At about midnight, Det Jerry Weinbrenner was going off duty. Passing the Chris-tal Market on the corner of 10th Ave So and US 41, he thought he saw movement in the closed store. He pulled over to investigate, causing two burglars to flee out the back door. One weasel ran up 10th, the other toward a green Buick in the rear lot of the market. Jerry took off, on foot, after the one heading north.
Jerry was about 50 feet behind his man when the thief turned and fired over his shoulder, still running at full speed. Jerry felt something hit him in the shoulder. He stopped to inspect. He'd been shot. This really wasn't what he needed after a long days work. He pulled his .38 Chief's Special and fired all five shots. The perp went down like he'd been hit by a truck. Jerry cautiously moved froward. To his surprise, the perp jumped to his feet and took off running again.
Other cars were on the scene, one being Sgt J.D.Spohn. Spohn pursued the Buick, now heading for the Cove area. He fired two shots at the speeding car. The bullets hit the rear window and glanced off, not even breaking the glass. The car sped to the water's edge, the perp jumped out, dove in the bay and began swimming with a frenzied arm thrashing movement.
Spohn, took out his pistol again and waited on the shore. When the swimmer tired, Spohn fired a round close in the water to the slimeball's head, then shouted, "Come back or I'll kill you."
This caused the swimmer to pound the water once more, trying to get away. Soon out of gas, he stopped again. Spohn fried another close-in round. "I'm better at this than you are," he taunted. "Come on back."
This went on for a while until finally the perp yelled, "Okay, you win, I'm comin'." And he did.
Meanwhile, Weinbrenner had gone to the hospital and the CCSO trackers had been called in. The filth that had shot Weinbrenner had circled around and had gone into a vacant field, beside the Atlantic station next to Chris-tal.
The old bloodhound, Belle, was an excellent tracker but refused to let her handler's know when she'd found her quarry. She'd stop, but make no other indication. They were tracking along, when something on the ground said, "Ouch!" At their feet was the shooter, lying on his belly in the weeds. He'd said Ouch because Belle had stepped on his back, in which he had two of Weinbrenner's bullets.
He was cuffed and turned over, and under his body we found his weapon: a miniature .25 revolver, maybe three-inches long. This turd had made the shot of all time, running at full speed, shooting over his shoulder, not even looking and hitting Weinbrenner.
Jerry recovered, but the slug was left in his shoulder, causing him pain when the weather changed. His two slugs in the back of the burglar, who got up and ran around for another fifteen-minutes, were more evidence of our underpowered ammo of the time.
The two Az-Wipes had just been released from prison, upstate, stolen a car, and were after booze, cigarettes, and money in the Chris-tal. They were soon returned where they belonged.
Later, back at the station, Sgt J.D.Spohn was cleaning his .357 Magnum and in excellent spirits. "Damn," he said, "haven't had so much fun since that hillbilly back in Hazard, Kentucky took a pot shot at me. Ever time I'm back up there, I stop by and pizz on his grave."
Jerry was about 50 feet behind his man when the thief turned and fired over his shoulder, still running at full speed. Jerry felt something hit him in the shoulder. He stopped to inspect. He'd been shot. This really wasn't what he needed after a long days work. He pulled his .38 Chief's Special and fired all five shots. The perp went down like he'd been hit by a truck. Jerry cautiously moved froward. To his surprise, the perp jumped to his feet and took off running again.
Other cars were on the scene, one being Sgt J.D.Spohn. Spohn pursued the Buick, now heading for the Cove area. He fired two shots at the speeding car. The bullets hit the rear window and glanced off, not even breaking the glass. The car sped to the water's edge, the perp jumped out, dove in the bay and began swimming with a frenzied arm thrashing movement.
Spohn, took out his pistol again and waited on the shore. When the swimmer tired, Spohn fired a round close in the water to the slimeball's head, then shouted, "Come back or I'll kill you."
This caused the swimmer to pound the water once more, trying to get away. Soon out of gas, he stopped again. Spohn fried another close-in round. "I'm better at this than you are," he taunted. "Come on back."
This went on for a while until finally the perp yelled, "Okay, you win, I'm comin'." And he did.
Meanwhile, Weinbrenner had gone to the hospital and the CCSO trackers had been called in. The filth that had shot Weinbrenner had circled around and had gone into a vacant field, beside the Atlantic station next to Chris-tal.
The old bloodhound, Belle, was an excellent tracker but refused to let her handler's know when she'd found her quarry. She'd stop, but make no other indication. They were tracking along, when something on the ground said, "Ouch!" At their feet was the shooter, lying on his belly in the weeds. He'd said Ouch because Belle had stepped on his back, in which he had two of Weinbrenner's bullets.
He was cuffed and turned over, and under his body we found his weapon: a miniature .25 revolver, maybe three-inches long. This turd had made the shot of all time, running at full speed, shooting over his shoulder, not even looking and hitting Weinbrenner.
Jerry recovered, but the slug was left in his shoulder, causing him pain when the weather changed. His two slugs in the back of the burglar, who got up and ran around for another fifteen-minutes, were more evidence of our underpowered ammo of the time.
The two Az-Wipes had just been released from prison, upstate, stolen a car, and were after booze, cigarettes, and money in the Chris-tal. They were soon returned where they belonged.
Later, back at the station, Sgt J.D.Spohn was cleaning his .357 Magnum and in excellent spirits. "Damn," he said, "haven't had so much fun since that hillbilly back in Hazard, Kentucky took a pot shot at me. Ever time I'm back up there, I stop by and pizz on his grave."
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