories about your activities. Even if he is a loose cannon, Evans is one of the best in the business to learn from. I understand you have a working vacation for the next two weeks. They will have your schedule arranged for you next Monday. Don’t come in uniform. Wear a dress, sort of like what you are wearing now. I will be introducing you for the first two days. Then, we will see.” With that, he took my hand and, with a hug from Maria, I found myself on my way home.

I called home Sunday afternoon. Jeff, my daddy, told me how proud he was of me. He told me that he had said several rosaries on my behalf. “Daddy, I can’t tell you how much those rosaries mean to me. I really need them!” This was as close to a confession as I had made in years.

This took Daddy by surprise. He and Nancy, my mom, are deeply religious. I have always been indifferent to their faith. Church just never seemed to mean as much to me as it does to them. The phone call ended up with everyone crying.

Monday morning I was preparing for my ordeal. I picked out a dress I hadn’t worn in several months. It was a little tight, especially in the arms. I had really grown some muscles. I drove to the office and was met by Mr. Guerin, or Michael as he insisted I call him. He handed me a rose to pin on my dress. It was from Maria, “This is to go with you today, Chica, I just know you will do well.” was the note tacked to the rose.

The city had several high schools. At the first one, I learned that I was to talk to several classes of students taking sociology, psychology and history. They instructed me to talk about the academy and a little about my experiences since then. This was interesting for me because it made me rethink my experiences. The academy was more to teach me to learn. They couldn’t teach me what to do, but they made me open to learn what to do. Then, the academy was to build up my self-confidence. This almost caused me to make another social mistake.

“Officer Parker,” this was from a good looking young man, who besides being a heart throb, was one of the leading athletes. “What kind of personal defense training do they give you?”

“Well, they taught me a few basic moves to arrest someone and how to cuff a subject. I am trained with the nightstick. They trained me how to be aggressive and how to talk to a subject. Most officers feel that this is a start and they build from there.”

I could see he wasn’t ready to let go. I wondered what he wanted me to say. “Officer Parker, if you were confronted with a man my size, who has several black belts, what would you do?”

I tried again, “Most men with training in martial arts are, also, remarkably polite unless they are impaired with drugs or alcohol. Impaired, they do not have the use of this special training. But, I guess you are asking could I take you as you are right now? The answer is yes. The very fear of me kicking you in the nuts at your age would normally be enough to assure your best behavior.”

That drew a resounding laugh from everyone. Even the young man himself was laughing as one of his friends leaned over to whisper something in his ear. There were many question from the girls about harassment in the police force. “You get a lot of harassment, but most of it isn’t directed right at you. Real harassment at you personally might be dangerous. Remember men or women in the police department are taught to fight and win, if necessary. Mostly, the police do not see black, white or brown. They are learning not to see male or female, except for the fact that each has a different place to be hurt in a take down. They do see the blue uniform as we say and everyone else. This is because, many times, the police are just like people everywhere else. They see us and them. This is bad for any group. It is also bad for police. They see themselves as a group apart. We all should be seeing people together.”

I had lived through my first interview. Michael told me I would be free until tomorrow. I went home and changed into slacks. I picked up my revolver and a box of 357 shells and went to the city police range.

The first shot went right into the center where I had intended, but the rest of the cylinder couldn’t even hit the target frame. I had become a one shot wonder and I had had my one shot. I pulled up a folding chair and sat looking at the target. A tall, blond curl-headed man came up to me. “You must be Officer Liz Parker, Evans’ new recruit. How are you doing? Has he scared the shit out of you, yet?

I looked at the man. “No, it’s just that Max thinks I should learn to use full loads in my revolver and I am not used to that.”

“By the way, I am Sergeant John Troy. I am the training sergeant here. Let me look at your revolver. I opened the cylinder and passed it to John as Max had taught me. Max had told me to be careful who I let see my weapon. The training sergeant should qualify for that. He examined the revolver and snapped the cylinder closed. He took my hand and placed the revolver in the v of my thumb and forefinger. He took out a small screwdriver and removed the wooden stocks. He rummaged through a large box of pistol grips looking for something. He would, from time to time, pick up my hand and look at my fingers. Then, he finally took a set of grips and attached them. “Okay now let’s try the light 38 special bullets again.”

I started to argue that Max had said I had to learn to shoot the heavy loads. Again, that guardian angel, who from time to time would hold my mouth shut, came to my aid. The grips felt funny, but after a few shots they were very comfortable. Soon, I was shooting just like I did in the academy.

John would take my weapon and reload it for me. I couldn’t say anything. After all, I was using his ammunition. I made several very good groups. Then, I shot and the gun went “bam” very loud. It surprised me. I felt the sting of the recoil, but the shot went right where I wanted. I was shaken from the recoil. John nodded and I shot again. There was almost no recoil, but I flinched. I was expecting the worst and had pulled my sight off the target.

John gave me some practice drills and we did several practices. John loading up my weapon randomly, putting high power shells between light loads. I was getting much better. I was learning not to fear the recoil. It didn’t hurt as much with the new stocks that John had put on the little revolver. John drew his revolver. It was much bigger than the one I was using. He placed all six shots that could be covered by quarter coin at 15 yards. “That is what you want to do.” I was left to go home and think.

I appeared at the police station as before. I was informed that I was to talk to a university class of women’s studies. In fact, as I entered the class, it could have been the class I took. I looked over the many faces to see if I could see myself in any of them.

The questions were much more aggressive. Had the women’s movement changed in the year since I had been out of college? “Why didn’t you stand up more for you rights? Why hadn’t you tried to change the police more?” At the end of the session, a young lady stood up and asked, “Ms. Parker, do you think I could be a police woman?”

I looked at her, “If you are willing to work hard to learn the system and how to survive within it, yes. If your goal is to change the way training is done before you know what you are talking about, then no. You would be killed the first year, but you being killed wouldn’t matter. What would matter is that you would get many other people killed in the process.”

That got me thinking. How much I had hated the rookie school. It was demeaning, rude and sexist, but it mirrored the outside world. If you could change the outside world, then maybe, the training program could be made more civilized.

Two weeks, church groups, schools, college classes, lion’s clubs and their like. I talked to them all. I had championed my position as a woman and I told them what I felt I could do. I explained that women’s problems need women’s assistance. For much of this, the smiling face of Michael Guerin was behind me. No, it wasn’t too soon for the two weeks to be up. I really looked forward to being back in the patrol car. I really missed the rugged character of Max.

----------------------------------
Stories by Ken

Smugglers of Antar

What would you do if you were a homicide detective? Your have the murder of a beautiful woman who everyone said was a saint. Your only clue, was held by the very confused ghost of the victim.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

User avatar
ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

chapter 6 nov 14

Post by ken_r » Wed Nov 14, 2007 3:22 pm

Begonia9508 One of my friends was a police officer. Like all of us who raised a family around firearms he had very strict rules about his children touching firearms when they were not under his supervision, he wanted to remove any mystique about them. Every night before he went on patrol his children would line up and ask almost like a catechism, “Daddy is your revolver loaded? At the door repeating the liturgy he always told them about watching where the barrel was pointing and keeping your finger off the trigger, he would open the cylinder and they would gaze in and say, “Yes daddy you may go on patrol tonight.” I don’t know how right this was but it was his way. Police that are not raised with firearms are the least safe as officers. There seem to be somethings that must be ingrained in a person about gun safety. Going to the bathroom when wearing a firearm I have never had satisfactorily explained to me. There are time when men must sit also.

Martine social life for police is difficult. When I was associated with the State Police the wives of the police and the reserves used to get together and have pot luck parties. The single guys had trouble also. Certain women wanted to tie up with a cop for their own protection. I had an Israeli exchange student at the time when this story is taking place. He saw the police very different than the way I did. I remember we talked a lot after class about the differences we saw. There are other police departments that are very different from my experience in the States also. Hope you like the story. Liz has to go through several things before she finally gets with Max. Please stay with me if you have time.

Chapter 6

“John says you made great strides in your shooting. He says I can quit worrying about being shot in the back.” I had almost forgotten the dry wit of my partner.

This week, I would be driving. The communication sergeant, Louie from up on the interstate, Kyle and the captain all met us that first evening. They ignored me totally. Kyle stated that they were here to offer up prayers for Max. They wanted him to survive the next two weeks. Someone reminded him of the accidents he had lived through during his career. I just promised myself that I wasn’t going to be the person to crash and kill him.

I pointed the cruiser out on the freeway. I felt the large engine of the car. The steering was very heavy, but I was becoming used to it. I never before knew, what boys were talking about, when they talked about the power of a good car.

A car passed me flying low. Max had told me that he would give me advice, but it was up to me to make the decisions. I reached over and turned on the light. Cars got out of my way as I felt the beast under the hood give chase. I was well over the limit for emergency vehicles. The rules said I should stop and radio ahead. I could remember the drill sergeant asking, “Are you going to be an officer in need of assistance?” I looked at Max. He was just sitting comfortably watching me. He had that little, “I know it all smile.” That really pissed me off! I goosed the accelerator and the car leapt ahead.

I was ready to crawl up the back of the offending car in a minute. I switched on the electric siren and the driver slowed, then pulled over. I was trying to remember everything. I got out of the car, placed my stick in its holder and noticed that Max was standing behind the door just like he had told me to.

I walked up to the car cautiously. I checked the back seat, but it was only filled with a collection of packages. I pulled at the trunk lid to see if it was loose, but it was tight. There would be no one to jump out of the trunk behind me.

The driver hadn’t looked back yet. My hair was still relatively short and I was wearing the same police uniform as Max or any other male officer. I walked up just behind the door. As I approached the door, the driver opened the door and turned around.

The irony of what she saw wasn’t wasted on me. I had to use super control to keep from laughing. The lady had hiked her skirts up until you could see her panties under the hem of her skirt and she had opened her blouse so her breasts were completely bare.

“Honey, I will give you a few minutes to repair your dress. It’s a good try, but I just don’t swing that way,” I stated. Though, I had never seen such hatred as I saw in the face of the woman driver, when she saw I wasn’t a man.

The walk back to retrieve my ticket book was mostly to give me a chance to take control of my self. Max had moved up closer to the car, but he still hadn’t been noticed.

“What the hell is a bitch doing dressed in a police uniform?” the irate driver screamed.

I put down my ticket book and reached for the door. “Lady, you call me anything except ‘officer’ and I am going to throw your sorry ass in a jail full of starving perverts. Now, you going to shut up and take your ticket or are you going to give me a bad time and spent the night with a warden who hasn’t had anyone like you in weeks?”

The driver was still frowning, but she signed the book and took the ticket. By the time I returned to the car, Max was laughing so hard I wanted to use my nightstick on him. “How many times do you suppose she gets away with that?” I asked Max.

“There were two college kids picked up in Texas. When everything was sorted out, it turns out that they had been transporting stolen cars across the country for five years. They admitted that, when stopped, they went into their act and it only cost them a bit of quickie sex or so each time they were stopped, to get free. They, finally, got stopped, by some old fellow who believed that his wife was more than enough for him and they were had.” Max shrugged as he concluded his story.

I wondered if these were stories or just myths that collected in police departments or was the human race, so weird, that such things did happen. Well, it had just happened to me.

The next car that I had stopped was a pickup. I had clocked him above 80 miles per hour. “Let me see your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance, sir.” I was using my best command voice.

The man looked at me. “Who the shit do you think you are, girlie?”

That was a slur that I had grown to hate in the academy. “Sir, you will address me as Officer, Ma’am or, even sir if your want, but you show me disrespect and I will have to take you in.”

The man made a grab for me, but I was expecting something and as he lunged I drew my nightstick. It just missed getting him in the face on number two. The driver slammed the door and sped off in a shower of gravel. By the time I was back in the cruiser, the driver was going down the road mucho fast. “What do I do, Max?” I asked.

“Just get on his tail. The poor fool couldn’t have pulled something stupider.” Max again was enjoying himself with some secret. I was doing about 90 miles per hour and I could feel the powerful car hug the road. “Should I try to pass him, Max?” I asked again.

“No, Liz, just stay on his tail. Max had taken the microphone “This is car 256, call the reservation and tell them we have a chase coming into their land in about 15 minutes.” Max then reached for the citizen band CB microphone. “This is ‘the eyes of Mars,’ coming up on the reservation. Get off the road. We are in pursuit of a nut and he is dangerous!”

I saw cars and trucks both pull off the road and stop. It was almost magic. True, they were doing this for ‘the eyes of Mars,’ but it was still me who drove past. We zoomed past stopped cars, but the pickup had no intention of stopping.

Max reached over and switched to a frequency that all law enforcement cars had. “This is state 256. We are coming up on the reservation in hot pursuit. Stand by your 10-72. In my mind that that was a roadblock. How were they going to stop an idiot like this one? I could just see this pickup smashing through squad cars and either killing himself of someone else. I stole a look at Max. He had that infuriating smile. He, again, was enjoying something.

We were coming to the rise of a hill. Laid out below us was the reservation. Most people drove through this area without realizing they were in a totally different, sovereign nation.

A year ago, the Marine Corps had decommissioned a collection of their small arms weaponry. They had given the reservation police five Thompson sub-machine guns. The officers had all taken the machine guns out for practice many times. This was the first time they had been faced with a felon fleeing from the state police.

The pickup screeched to a halt. He was confronted with five Native American policemen. They had brand new Thompsons. True, if they had opened fire, Max and I would have been old and retired by the time the paper work would be finished. The Native Americans would have forgiven even Custer to be given the chance to use those Thompsons.

I pulled crosswise behind the pickup. This seemed the right thing to do. I got out and didn’t see or hear Max as he told the other officers, stand down. “This is her call and her arrest.”

The man got out of the pickup and I took him on number two as the stick leapt from its carrier. I got him in the gut. He made a terrible fart and sat. I came up to him and using the voice I had used to converse with my drill sergeant I barked, “Turn over on your stomach. Now, put your hands behind your back.” I deftly snapped one cuff on him and, then, putting my boot against the man’s face, I snapped the other. “Now, get up,” I ordered.

“I can’t,” was the cry.

“Get up asshole or I will drag you the whole way.” I reached for the cuff holding his arms and pulled.

The scream was deafening. “Okay, okay just give me a chance.” I stood aside as the man struggled to stand while handcuffed.

Now, get into the back of the car! I walked behind my prisoner and when he bent to get into the back seat of my squad car, I couldn’t help it, I planted a boot in his backside.

The officers cheered as I slammed the door on “my” prisoner.

We started out and Max said, “To the jail Parker.” He was still laughing.

“Are you bastards going to make me fight every fight alone?” I asked.

“No, Parker, I think every one knows that you are our equal now. From now on, we are a team,” Max mused.

A few days later when they were getting ready to go out on patrol, I heard, “Parker, get in here now!”

I was learning to like the night shift because the captain would be gone and no one would be yelling at me. Tonight, it appeared he had stayed late for one reason. Just to scream my name. “Parker, did you kick a handcuffed man in the rectum the other night?”

I looked at the captain with what hoped was a face of innocence. “No sir I was just helping him into the back seat of the car. My hands were full so I assisted him with my foot.”

“Damn it, Parker, you are becoming worse that Evans! Are you both trying to make me not live to retirement?”

I assumed a perfect Miss Parker face. This was the face that had gotten me through high school. “Oh, no, sir! We want you to retire in the best of health.”

“Get out of here, Parker. I don’t want to hear another word about you for at least a week!” The captain was very upset.

Yes, now I truly feel I am accepted in the state police. Max had called me his equal.

-------------
Stories by Ken
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

User avatar
ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

chapter 7 nov 21

Post by ken_r » Wed Nov 21, 2007 11:30 am

Natalie36 I am so glad that you think this is a good story. I have wanted to do something in memory of those first women in the State Police for some time.

Dreamsatnight there arre many things that happen to the police which later are funny. At the time excitement is so high you just do not know.

Mezz the words “Enjoyable part” from you help keep me going.

Begonia9508 especially when they were given bullet proof vest police at first did feel invincible. The main point of this story about women doing this job was they did not depend on strength but speed and simply the willingness to do something. I was talking about self defense to some women one time and the biggest thing they had to get over was lack of wiliness to fight back. With Liz, both Max and sgt Lucero taught her to handle people while under stress. We see this week that her self confidence caused problems in her social life. Many men do not like self confident women.

I fight with this board many times and have to spend several minutes removing multiple posts

Martine Liz is known and respected by the people who work with her. those who do not actually work with her in the field, including her new boyfriend, as you will see in this chapter and the next, consider that she is just playing police.


Listen up everyone: It is true I make some things up but in police work the most ridiculous things that happen are true. The girls who were transporting stolen cars back and forth actually came from an National Auto Theft bureau. They were captured by an older fellow who liked his wife too much. the woman stripping comes from many stories told by cops I met so many years ago. The actual story if doing this for the first woman state policewoman was true. She had a hard time getting her training officer to quit laughing and also to not laugh her self at the woman who found she couldn’t seduce her way out of a ticket.

In a couple chapters further on Liz says she got complaints form women saying she was cold and unfeeling. Meaning that they couldn’t fuck or cry their way out or citations.

Please realize that the language I use here is the language police do use on the streets. I am not purposely trying to be crude.



Chapter 7

There is a problem though. I have a good police life, but I have no social life, meaning I have no sex life. The captain had been very clear and, as far as I could see, he hadn’t changed his mind. Fellow state officers were off limits.

I was introduced to men by Maria, but when they found out that I could throw a 200 pound man out of a bar they just sort of lost interest. Most of the friends I met through Maria, just couldn’t compete with the thought that they might be making love with a cop, even though now her friends were associated with Michael and the district attorney’s office.

Men aren’t into being innocent and most of them weren’t even into being legal. I just couldn’t see having an affair with a man who I might, someday, turn in for some criminal activity.

Every time I was in the wardroom Kyle would call out, “When are we going to have our wild weekend, Parker?” It seemed that he wasn’t bothered by the captain’s order. That, wasn’t what I wanted either.

There was one bright star in my mind. John Troy had been working out with me on my shooting for several weeks now. One day when we were both working days, he asked, “Parker, you want to have a beer with me tonight?” Now, he wasn’t in a black and gray uniform and the captain hadn’t said any thing about going with a city officer in blue.

We went out that night and ended up at his apartment. He was divorced. He had two kids and he had no plans to extend his family. This didn’t fit all of my long range plans, but what was I to do? Being alone all the time was getting to me.

It wasn’t long until it was remarked that, “Liz of the state police was now courting a man in blue.” I took a good amount of hazing, but most of it was good-natured. The only one who never teased me was Max. I wondered about that. When I mentioned this to Max, he was very respectful.

John Troy and Max were sort of friends. They had known each other for many years. John had known Max’s wife, Alice. When John had been married, he and his wife had gone out many times with Max and Alice. John knew that Max treated me like he would any rookie. Max was the best and he took it personal that his rookies turned out the best.

John had watched to see if there was anything between Max and me. He knew the prohibition the captain had placed on his officers, but even the captain didn’t really expect his officers to always do what he ordered. There was no indication of anything special. In fact, when he told Max that he was going with me, I heard that Max just congratulated him saying that I was a good woman and a good cop. That, from Max, was a complement. I wondered why I felt something was not right.

More and more, I found myself sitting with the officers in blue after shift changes and less with the men in black and gray. At first, it didn’t bother me. I knew that there was a lot of rivalry between the two agencies.

I was driving all time and Max was just riding along. Every so often, he did direct me to cruise the small shops and fire stations located along the river road. I had learned to enjoy that. I even spent time talking girl talk with some of the women who worked along the way.

Once, I mentioned to Max that John had told me about the times when he and his wife had gone out with Max and Alice. I suggested that Max could double date with us sometimes. Max just shook his head and replied, “It’s just not thing any more, Parker, just not my thing. You have a good man in John, I think. I was sorry when his wife left him, but I am glad you are together now.”

That brought up a mystery for me. Why did John’s wife divorce him? I wanted to know, but I would wait for the correct time.

I would remain in this district for a year. During this time, they would evaluate me as an officer. While here, I had those who knew me and would give me advice and aid. After the year was up, I would be transferred to whatever district that needed me. Since I was still a show piece it was doubted that I would be stuck in some little pest hole. Instead I would always remain near the larger cities.

There were more and more policewoman. Senator Jacobs would see me, every so often, and remind me that I, Liz Parker, the smallest of small town girls had led the way.

It is important that agencies get along, but it is more important that agencies up hold the law above everything. It had always been a problem how agencies handled things like DUI, driving under the influence, within their own ranks. The rules said that if an officer was picked up DUI, he was to be reported to his superior immediately. Too many times you couldn’t arrest the man who had saved your life last month. When men have the lives of each other in their separate hands, this is a problem.

Like many things in life, there was policy and there was accepted procedure. If an officer was picked up, usually, nothing would go out on radio. The office would be told to stand by for a 10-21 or telephone call. And, in the privacy of the land line, the decision would be made as to the man’s fate. If possible, there might be a total cover up.

Officers understood that if this wasn’t just an accident, but rather a systemic problem which was going to grow instead of disappear, then they could make arrangements for the man to just resign, rather than go through the embarrassment of a trial or hearing. If there was an accident and a third party was involved, there was very little any one could do. If investigation showed that the problem was known and disciplinary action wasn’t taken, heads could roll.

This all was complicated when other departments were involved. Julius Anderson had only one more year to go until retirement. He had been in the city police during to good old days. In the last few years, he had had more and more trouble keeping his mind on his job. He always drank too much. When he was out partying, someone had to always volunteer to take him home.

Now Julius had started to take a nip now and then during the day. He worked back in the warehouse that housed the evidence taken in every day by officers. They all knew that old Julius was a sheet or so under the wind. He was taking more and more little nips every day. Usually, by the time he was ready to go home, Julius was legally and definitely drunk, very drunk.

I was now on my own. I had a car and I was patrolling alone. Max was available for me to ask questions and, if I needed help, he would always come. I was still a rookie, but I was no longer under direct supervision. Max read and evaluated my dailies, that record of what I did and when I did it, before I turned them into the sergeant. He kept my spirits up when I was blue, which, for some reason, was becoming more and more lately. Even I didn’t know why. With my dating John, Max was becoming one of the few in black and gray that I talked to, except for the sergeant.

I was on days now. I had two hours until I would be relieved. I was so proud of my cruiser. It wasn’t new, but it was assigned to me. It was parked in my driveway when I was off duty. I kept it spotless. I could be found, on my days off, washing and polishing the black and white until it gleamed. Max had been called in by the captain, “Now, you might learn from your rookie. Look how she cares for her car.”

“My car is okay, captain. I can see out the windshield.” With Max saying this, the captain would just hold his head. Max was known for never washing his cruiser.

“Car 270,” that was my new number. I was still getting used to it.

I reached for the microphone. “Car 270, go ahead.”

“There is a report of a car weaving all over River Road. This is the third call we have had on it. Check it out. See if it is a 10-47,” I knew that would be a drunk.

I was near by so I quickly diverted to the River Road. The car in question wasn’t hard to find. I could see cars fleeing on either side of the road. I had just leaned forward to turn on my lights when the weaving car swerved way into the far lane and hit another car. I reached for the microphone and said, “I have the 10-47. He has just had a 10-44 or 45. I am 10-97 at the scene. The code words just tripped off my tongue. I had a suspected drunk, I had either an accident with or without injuries and I was out at the scene. I quickly ran out and looked into the car that had been hit. There were two children and both of them were bleeding.

I returned to my cruiser. “It is definitely 10-45. We have possibly three injuries. I need assistance.”

“That is 10-4, car 270. Ambulance is on its way and car 256 will be there in a few minutes.” I could hear the ambulance and just ahead of them, I saw Max

I went to the other car. The driver was unhurt. but he was definitely drunk. I couldn’t do much for the victims that the ambulance couldn’t do better. But, I could arrest the drunk who caused the wreck. I cuffed him and drug him to the back of my car. With the drunk safely stowed away I began to sift through the other car to see if I could give aid. Max got out of his car and came over to help.

The family’s car had been completely destroyed. The mother was crying as she looked at her children. Max and I made way for the emergency crew. It took several minutes for the ambulance to finish and start them on their way to the hospital.

I had already started my report. I had called in all the license numbers and they were being processed. Max and I were writing the diagram. We were taking very careful measurements. The media was now present. I could see the TV camera on the sidelines. I saw a city police car drive up. I didn’t pay much attention to the car. I just had so much else to do. I was finishing up my diagram. It was a piece of artwork. I looked up and the city officer was at my car. As I watched, he opened the door and was removing the prisoner. I was furious. “Just what the fuck do you think you are doing?” I screamed.

The old sergeant just ignored me, but the media didn’t. I ran up to the sergeant and grabbed his arm. “I said, what the fuck do you think you are doing. You leave that man alone or I will arrest you for obstruction of an officer.”

“Look, girlie, you do not know what you are doing. I am taking this man and you are going to go back to the kitchen and do what little girls do best!”

The nightstick came out at position two. I stopped it a quarter inch from his nose. The old sergeant’s hand automatically went to his revolver. Max stopped him. “Sergeant, you don’t want to go there. This is her arrest. Stand down.” He said it with authority that got even through even the old sergeant’s hard head.

The old sergeant looked at first me, and then, at Max. Max was well known by all departments. “That man is one of ours,” he mumbled.

I was still angry, “Well, then pick up his sorry ass at the county jail. He is drunk and he hurt two little girls and their mother.”

The sergeant was still trying to avoid me, “Tell this little bitch how things are Evans.”

That did it! I spun him around and his nose was pressing against the cruiser. “Sergeant you are under arrest for interfering with an officer.” I had already brought up his pudgy arms and had one handcuff on. I pressed with my elbow in his back as I brought his other hand up and placed the other cuff on him. Soon, the burly sergeant was sitting beside the drunk in the squad car.

I turned and all I could see was the TV camera focused on me. Max was standing behind me his face a mask. I looked at him for something which I didn’t find. “Max, did I screw up?” she asked.

Max shrugged as he always did in his noncommittal way. “I do not know Liz. You have arrested two city police officers, one of them in uniform.”

I drove to the jail. When I got there, I was met by several heavily braded city officers. Heavily braded meant that they wearing the gold braid of officers and they had many years of service plus a lot of political pull. “Parker, you have done it this time! We don’t go around arresting city officers.”

“No, and city officers don’t go around turning state prisoners loose,” I responded.

I marched the two prisoners into the jail. It was only the brass, those with so many medals of their own valor, who kept some of the city officers from forcibly releasing my prisoners. When I got in the jail I again was met by one of the majors of the state police. “Parker, do you intend to continue this?”

“What else can I do? The officer I arrested was obviously drunk and the sergeant was going to let him go. I had no choice. The sergeant almost drew on me when I told him to get away from my car.” The major just nodded his head. I couldn’t tell which way he was going to jump.

I knew what they mean. It is lonely at the top. Well, it was lonely where I was also. It seemed that no one wanted to take a female cop seriously. I had decided that I would probably be asked to resign my commission, soon, for the good of the agency.

-------------------------
If you like any of my stories you can go to Stories by Ken. I appoligize that my use of paragraphs was not very good. I am working to improve my ability in english grammer. i am just a poor mathematician or at least I was a long time ago.
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

User avatar
ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

Post by ken_r » Wed Nov 28, 2007 9:12 am

Begonia9508 I always avoided the Media. Everytime I ever got caught on TV I got in trouble, out of uniform or something. in this case the TV saves Liz because she is doing right. If she had let the Sergeant go it would have gone bad for her career. It is difficult for the police to police their own. Bonds get formed and when an officer breaks the law it is tempting to let it slide. Problem as will be seen in the City Police department is that letting some thing just go eventually comes back, as it should. Loyalty is to support but now allow fellow officer to break laws.

Natalie36 the best cops are always the ones that hold themselves and their fellows to a high standard.

Martine Liz is a good policewoman. It will be seen that those who actually work with her give her a lot of respect. Many of the other men near her do not take her seriously. Liz has to learn what she wants. She will have some pleasure but still a lot of grief until she does.

Dreamsatnight yes she does rock. The woman I took much of Liz’s character from rocked also. It doesn’t matter if you are man or woman integrity can be expensive personally but in the end that is most important.

It is hard for a man to write really strong women. I can’t help, but want them to be tender and loving also. It is for me to show that this is possible. I worked hard as a teacher to build strong intelligent girls because I always believed that strong intelligent girl who find strong intelligent men make good families.

Chapter 8

It was late that night when John called. Liz, I have to talk to you. When he came over, he was clearly angry. “Liz, what the hell got into you? Arresting a uniformed officer that sounds dumb, even for you.”

“Is that what you think of me, John? That I am dumb?” I asked.

“Well, what would you call it? Cops don’t arrest cops. It just isn’t done.” John explained.

“Well, cops shouldn’t go around driving drunk.” Liz stated.

“Aw hell, Liz, Julius has been an officer longer than you have been alive. Don’t you think he deserves some respect?” John pleaded.

“Respect? John how can you respect a man who endangered a mother and two daughters?” I was getting hot.

“Shit, Liz, it isn’t as if he killed someone. They will get over it. Julius might loose his pension now. You just don’t have the right to throw away the years of service he has given. You do not arrest a uniformed policeman, ever! What were you thinking, Liz?” John shouted.

“I guess, I was thinking like a cop. Something the rest of you seem to have forgotten how to do.” I felt like shit. I was sure I was going to loose my job and, now, also, my boyfriend.

“Liz, I came over here to try to talk some sense into you. I can’t do anything for you if you won’t play the game.” John declared.

I just looked at him. “John, I do not think you ever did anything for me. It looks like I was servicing you and doing that for free. I don’t think you ever wanted to do anything for me. I think you should leave.” I opened the door.

John slammed the door shut. “Look, you little bitch! I am trying to save your butt. Don’t you ever try to throw me out.” John tried to grab me, but I side stepped him. John was off balance and I just slammed his face into my knee. John was bleeding as I pushed him out the door.

I couldn’t take it. I could only cry. Policemen don’t cry! Can policewomen cry? I had to talk to someone quickly. I dialed Max. “Please Max, come over. I just had to throw John out of my apartment. Things are getting worse.”

Max drove over and found me crying in my room. “What am I going to do?” I demanded.

“I don’t know, Parker. You may have beat me in screwing up. I just don’t know how the brass is going to take it.” I didn’t know it, but Max was stroking my hair like he used to do for Alice. In my own tears, I couldn’t see that he frowned. Max had been determined that he would never allow himself to feel like this about any one again. It just wasn’t worth it. But he had driven with me every day for so long and we had shared both danger and fun during that time. I, later, was to know that we had formed a strong and strange bond.

Max sat quietly with me for an hour. We heard a soft knock at the door. A soft voice said through the door. “Please, let me in, Liz. I am sorry but I have to talk to you.”

Max stood up and went into my bedroom. I opened the door. John roughly pushed me out of the way. Once inside, his manner changed, “Listen, Liz! I am not going to leave until you get some sense. There is a way out of this. Now, I am demanding you take it.”

I looked at John. Was I seeing him for the first time? “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you just agree to not show up for the arraignment. That will get Julius off and he will get to collect his pension.” John explained.

“What about me, John? I don’t show for an arraignment and I get in trouble.” Liz was looking at him.

John was starting to loose it. He grabbed me, “Look, you stupid bitch! You quit playing policeman and leave it to men like it belongs! You go back to being a secretary or what ever women do and stay out of the man’s world.” He was shaking me.

Max came out of the bedroom. “Leave her alone, John.”

What the hell are you doing here, Evans? Is she screwing you along with me?” John snarled with venom.

“John, you know me better than that. You beat your wife and she left you. She couldn’t fight you. Liz is a better man on her worst day than you ever were. I know she can whip your ass, but you also know that you couldn’t beat me on any day? I do not know what went on between you and Liz, but for now, you should leave. Face it, John, the city screwed up. Take your losses and lump it.” Max just stared that totally unemotional stare he normally had.

John started to say something, but he just clammed up. You don’t try to fight against someone like Evans. You had already lost before you got started. John just turned and started out the door. He turned and looked at me. He, again, was starting to say something, but he, again, glanced at Evans and just hung his head and left.

“You have the day off tomorrow, Parker. Get your clothes and I am going to take you over to DeLuca’s.” I had talked very little about my private life with Max. I do not remember ever mentioning Maria. Did Max know everything?

When we arrived at Maria’s, the lights were on. Maria and, surprise, Michael both in robes, met us at the door. Max must have called them. Was there anything Max didn’t know? Maria had made a place for me on her couch. I cleaned up and, soon, was asleep on an uncomfortable couch with terrible dreams floating through my head.

The next morning, Max came for me. He was in uniform, but he took me back to my apartment even though I was dressed in civilian clothes. When we got there, the front door had been smashed and the apartment had been trashed. I looked at Max. Who did I call to report this? Max went over to the phone and called a friend on the County Sheriff’s department, “No! I can’t call city. It was probably one of their officers who did this. Yes, I will call the Attorney General’s office as soon as I hang up.

That day off was the worst I have ever had. The county detective squad came by. They did a complete and expert check of everything. A city unit came by, but they were told their presence wasn’t welcome. They started to argue and then a stranger appeared. He flashed his identity and they quickly left. This stranger came up to me. He had a subpoena for me to appear before a grand jury.

That secretarial job was looking more and more like the way I was going to finish up my days. John came by twice, but he was turned away by the county. It was my day off, but a call from the captain reminded me I was always on duty.

“Well, now I yearn for the easy days when I just had to get Evans out of trouble for smacking some lady out on the highway. Crime can now rein as all the departments are fighting each other now.”

“What do you want me to do, Captain?” I asked.

“Transfer to the Texas Rangers comes to mind, but that won’t work now.” The captain was sure he would be white headed by the time he had me,
Officer Parker, out of his district.

“Captain, was I in the wrong? Do you want me to resign?” I asked again.

“No, Parker and I wish to heaven you were in the wrong. Firing your ass would solve everything. You can’t even resign now. The old time officers at the city are just too used to having everything their heavy-handed way. Julius was a drunk. He should have been fired long ago. He wasn’t worth a shit in his best days. He just kissed ass so much that they always kept him around. That fucking sergeant was the real one who was wrong and here is a place where you could have been hurt. The sergeant should have just let you go and, then, tried to cover up things behind the scenes. No, he tried to show his masculinity by pushing around a five foot, two inch woman and found she wouldn’t be pushed.”

“Five foot, three, captain, five foot, three,” I corrected.

“Gawd damn it, Parker! I am trying to figure what we are going to do with you and you worry about a fricken inch,” the captain flustered.

“Captain, would that sergeant have pulled his revolver on me if Evans hadn’t been around?” That had been worrying me all night.

“Yes, he would have and you can be assured that he would have put something in your uniform pockets that would have gotten you into trouble. He is a bastard and he can’t even appear in court anymore because of his reputation,” the captain explained. I was getting scared. It looked like some of the spy shows that I had seen. Could I be framed and destroyed that easily?

“Captain, what do you want me to do?” I was looking for any guidance.

“Just tell the truth, Parker. Just tell the truth. You aren’t smart enough or crooked enough to make up a believable lie. Just tell the truth.” The captain didn’t know anymore than I did about how to handle this situation. “Parker, I said tell the truth, but anything you don’t know for fact, keep your mouth shut. You hear?”

I returned home or to what was left of it. I rescued what they would let me take and found that Michael had arranged a motel room for me. The room had no outside exits, so he felt it would be safe. I, now, was on paid leave. That meant I got my check, but I did not dare show my face outside.
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Stories by Ken
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

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ken_r
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 860
Joined: Wed Oct 04, 2006 11:34 pm
Location: New Mexico

chapter 9 December 11

Post by ken_r » Tue Dec 11, 2007 10:55 am

Begonia 9508 Police work, much like teaching, is a high calling. The Law, when handled right, is harder on the delinquent policeman than it would be on regular citizens. A DUI or driving under the influence, is certain dismissal. Prison for officers means solitary confinement. They must never be placed among the normal prison population some of which might be criminals they arrested.

When a policeman appears in court their testimony is accepted when it is compared to their reputation. The real Policeman I patterned for Max had many rookies. He always stressed that the officer should from the beginning start to build a reputation for honesty. I remember one officer who arrested a man and the attorney of the man told him that that officer had a reputation for honesty and he should just plead guilty.

There are cops like the old sergeant who almost drew his pistol on Liz and who Captain Alex told her, couldn’t appear in court because he had a reputation for dishonesty the court wouldn’t believe him.

Natalie I used to, every Monday, tell my students stories about what happened on the weekend. There is truly some weird stuff out there. Much of what I saw can’t be proved but it convinced me that humans are truly weird.

Martine Police department have tried many times to clean up their agencies. In the 70’s Frank Serpico was an officer who caused the New Your City department to fire, retire and arrest many of its officers. The real danger is the executive officers who many times avoid prosecution.

Frank Serpico was put into a position where he was shot. His backup retreated to let him be hurt.

There are a lot of problems with the police about spousal abuse. The Police are in situations so many times where physical violence is the only solution, that it comes home. There are many organizations to assist the mental health of the police. the biggest danger is when fellow officers know about the abuse and do not report it.

Lately I have tried to write about persons who evolve their personalities. Liz and knowing her brings out the best in Max. I have a detective story about how the investigation of a lady’s death changes a man’s whole outlook on life. I will post it after Venus.

Chapter 9

It was now six months later. I just can’t describe those six months. There had been a federal investigation and my actions had only expedited it. Julius was selling evidence and several officers were allowing him to get away with it.

Don’t get the idea that the whole Central City police department was corrupt. It wasn’t. There were only a few of the older officers who were no good. The chief had to take the blame because he had turned his eyes from the actions of these officers too many times. There was a general shake up.

I was pronounced off probation; but I would have to watch myself for the next five years.

More and more women were entering the ranks of police, all over the country. In investigating things like family problems and sexual abuse, the women brought much needed understanding. Many of them even rose up in the ranks of their agencies.

I was moved as far from Central City as they could place me. I was now working in a small town. This had both good and bad features. It was more difficult to get help. Sometimes, I think they put me here hoping I would fail or get killed. Yes, it was now very easy to be depressed. Your success wasn’t always strictly under your own control. There were forces out there, that could destroy you and they would, indeed, be difficult to fight.

The small town made your social life difficult. If you screwed someone it would be gossip by the next morning. I spent a lot of time visiting my parents on my days off. I had a few semi permanent boyfriends back home but none of them were what I was looking for. I hadn’t heard from Max since he testified on my behalf during the hearing.

That hearing that was something. The police union, naturally, supported the elder officers. They said that they were just trying to make sure their rights weren’t being violated, but their lawyers sure attacked me when I was on the stand. They attacked my gender, my morals and my stand on women in the force. This was still such a novel concept for our area. The media got into the show.

Some of the old officers had tried to start smear campaigns against me, but when the media showed the tape of the whole confrontation, every thing just fell apart.

The Central City chief retired. The sergeant was fired, as was Julius. Several other older officers were either retired or fired and several men served time. Prison time for a cop, meant existence in solitary. Fallen police officers wouldn’t last a day in the normal prison population.

On arriving at the small district, I was given another patrol and, I swear, everyone sat back to see if I could pull my weight. My reputation was made when, one night, I was dispatched to a bar fight. Thirty minutes later another call came into the radio room. The bartender was crying for help to stop this crazy policewoman. When the county and the other state officer arrived, I was sitting on the bar drinking a glass of water. On the floor, were three cowboys. They had attended a catfight and they all tied for last place. Two were handcuffed and the third was hogtied.

Daddy did teach his little girl how to rope and tie calves. The county officer was so nice he even offered to take the men to booking and jail for me. From then on, the only problems I had were strangers. Many times one of the locals would inform the subject that I wasn’t a woman to trifle with.

With the help of Capital City, I started programs in the schools against drugs. The small town marshal thought this was a great program. He, also, thought my fund raising to finance this program was good.

With the help of the local clergy and a fellow woman in the city marshal’s office, I started a domestic abuse program. Max had taught me that police work was working with people. I was trying to live up to his teaching.

I had the reputation of being a good officer, but there was one thing I missed. At night, sometimes, when the day was hard and I was tired, I thought of Max. I remember him holding my head that terrible day. He had put a lot on the line for me. I was sure he was glad I was out of his life.

Maria had married the district attorney man, Guerin. She wrote occasionally. I was never sure how Michael stood on what I had done. I knew that he was a politician. Politicians would sell their mother if it got them that extra vote.

As that magic time of five years was approaching, I was thinking about what I was going to do with my police career. Few men could keep patroing for their 25 years without breaking down. I could try for the sergeant’s exam. There weren’t any women sergeants yet. I resisted offers in investigations to work vice or narcotics. I just wasn’t ready to wade through the sewer of human life yet.

I had heard about Max. The state had been plagued with riots going back to the late sixties. At first, the riots were about the War. We received a lot of information about these riots. Many people said that as soon as the war was over, we would return to a time of peace. That was a crock of shit. When the war ended and people thought they could breath, the gates were thrown open for reasons to riot. Most of the riots in our state were carried out by locals. We always received bulletins about the professional agitators who were always present. Max was one of the first members of the state SWAT team.

We all knew what SWAT meant. Special Weapons And Tactics meant they did things differently from regular patrol persons. That would be Max. There was a TV show that told a little of what SWAT was like. What do they do and how are they trained, that was the question.

The movements I used with the nightstick, were developed by the Los Angeles Police Department, SWAT team. We still used the sticks by the numbers. There were several cowboys whose dentist swore at or swore by the fact that number two stopped many fights when six-foot-plus men thought they would take a little five-foot-three woman.

I knew that I would never be Max. He told me to learn to use what I used best. I learned many things I could do with my stick. I keep stubbornly using the word stick. At the academy, not calling it a baton would get you 20 pushups. Now, in my private revolt, I continue to say stick.

As Max taught me, I never approached a car, entered a bar or any other situation without my stick at ready or, maybe, at one, my hand on the butt of the stick. The last nightstick I was issued, was made personally for me by the company. They wanted to know how “a little, bitty woman,” as they put it, broke so many. They rode with me for a week and they went back and redesigned the stick.

I was presented one of the first bulletproof vests in the country. It was a vest with bra cups. I didn’t have to look like a 1920s flapper when on patrol and it was a lot more comfortable than using a man’s small vest.

I heard from Max’s SWAT team. For some reason, the colleges were having riots. The state police made and told stories about the SWAT team. They were legends in their own time. The 25 men in our SWAT team were all old country boys, mostly known for their ability clear bars. If that was all it took, they should have called me.

Up north, I heard the students had chained the doors of a building and were going to have a live-in until their demands were met.

The sergeant told Max to cut the locks off the doors. I do not know what he expected. Max had these huge chain cutters. They were almost six feet long and like large shears. Max went up to the chains and, instead of cutting the chains, he just cut the hinges off the doors. The students couldn’t come behind him and re-chain the doors. The students were quickly removed. When I heard that, I cheered. That was my Max. Where the hell did I get that? “My Max!” Max barely spoke to me last time I saw him.

Let me describe my new district. In the Central City State Police District, we had over 20 officers when I started and more were added later. They were divided up into four patrols, corresponding to the four directions from the city.

Here, we had two rotating shifts of six officers. That rotation is normal for state officers, day shift and night shift. Every two weeks, we changed. Once you get used to it, it isn’t too bad. The hardest work is always at night. You use a lot of your daytime to catch up on your dailies or daily reports. I have to laugh because when I was young, I kept a journal. That was in my, “I want to be a scientist phase.” Now, the daily log was the same thing, just with a new name.

If you have court time when you are on nights, it does cut into your sleep but you do get comp time. Comp time is an excuse to work you beyond human endurance. You can use comp time as days off, later, on request. When your days off coincide with holidays you can figure on comp time but a day off on the Fourth of July is not likely. Memorial day and Labor days are even worse. And don’t even think of being off on New Year’s Eve. These days are also usually the most exciting.

Even in the small district, New Year’s Eve was busy. Every one wanted to enter the New Year drunk on their feet. Most of them ended up drunk on their butts, and they all tried to drive home.

Fifty miles around and there was no one near, except for one white faced cow. There wasn’t even a tree in sight. But, Joe smashed his pickup and tried to tell me how it happened. All I could do was shake my head. The cow just looked and wondered. That was normal for New Year’s Eve.

Of course, when I was back in the Central City district, we would be bring in 10-47s (drunks) in relays. Max even had a challenge with the city to see who could arrest the most drunk drivers between Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

In the small district, you arrested a man for disturbing the peace. Little was made of it except for a fine. These working men, almost, considered being arrested for fighting honorable. I hear the first couple I booked felt that they would be laughed at, but now, when I arrived, they didn’t want to loose any more teeth arguing with me. They just came along peacefully.

In my new district, as I said, we had six officers. On sick days, I could get trapped in covering two different patrols. Things were much more laid back. Before I arrived, most of the state police concentrated only on the interstate. They would come down sometimes to cover for the two county officers, but usually, they only gave tickets.

That was all pre-Max. His training made me come off the highway from time to time to visit the local stores and cafes. It is harder for a woman because if you are not careful, the search for information can be misunderstood, “as coming on” to some honky business man who has an over evaluation of his sex appeal.

I did start to pick up information. The other officer who occasionally shared a patrol with me was a blond, misplaced Texan, named Clarence Johnson. He looked like he was still in high school. Clarence really got into this and, soon, there was a network of civilians who could be depended upon to keep us informed about many things going on in the district.

I started to hear about certain techniques of patrol. There was Silva. Ricco, I think was his first name. He used to park on overpasses and glass cars as they went by. He would call in plate numbers and he had an almost mysterious talent for spotting a 10-75’s as we called a stolen car. Ricco tried, but he never could explain it so anyone else could understand. He had the coveted silver pistol grip award from the National Insurance Association.

I would have loved to have the recognition, but to really shoot anything with those cold grips with their turquoise settings would have been painful. They were pretty, but impractical. Only other cops understood what they meant anyway.

There was Steve Duran, who patrolled east out of Central City. He had the ability to spot narcotics. He had this down to a science. He even wrote a paper for a police magazine on how he did it. The trouble was, again, he could do it, but others couldn’t. It was just a talent. I spent most of my time on the interstate, as I said. I hadn’t developed anything special. I guess I was a no-talent cop. The only company I had were tourists who stopped at the truck stop. They wanted to ask me how life was being a lady cop.

“Officer in need of assistance,” was a situation that may or may not get a quick response. Many times, there wasn’t anyone available. The sergeant tried to cover, but if you got him out late, you better really need assistance. It better be because of something beyond your control and not something that you screwed up.

Max had drilled into me, “Treat everyone like they are your best friend and trust no one.” That was so against my character, but in police work, it was the best advice. I had asked Max, “Can’t I even trust you?”

“No, Parker, do not even trust your partner completely. I would always try to back you up, but I might fail. Always be ready to trust your gut and rely on your brain, with everything else, be careful.” Max said this almost like a priest giving a sermon.

I was starting to get “comp” letters. Those were few, but they
“complemented” me on being helpful. They sorta contrasted with my “Bitch Letters.” Just like Max, I was piling these up. Trouble was, when the lieutenant first called me in, he just couldn’t keep a straight face when he read about me using excessive force on a 250 pound cowboy to arrest him. I was also getting “bitch letters,” from women. They were complaining that I was unfeeling, meaning they couldn’t cry or fuck their way out of citations. The best letters, the lieutenant had been posting in the ready room for all to see. I was getting a reputation and always it was “that damned woman who was Evans’ rookie.”

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, because, I am, the toughest mother of the valley.”

Please don’t get the idea that I really was the toughest, “Mother of the Valley,” actually because, I was a small woman, I had a lot of help from other officers and, also, many of the locals. I know there were several cowboys disappointed that I didn’t sleep around. But, they would come to my assistance if I was out numbered. I just kept my sex life back home and none of it was serious, anyhow.

My district bordered on the neighboring state. We got a call one time that the neighboring state was in hot pursuit asking if we would we assist at the state line.

Many felons do not understand that hot pursuit means that there is no line where if you can cross that the pursuit won’t get you. Hot pursuit is a polite way of saying “We want this guy and we are coming into your state, but we would like your assistance.” It also was almost like a social call. When every agency had taken a piece out of the prisoner, the rest of the officers would get together and talk, like police all over the country do, about stories and working conditions.

“Car 270,” I still had the same car. Low and behold, I hadn’t wrecked it yet. I would probably get a brand new one next year. “Car 270, hot pursuit at state line, please assist.” There was that politeness, again. In the academy, they stressed, “The less said on the radio the better. But, all of us found that we liked the operators who made their transmissions less demanding.

“10-4 in route.” I replied, then I turned the cruiser around at a crossover. Holding my breath as I straightened out, going in the other direction. I had turned on my lights so automatically that I usually didn’t even remember the action. I reached for my citizen band radio, “This is Venus Smiles. Smokey’s on the move. Please give me the right of way.”

I was promptly answered by, “Hey, Venus Smiles. You’re Max’s rookie, aren’t you?”

I had to laugh. I would, to some, always be classed as Max Evans’ rookie. “That’s right, tailgator, and we have a hot one coming cross the state line. Take care, 10-4?”

The semis, usually, quickly gave way. Most of the four wheelers or automobiles did also. This was the middle 70s and CB radio was the craze. The few who didn’t get out of the way for “Venus Smiles,” would move for my siren under the hood. Or, at last resort my electronic screamer on the roof. On the other side of the state line, there was a truck stop. On our side, there was a gravel parking lot. I expertly hit the gravel and spun my vehicle so it would be ready to assist in pursuit. I was getting to be a real hot rodder.

I could see, way ahead, the lights of the pursuit cars. When they were about a quarter of a mile from the state line, I heard a bam, bam, bam. Someone was not willing to let this felon cross the line. As the pursuit approached the line, I could see the fleeing car start to weave and, then, spin out of control as his tires went down. He was apprehended right at the line. I remembered that roadblock years ago manned by the Native American cops with their machine guns.

After one big, burley cop grabbed the felon and cuffed him preparing him to be transported, the rest of us could only do one thing. I went 10-10 out of service, out of state, at the truck stop just across the state line. I knew the sergeant would bitch about this, going out of state with out permission and all. But, his bitching was just him searching his soul to discover what sin he committed, to deserve Officer Elizabeth Parker, assigned to his patrol. The radio room had the coffee shop’s phone number as well as any other place patrol might go. In an instant, I could be back in service and taking any assignment they might have.

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Stories by Ken
Good teachers are born that way, not made. No! Good human beings, are born that way. Some of them become teachers.

Of course, life is not fair. You shouldn't expect it to be fair, but you should expect it to be ironic.
JKR 1981-2001
History is made of wars, recovering from wars and preparing for the next war.
JJR 1975-

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