Chris went to the Wheeler School. Her parents wanted her to go on to a quality college where she would engage in some esoteric educational pursuit, marry a man of proper upbringing, and provide several grandchildren. Chris wanted to go to medical school. Her parents thought this a waste of money. Chris enrolled in a two-year Registered Nurse program.
Furthering her quest for independence, she joined the United States Air Force. Assigned to Viet Nam, accompanying casualties back to the U.S., she soon realized that neither medicine, nor the military, was the career for her.
Honorably discharged from the Air Force, Chris looked around for a civilian job. She saw a recruitment notice for Police Officers with the City of East Providence and filed her application. Accepted into the academy, due to pressures that Police Departments hire more females, she graduated at the top of her class. Most of the other recruits, all males, attributed this success to everything except dedication, intelligence, and ability.
"Morning, Cheeks."
"That's Lieutenant to you, smart-ass."
"Sorry," sitting ramrod rigid in the car, “good morning, Lieutenant Cheeks, Sir, or Ma'am or whatever the hell gender you really are."
"You know, smart-ass, I could always reassign you to Cunts and Runts."
"Bullshit, who else would put up with your mood swings, hot flashes, and whining about how much you hate whatever poor sap you've convinced to sleep with you lately? It is a guy, right, or are you changing teams to open more possibilities?"
Detective Lieutenant Chris "Swiss Cheeks" Hamlin was 54 years old, with thirty years on the job. She had survived the days of "what kind of broad wants to be a cop?"
It took time and balls.
She bore three compounding burdens when she joined the department. She was female. She was pretty, and she was intelligent. Most men dislike smart women. They feel threatened. Most assume attractive women succeed only because of their sexual appeal. It is genetic. Chris's mere presence reminded them of these weaknesses.
She made her mark on the department early on. All she needed to do was kill two armed robbery suspects holding a 14-year-old girl hostage. Shooting both while they were distracted. She managed this, despite being shot in the ass by an enthusiastic, but poorly disciplined, patrol officer.
The officer suffered a premature discharge. The round ricocheted off the ground, dispersing most of its energy, went in one side of Chris's ass, fragmented into pieces, and exited the other side, Creating several holes in both cheeks.
As the two bad guys flinched and looked toward the source of the sound; Chris took that moment to aim and fire. She made her kills.
Earning her the irreverent nickname, ‘Swiss Cheeks’ and acceptance on the department.
Chris then went to her knees, screaming. She started crawling toward the officer, who compounded the error by trying to approach her and apologize.
Chris threatened to emasculate him with her bare hands. Some of the cops entertained the idea of holding off the rescue guys to see if she would actually do it, but wiser heads prevailed. Nonetheless, her legend made.
That is the way it is with cops. One unlucky call, one moment, as long as they survive, defines them.
The unlucky Officer, from that point on, known as 'Swiss Cheek's Butt Boy.'
Josh headed toward the station.
"You are so damn funny. I don't understand why you don't have your own comedy series. Drive to the station, let's pick up the evidence and get to Court."
"Why the hell are we wasting our time on this, it's a freaking Sale of Alcohol to a Minor, there's not going to be a trial. That idiot won't spend money on a lawyer, let's just go there, and file the charge. What's the big deal?"
"Josh, why are you trying to avoid this, you've been bitching about it since the subpoena was served, is there something you need to share?"
"Well, now that you mention it, we already drank the evidence."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Remember last month after we hit that house for the stolen guns? You said, and I emphasize you, 'I need a beer, go get me some'. Like all of your instructions, I took that to heart as a lawful command."
"Yeah? And I don't like where this is going."
"Well, in order to save the city money, and being environmentally conscientious not wasting gas driving to the liquor store, I just grabbed the six-pack out of the refrigerator in the back room. It happens to be the one scheduled to be in court today. I never expected to go to trial. We throw the shit away all the time, well, at least the cheap shit."
Smiling his best altar boy look.
"You fucking lazy, dumb ass, nitwit. Didn't we agree to stop drinking stuff that has goddamn chain of custody tags on them? Didn't we? Okay ace, go buy another six-pack, and let's hope we don't need it."
Chapter 6: March 15, 2006, 4:00PM
On the drive back, Chris said, "Josh, I swear to God, if I didn't like you so much, I'd find a way to put you in Traffic or School Resource Officer or something. I cannot believe you did that."
"Did what?" he smiled. “You told me to buy another six-pack. I did. The case settled right?"
"Settled? The six-pack was cold with a freaking receipt stuck to it, dated today, for Christ's sake."
"Cheeks, I did not lie. The esteemed member of the bar asked me, 'Is this the same beer you seized on the night of the incident?' I can answer that honestly, it was, in fact, the same beer...Becks."
"You know what he meant."
"No, I do not. Who am I to infer or interpret? I answer the question asked, using the common American version of English, with all its nuances and hidden meanings. I truthfully answered his question."
"How the fuck do you lie with a straight face?"
"I beg to differ. I did not lie. I answered the question. Shame on him for not phrasing it properly."
"Josh, this is going to bite you in the ass someday, how can you not know that?"
"Years of practice, Cheeks. And wait a minute, you like me?"
"Not at the moment, ass-wipe. Josh you're a good cop, don't get caught up over stupid shit."
"Cheeks, I appreciate the concern, but you and I both know this is a big fucking game, sometimes we win, sometimes they win, but the one sad fucking truth is, the lawyers always get paid. That's why the able counsel for the defense in this case will be paying our bar bill later...”
Chapter 7: Sergeant Josh Williams
Josh Williams was born on July 25, 1972 in Cumberland, Rhode Island
He had many friends, but no one closer than Charles Akerley. Josh and Charley were together almost all the time, from the moment they got up in the morning until they went to sleep.
Josh and Charley grew up together from the G.I. Joe stages through the discovery of girls and beer. Charley was the charmer, using his looks and charisma to talk many young girls out of their jeans. Josh was shy and reserved and settled for those rejected by Charley as 'two-baggers.'
Josh found himself awkward around girls; often exaggerating his exploits to Charley, so he would not have to listen to him. He and Charley graduated from Cumberland High School in June 1990.
Charley originally wanted to join the army, but one of his unprotected sexual exploits proved fruitful, so he got married, and joined the working class.
Josh had other plans and never looked back. Accepted at Providence College, he spent most of the first semester at Billy's Café instead of the library, and decided to join the United States Air Force after a rather somber review of a spate of questionable decisions.
****
September 1990
Instead of his Intro to Calculus class, Josh was sitting at the bar of Billy's Café. It occurred to him that perhaps it was time for a change.
Josh headed out to his car. Heading onto Route 146 North, he decided he needed some fatherly advice, however, not from his father.
He knew that answer.
Jumping off at the Washington Highway exit, Josh headed into the Albion section of Lincoln. Josh knew John Fl
anagan would be at Lillie's Lounge.
Josh would catch him as he was on his first Scotch, before the Viet Nam, Marine Corps, or any other of Flanagan's fables began. Flanagan did two tours in Viet Nam. He served six years in the Marine Corps. Josh heard the stories so many times he could tell them himself.
Josh's father was also a Marine. He developed a comfort level with the stories, the nightmares, and the need to tell someone.
As a small boy, Josh listened in terror, as his own father relived in his nightmares, terrors of the jungles, ones that earned Silver Star, two Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts. There were many.
As Josh got older, nine or ten, he would try to help as his mother held his father while he thrashed, screamed, cried, begged, called out names of the dead, until collapsing in exhaustion. Now this has a name, then it was just a family's private burden.
Josh arrived and went inside. Flanagan was, as expected, on his first Scotch. "Isn't this special?" Flanagan said. "The wannabe doctor has seen it fit to visit with us little people. Give me only un-begotten son a beer, Jerry, he looks so educated, doesn't he?"
Josh smiled; he knew better than to challenge Flanagan in the belittling game. "I think I'd like to try one of those Dewar's and water you are so fond of."
Sometimes the road to perdition starts with an enjoyable indulgence. Oft times the path conceals itself.
Flanagan smiled and asked, "What's the problem now, Josh? Girlfriend dump you? Dog died? Got a grade lower than an A on a test?"
"I haven't been going to classes. I am so far behind the best I could end up with is academic probation just to stay in the school."
"Hmm," Flanagan picked up the Scotch, pointed at the glass, "there are no solutions here, my boy, just more questions. Maybe a change of course, so to speak, is in order."
Josh picked up his own Scotch, took a drink. "Not bad, I like it."
Flanagan put the drink down, looking at Josh. "You have choices, good ones, bad ones, and ones that can go either way. I have taken them all. No one can tell you the way, sometimes it is not evident until years later. Only you can figure that out."
Josh sipped the Scotch again "You know, fuck it, it. I'll join the Corps and see where that takes me."
Flanagan smiled. "I will tell you where that will take you, Parris Island and not much further. Look, Josh, I love the Corps. If we were in a war like the ones your uncle, father, and I fought I would say go for it. In war, you want to be with the best. All you need is a little discipline in your life, maybe the Corps will do that, or maybe it will take away that desire to learn, to be something.”
Josh finished the Scotch and ordered another round.
Jerry glanced at Flanagan, who nodded in consent, and then made the drinks.
Putting his arm around him, Flanagan said, "Josh, it took me five years before I would have a second Scotch at one sitting. It will hurt if you lack experience, go slowly kid, go slowly."
Josh smiled back. "Look I know my limits, I can handle it..."
Flanagan put up his hands and said, "Kid, you haven't even mastered puberty yet, let alone found your limits. Hell, I haven't found mine yet. Jerry here fought in the Civil War for chrissakes and he hasn't even found his limit. Just be careful and don't let youthful exuberance take you places you aren't ready to go."
Josh nodded, "Thanks John. I know you've been around; hell that is why I came here. I will think about it." Looking behind the bar he said, "Hey Jerry, when you were fighting with the Confederates did you get to meet General Lee?"
Flanagan laughed. Jerry shook his head and sighed, "oh great, an up up-and-coming Flanagan, just what this place needs."
Flanagan then launched into an explanation how the US Marine Corps could have single-handedly won the war in Vietnam if the politicians had just taken the chains off.
Josh pretended to listen, but was lost in his own thoughts. The adrenaline from all of these questions running through his head was wearing off. He decided to leave.
Josh stood up, wobbled a bit, regained his balance before anyone noticed, and said goodnight to everyone. Walking outside he started toward the front lot, realized the car was in the back lot, and walked there.
No car.
What the hell, he thought. I parked it right here like I always do.
A memory flashed by, white truck in his favorite spot. He went back to the front lot, hmm, Flanagan was not lying. Scotch is powerful stuff.
Finding the car, he jumped in, took a deep breath, and pulled out onto Albion road. He headed toward the bridge over the Blackstone River. He almost went the wrong way at the rotary, recovered, and continued to the bridge.
The weather in September can be deceptive, warm and sunny during the day, dropping off to that damp cold sometimes worse than winter. Wet roads, particularly bridges, freeze suddenly. This month was unusually rainy and cold.
The front wheels crossed over from the roadway to the metal bridge structure. Josh could feel control slipping away. As the rear wheels caught, the momentum forced the front of the car to the right, Josh steered into the skid, somewhat recovered control, then made one of those decisions that hindsight revealed as wrong.
Deceived by the car moving in a straight line, Josh stepped on the accelerator in an attempt to get the car off the bridge.
He succeeded, and failed.
The car gained additional momentum, came off the bridge surface, hydroplaned on the wet roadway, and collided with a huge oak tree at the corner where the road went to the right, and Josh did not.
Josh's head hit the steering wheel, opening up a nasty gash above his right eye. Head wounds bleed a lot. They always looked worse than they were. This looked fatal.
A car came by, and an older couple got out. "Oh my God," the woman yelled, "Harry, go call for a rescue." She came over to Josh and put a scarf onto his head trying to slow the bleeding.
A moment later, Josh could hear sirens, and then looked up to see the face of Flanagan staring at him.
"Okay, kid, lesson learned I hope, let's stop this bleeding and get you fixed up."
Rescue arrived, put a more sophisticated compress on his head, and took him to the hospital. Flanagan followed the rescue and was in the ER with him when Josh's father came in.
Edward Williams was the Town administrator in Cumberland, having retired from the Rhode Island State Police as a Captain. He was not happy.
Williams knew Flanagan from their time in Vietnam and went over to speak with him. He then went to speak with Josh. After that brief conversation, Williams talked to the attending physician, advised him that it was apparent his son had been drinking, and asked if it would be better if he were stitched up without the benefit of a painkiller; in order avoid any risk of problems due to the alcohol. The physician, also a friend of Ed Williams, agreed.
That's the thing about Rhode Island, one degree of separation.
Josh never said a word as the doctor put in fifteen stitches. He knew better. He created the problem. He would bear it as well as he could.
He needed to change.
The next morning Josh and his father spoke. Josh still was not quite ready to be forthcoming about his school situation but listened as his father talked about taking responsibility for decisions and the consequences.
The repairs took six weeks. Six weeks of begging rides to school, six weeks of depending on friends to get him out of the house.
The day he got his car back, Josh received a notice from Providence College to meet with the Academic Committee. They would determine if he would continue in school.
He reverted to his old habits. Josh was an optimist, but he could fall into dark moments. He recalled reading about Winston Churchill visited by the "Black Dog."
The Black Dog was riding shotgun this day.
He headed to Lillie's Lounge. Jerry was not working, and Josh knew Flanagan was away fishing. It didn't matter. He would have one drink and head home. It was 4:30 in the afternoon.
At 7:30, Josh decided he ha
d enough. He was slow to this realization. He headed out of the lot, down onto the bridge, right into Deja vu.
The car did not slide this time until it was almost across, but it slid nevertheless. The right front quarter of the car came into collision with the supporting bridge abutment. Josh's chest hit the steering wheel; at least there was no blood this time.
Josh got out and checked the damage. This time he bent the right fender onto the tire. He managed to pull it far enough away to drive the car.
Arriving at home, he flirted with the idea of saying the car was hit at school. However, he knew calls would be made; attendance records checked, increasingly specific questions asked. It would all come out.
His mother saw the car as he pulled in. She called Josh's father. They were separated at this point due to some indiscretions on Edward's part. Williams came over.
It was a brief encounter.
Josh withdrew from school the next morning and found the US Air Force recruiting office in Pawtucket. On October 10, 1990, Airman Josh Williams reported for Basic Training at Lackland Air Force base, San Antonio, TX.
His timing was perfect.
Upon completion of his training as a Security police officer, Josh was the beneficiary of a grand, all-expense paid, tour of Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and Qatar during the first Gulf War. He spent a year with Air Force Office of Special Investigations, leaving after his second enlistment with the rank of Staff Sergeant. His work in OSI exposed him to investigative police work and he looked to join a real police department.
During his time in Saudi Arabia, he also managed to obtain a Silver Star, breaking the cardinal rule against volunteering.
On 1 February 1991, freshly arrived newly promoted Airman First Class Josh Williams arrived at the Security Police Weapons System Security Unit, King Abdul Aziz Air Base, Saudi Arabia. Josh’s first assignment, Security Alert Team, responsible for base perimeter security. The Gulf War was in full swing and combat operations out of this base were at a peak.
On 3 February 1991, while assigned as reserve SAT team, Josh saw two chopper pilots and a flight surgeon heading toward a Medevac helicopter. The Captain came over to Josh and ordered him to contact Special Operations command. They were heading out for a downed pilot and needed a Para-rescue jumper for security. Josh did as ordered. The reply did not make the Captain happy.
Collision Course (A Josh Williams Novel) Page 3
