CLOSE CALLS

In the cop business you run across things that can strengthen your resolve that somebody up there may be watching out for you. Here's a couple that convinced me.

One of our cops, Mr Lucky, was in the black Riverpark Apartment complex answering a complaint about some Saturday night rowdy. It was a common occurrence. He was told this particular turd had threatened several folks with a machete. They pointed to the direction the culprit had gone so Lucky went thataway, too. As he was going around the corner of a building, he stumbled on the gravel and dropped his flashlight. Bending over to retrieve it, he heard something whoosh over his head, then a loud clink, and sparks. Jumping back he saw an assailant had ambushed him. Had he not bent over, to get his flashlight, the machete would have decapitated him.

The machete had been swung with such force that it was embedded in the mortar joint between the blocks. Lucky, grabbed his attempted murderer, and put him under arrest. Unfortunately the assailant stumbled several times on the way to the patrol car, sustained injuries about the head and shoulders, and had to be patched up at the ER.

All cops will tell you that most of us die in ways the public would never guess. Shot by John Dillinger? Waylaid by a Machine Gun Kelly? Nah. Number one is in cars crashes. Number two, is answering domestic violence complaints. One of my first ones taught me that lesson.

I was answering a complaint in Riverpark Apartments (same place) concerning a man beating his live-in. When I arrived they had taken it out to the street and the man was sitting on the woman's belly. He had her by the ears and was smashing her head on the asphalt like he was trying to crack a coconut. And, it was working. You could hear a wet, mushy sound with each blow.

I piled on him and pulled him off. He was drunk, and big, and mean and I wished I'd jacked him with my slapper first. He was truly an all-day-sucker and I was beginning to think my coconut would be the next one cracked. Then, I heard a wonderful sound. An approaching siren. Concurrently, I felt something hit me on the back and heard the woman scream, "He killin' my man. He be killin' my man." Then the cavalry arrived and order was restored.

When I caught my breath and sorted out the madness I was astounded. What I felt hit my back was a butcher knife the woman I had saved had tried to stab me with. What saved me was it was one of those old ones with two rivets holding on the wood handle. The wood had rotted away and when she tried to stab me the handle gave way, the blade hit me at a glancing blow and swung back on her, cutting her severely. I mean really cut her which was some small consolation.

I looked at her and at the knife, a big "what the" in my eyes. "You was hurtin' my man," she jabbered.

First off I wondered what fight she'd been watching, then why she didn't try to stab this azzhole, that was trying to bash her brains out, instead of the guy that saved her.

Sgt. Robert Dennis told me why. "Domestic violence complaint. They'll turn on ya every time. Just like breakin' up a street fight. Pretty soon both of 'em are on ya." Always remembered that. And I'm still here.