by Joe Nobody
His grandfather had been a decorated New York City officer, his father still on the blue line with the Dallas Police Department. It had been assumed after graduating with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice that the youngest male member of the Irish family would follow in the tradition.
But Dole hadn’t developed into what his father considered to be law enforcement raw material. At least not his mindset. “You’re too nice, too caring, too liberal, and for sure too big hearted. You will have only an instant to make most of your decisions, and you can’t go home and second-guess them. No room for backseat drivers or Monday quarterbacks on the front lines. Do something else with your life, son. Being a cop isn’t a match for you.”
The pronouncement had been devastating, crushing Dole’s sense of belonging and family custom.
His father’s prophecy hadn’t developed overnight, nor was it attributable to any one incident. He’d grown up watching the two most important men in his life struggle with their chosen professions, witnessing the family hardships triggered by living with a badge. Heavy drinking, double shifts, constant stress, and a highly competitive political environment inside of the force had taken a toll on both the youngest Kirkpatrick and his older male role models. Dole had often rebelled, regularly questioning his father’s management of life and family.
While Dole was sure he wanted to be a peace officer, he definitely didn’t want to follow in his dad’s footsteps. The younger Kirkpatrick often found himself at odds with his old man, constantly questioning the methods, tactics, and results of the local precinct. More often than not, the son found himself on the opposite side of the issues discussed around the Kirkpatrick dinner table.
Always an astute child, he’d watched his father struggle with checking the “my way or the hard way,” attitude at the door after arriving home. If he made it home at all. There had been countless nights sitting up with his mother, waiting for either the dreaded phone call or the old man’s footfalls climbing the tiny apartment’s stairs. As Dole grew and matured, there was a string of black marks in the follow-in-the-footsteps side of the ledger. Yet, pinning on a badge seemed part of his destiny.
Then everything had changed without warning or discussion. In his early teens, Dole had come home one day and received urgent orders. “Pack your room; we’re moving.”
He’d never found out why his father suddenly had to leave the NYPD. He’d overheard only partial conversations and half-baked rumors indicating father and son legacies were no longer vogue within the politically charged department. Other stories delved further into a dark innuendo of corruption and skullduggery where Dole didn’t want to explore… didn’t want to know.
Seemingly unaware of the trauma they were invoking on their son, Officer Kirkpatrick and his high school sweetheart of 18 years had loaded the contents of their small Brooklyn apartment and headed west in a rented U-Haul. But they could only pack the physical things. There wasn’t room in the moving van for their son’s social circles, friends, and the comfort of familiar surroundings.
The upheaval in Dole’s teenage life had been painful, his previous existence simply vanishing in the rearview mirror with the image of New York’s largest borough. Absent were his buddies, teachers, grandfather, and streets of his childhood. Soon those were replaced with a completely different cadence of living including tap water that harbored a foul taste, and strangers who ridiculed his accent.
Still, he tried to make the best of it, focusing his energies on making a fresh start in Dallas, Texas. That glimmer of a brighter future included visions of a closer, more open and honest relationship with his dad. Maybe the slower pace of the country would offer the two more time together. He envisioned baseball games, county fairs, hayrides, and rodeos that they might share.
For a time, the Lone Star state had given Dole hope of a normal family life. The young Kirkpatrick’s dream was quickly dashed, however, his father immediately falling into the old routine of picking up as much overtime as possible. “We have to make ends meet,” his dad had explained after one especially late evening. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, son.”
“Then why do you do it? You’re smart. You could get a job anywhere that pays more.”
“What? And not be a cop? I can’t think of anything else I’d want to do with my life. Being a police officer is honorable. It’s the high ground. It represents the gratification of accepting a moral calling,” his dad had refuted.
With age, Dole became more conservative in his politics, more in line with his father’s view of the world and law enforcement. But his dad had changed since leaving the NYPD, some chip constantly parked on the old man’s shoulder. Although it was due to a completely different reason, the senior Kirkpatrick was still firmly against his son following in the linage of law enforcement. “It’s not for you. I want you to do something better… have a happier life. Things aren’t the same for a cop anymore. The whole ball of wax has turned to shit, and I’d hate to see you neck deep in it like I am every day.”
Dole had moved to Houston after graduation, following a classmate’s prediction that the Bayou City would be hiring another group of officers in the next few weeks. Sure enough, the youngest Kirkpatrick had applied for academy admission and then been offered a position. However, neither his college degree in criminology, nor his lifetime spent living with police officers prepared him for a career in law enforcement. The “job” wasn’t anything like he’d expected.
Last night’s episode had represented the pinnacle of his discomfort, the summit of his regret.
Why had he torqued on that kid’s leg so hard? Why had he been so eager to please the sergeant? The only answer Dole could ferret out involved proving himself to his father, honoring the family name. Last night, he’d seen an opportunity to demonstrate he was as tough as anybody. His part of the pig pile had provided a chance to show he was as hardnosed as his old man, and let his brother officers know he had their backs. Besides, the kid had been running from the cops, and everybody knew there was a price to pay for that stupidity.
His reasoning helped him rationalize his actions and feel a little better. “I’ve learned from my mistake. The next time, I’ll know better. Chalk it up to a learning experience and stop dwelling on the negatives. No one but you will ever know.”
That admittance, combined with the notes in his hand, prompted Dole to think of the dash-cam video storage in the truck. “You can’t let one little thing ruin your life,” he whispered. “Move on. Learn, but move on.”
He shredded the paper notes, tearing them into unreadable scraps. After reaching for the trunk release, he exited the vehicle and scanned the sub-station’s lot to make sure no one was paying him any heed.
The cruiser’s trunk was equipped with a metal vault of a sort, the hardened, bolted storage box used to store an AR15 patrol rifle, spare ammunition, and critical radio equipment. The camera’s memory card was housed within as well.
He punched in the code, relieved the bolting mechanism clicked open. Marwick might have messed with the driver’s seat, but he hadn’t changed the number sequence on the lock.
Pulling open a drawer-like shelf, he was surprised to discover that the memory card had already been removed.
“Now why would he have removed that video?” he wondered, his mind immediately traveling to a suspicious place. “Maybe Marwick is feeling the same regret that I am and wanted to destroy the evidence.”
Shaking his head, Dole replaced the missing card with a spare and then proceeded to secure the unit. The sound of someone clearing his throat caused the rookie to startle.
Dole pivoted to see Big Jim standing less than five feet away, an inquisitive look on the senior officer’s face. “How are ya doing?” he asked, and then nodded toward the trunk. “I was just coming to tell you I removed the memory card last night.”
“Oh, thanks for letting me know. I always check before signing in for my shift.”
“I’m going to make a copy for my file, and then I�
��ll return the original to the unit,” Jim explained. “I don’t quite get all this fancy technology and think most of this shit is a waste of time… but policy is policy.”
The younger cop started to inform the sergeant that a copy of the video was automatically uploaded to the department’s cloud storage unit, but decided not to risk embarrassing the senior man. Quite a few experienced officers seemed to struggle with the latest gadgets, and he’d learned a long time ago that egos ran frail among the older badges.
As the two officers exchanged a few rounds of casual conversation, Dole found the sergeant’s attitude puzzling. It was odd for Marwick to spend the time with a rookie, but the weirdness extended beyond that. The older cop had never spoken a word to him before, and yet now the sergeant was chatting with him as if they were close friends. It was peculiar… and uncomfortable.
Finally, the sergeant warned Dole, “Be careful out there,” and sauntered off. The entire episode left the younger officer wondering what the hell was going on.
Shaking off the disconcerting sensation, he realized there was no time for extensive analysis. His shift was starting, and he needed to have the dispatcher sign him in. After making the final adjustments to the driver’s seat, Patrolman Kirkpatrick was rolling out of the station’s lot, whispering a quiet prayer that tonight would be a better night.
“Barlow Law Offices,” the pleasant female voice announced. “How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, my name is Gabriel Chase. Mr. Barlow was recommended to me to represent my son.”
“Hold on one moment please.”
Gabe glanced at his wife, holding up crossed fingers. It was less than a minute before a gravelly sounding male voice came on the line. “Adam Barlow here.”
Gabe introduced himself and was pleased when the lawyer said, “I’ve been waiting for your call, Mr. Chase. Where are you?”
“We are still at the hospital, sir. We would like very much to see our son, but they won’t let us,” Gabe replied in a voice more sad than frustrated.
“Why not?”
“The hospital staff said that the police wouldn’t allow visitors until our son was booked.”
There was a brief silence, then, “Which hospital?”
“Central… in the ER.”
“That’s not very far from my office, Mr. Chase. If you don’t mind meeting with me in the waiting room, I can stop by in a few minutes.”
Gabe smiled for the first time that day, flashing Sandy a thumbs-up signal. “I can’t tell you how much that would mean to us, sir. We don’t want to leave until we see how Jacob is doing, and who knows how long that will be.”
Twenty minutes later, a man wearing a tweed sports coat and nice shoes approached the still-waiting couple. Setting down his briefcase as if he already knew the answer, he offered his right hand and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Chase, I presume.”
They sat for 30 minutes, Adam asking seemingly unrelated questions about their home, marriage, and Jacob’s childhood as well as his recent successes on the basketball court.
“I talked to Chip on the way over here, and he backs up your story 100%. That says a lot to me… the girlfriend’s father giving a recommendation to the teenage boyfriend goes a long way. Jacob sounds like a pretty good kid to me.”
“We still don’t know why or how this all occurred,” Sandy added. “I just can’t imagine Jacob being anything but polite to any adult, let alone a policeman.”
Nodding, the attorney looked at the worried mother with a sincere gaze. “We’ll find out, Mrs. Chase. The truth almost always comes to light.”
Gabe noticed the two police officers, the large silver case in tow, moving toward the nurse’s station. “Those are the two cops I was telling you about.”
“Excuse me,” Adam said, rising to intercept the officers.
The Chases watched a longer than anticipated exchange between the attorney and the policemen, the hand gestures and body language making it all seem like a casual, friendly conversation initially. Then one of the cops reached into this pocket and produced a cell phone, appearing as though he was slightly annoyed.
Gabe readjusted his body in the uncomfortable chair in hopes of hearing part of the conversation. Soon, heads were nodding, hands were shaken, and one of the cops turned and said a few words to the nurse, who immediately scratched something down with her ink pen.
“Come on, let’s go see your son,” Adam announced after returning from across the room.
Gabe had never seen Sandy walk so fast, pure motherly love pumping her legs, propelling her toward her only child. They identified the right room number, and a few seconds later, they were staring down at a patient both parents barely recognized as their son.
Jacob was still pale, half of his head wrapped in bandages. One arm was in a sling, numerous scrapes and cuts thick with some sort of salve. The kid opened his eyes, focused, tried to smile, and then grimaced in pain. “Mom! Dad!” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Oh God, am I glad to see you.”
Sandy wanted to hug her offspring, but couldn’t seem to figure out where to apply the embrace without inflicting pain. She bent and kissed his cheek, rubbing the unbandaged side of his head. Gabe took his turn next.
After the reunion was completed, Gabe introduced Mr. Barlow, who up until that point had been observing the family’s exchange with a keen eye.
“Hello, son,” the lawyer said. “I’d offer you my hand, but I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
A few minutes later, they got down to the nitty-gritty. “I need to know what happened, Jacob,” the lawyer prompted, pulling a pencil and pad of paper from his briefcase. “Tell me everything you can remember.”
Jacob recounted the drive home, joking with Manny, and then the appearance of the policeman in their rearview mirror. “I thought he was going to ram into my bumper,” the kid confided. “Then he backed off and just followed us.”
“Did he have on his emergency lights?”
“No, not until we turned into Manny’s neighborhood and came to the first stop sign. After I pulled through, his blue and red lights came on.”
The lawyer scratched away at his pad, suddenly changing the tempo of his questions. “Why didn’t you stop?”
“I did… well… I went another block or so because Manny was late getting home. I thought the police just wanted to check my temporary tags. Wasn’t any big deal.”
Again, the lawyer scribbled before asking his next question, “How far was it between the moment when the policeman turned on his lights and when you stopped? Really, Jacob, this is important. I need to know the truth, exactly how far?”
“Less than two blocks,” the kid said honestly. “Just over a block, maybe?”
Adam nodded, “Okay, so then what happened?”
“I asked Manny to get my insurance card out of the glove box. The policeman turned on some extra-bright light, and then the next thing I know, he’s screaming for me to get out of the car. He’s pointing a gun at me.”
“Was Manny in the glove compartment when he walked up?”
“No, she never had time to open it. She was just sitting there, trying to shield her eyes from the blinding lights.”
On and on the questions continued, Sandy and Gabe standing, then sitting, but always trying to stay close to Jacob’s side. Gabe knew enough to realize Adam was testing his son, several of his inquires repeated with a slightly different wording.
After thirty minutes of grilling, the lawyer returned his pad and pencil to the briefcase, and then looked up. Drawing the interview to a close, there was only one rhetorical question left to ask Jacob. “So you have no idea why this officer pulled you over?”
Jacob managed to turn his head slightly and then replied, “Yes, sir. I think I do know why he stopped me.”
All three of the adults in the room perked with attention, the boy’s revelation catching them by surprise. “I accidentally hit him with a basketball during the city championship game just a few days ago. I
didn’t mean to… but I blocked a shot, and it bounced off the guy’s shoulder. I thought for a minute he was going to stomp onto the court and scream at me.”
“What?” Adam said, coming upright in his chair. “You’ve seen this officer before? You couldn’t have been paying attention to him for more than a second at the game. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, pretty sure it was the same guy. After halftime, he marched out onto the court and grabbed one of the other team’s players. I was watching, scared he was going to say something to me next. Anyway, he grabbed this kid’s shirt, and I thought he was going to arrest that player.”
“Did he?”
“No, he talked to the kid for a minute and then let him go. Kind of freaked us all out, but then I forgot about it until I saw him walking up to my car last night.”
Out came the pad of paper again, the attorney frantically scribbling another paragraph’s worth of notes. After he had finished, he peered up and said, “I’ll let you rest now, Jacob. Thank you for answering my questions. One last thing – if the police come back and try to talk to you, tell them you want to have me present for any questioning. Here’s one of my cards. I want you to keep it on your bedside. Don’t say a word to anybody except your parents or me about all of this. Not the nurses, doctors, police, or anybody. Clear?”
“Yes, sir. Am I going to go to jail?”
“No, Jacob. You’re not going to jail. You just worry about healing. Your parents and I will take care of the rest.”
Adam rose to leave, Gabe automatically following the attorney out into the hall.
“Well? What do you think?” the anxious father asked.
“Your son was given what the cops commonly call a ‘tune up.’ Why, I’m still not sure, but I can’t help but think it might have had something to do with the basketball game, or something that happened that night. In the real world, the police operate under the premise that if you run from them, they can do whatever they want and get away with it. Clearly, with your son’s injuries, their retribution got out of hand. I don’t believe Jacob was trying to evade them, but like so many things involving law enforcement, the cops are given a lot of latitude when it comes to making that judgment call. I can’t tell you much more without reading the police report.”
