Me and my boys had just finished our Tuesday chest circuit in the PD’s basement weight room when we threw on our frat house civvy skivvies and rolled over to the package store on Midlothian. I’d lifted to failure and had the shakes to show for it. I’m not going to lie. I was feeling pissed before the evening even got started. I hadn’t hit my mark on the bench plus everywhere I looked I saw campus kids looking at me funny. You do the fucking math. The sentiment was shared too: Me, Longturd and Officer Probe were itching to crack some skulls. Fixing to too. There’d been a protest on the main quad earlier in the day but the deans and shit were milling around and we only got to use pepper spray and zip cuffs. I did manage to get down into a crouch one time and explode my knee up between this one freak kid’s legs from behind but I had to back off and just process the little shitheel when my on-board pharmacy triggered a disciplinary tranq dose. Sure, it felt good and all, but I say disciplinary because it goes into your personnel file and if you rack up too many kinetic moves on in-custody subjects you may not get access to the latest goodies rolling round the federal bend. Commish always says you’ve got to be able to pitch the officer safety narrative before you go kinetic on some punk’s ass, and that’s generally the way I play it. But there are times when your blood is up when instinct just takes over and there’s nothing you can do.
So we’re sitting around a picnic table kitty-corner to the package store, chugging Four Loko’s and waiting on a chance to enforce. Most of the undergrads seemed wise to us having the place on lockdown, so that’s not even what we were looking for so much. More if someone’s got expired tags or rolls up intoxicated. I’ll even hop on my hog and squeal up if they’re sporting a message on their bumper that seems off. Night vision with full optical zoom, bitches. Actually shit like that can be super rewarding because it gives you a chance to run with the extremist angle, plus a shot at a weapons haul from whatever compounds they’re bunkering down in if that turns out to be the case. You end up being able to do forfeitures of fat swag like gold coins and survival gear. Plus the DA never forgets his friends and as long as you keep him fed you can be sure he’ll stand up for you whenever some shitbird lawyers up and comes after you on a brutality beef.
But let me get to the point. It’s about 9:30 when a pair of blonde cunts pull up in a fancy car. Coeds. Minutes later they come out giggling and toting a sixer of something. Now I knew there was no way in hell they were over 21. Just knew. The question is how do you expect me to put up with that. I’m just not – so I led the charge. Now you tell me: How was I supposed to know it was a sixer of fucking water? I don’t know. When you get right down to it they had it coming just for buying something that looked like a sixer, that and for pissing me the fuck off. Point being, we crept up real fast as they were making for their Jeep. And you shoulda seen these little cunts scurry when they saw us coming. Like poultry, I shit you not.
But fuck it pisses me off when civvies scurry like that. Makes me want to beat the marrow out of their fucking bones. So there we were, flashing our badges and yelling at these cunts to hold the fuck up. What makes them think they have the right to slam a door in defiance of a lawful order, in the face of a sworn officer of the law? Tell you what, those cunts were damn lucky this shit didn’t go down in Baghdad with them veiled terrorist hajji sluts, cause I’d of shot them right where the veil goes slit.
So anyway the cunt in the driver’s seat managed to engage the locks before I could yank the door open. I told her to open it and she flat out refused. You fucking believe that? Before I escalated I took a breath and identified myself as Private, I mean Sergeant [redacted], just to make sure my protocol chain was tight. At which point they started freaking out in there, like birds in a cage or something, yelling they’d done nothing wrong and yada yada, fucking this and fucking that. I’ll tell you right now, you so much as look at me funny and you sure as hell have done something wrong, you dopey-eyed fuck.
You think this is an easy job? You got another thing coming. I will not take disrespect from shitbag civvies. What gets me even more is when they get scared. I can’t even describe it. It’s like, I don’t know, on the one hand it’s like what the fuck are you scared of me for? I’m here to keep the streets clean. Criminals is who you should be scared of. I guess it tears me up too. It shoots this white hot bolt across my belly. I get to where I want to beat and stomp the fear right out of them. What gives them the right to act like cowards before a public servant who’s out there risking his life to protect them? This job is hard enough without having to be traumatized by these pathological cowards acting like I’m some kind of freak. The truth is that I probably would have busted her windows out even if she hadn’t made a move for the ignition. Oh yeah, sure. Now she’s saying she needed to switch on the battery to be able to roll down the window and comply. Maybe so. Could go either way. But if there’s one thing I know it’s that you can’t trust a civvy in an adversarial situation. I wasn’t about to give her the chance to go tearing out of that lot with her contraband and maybe running over my boys’ skulls in the process.
I did what I had to do to ensure officer safety. Those girls are lucky they didn’t get a beating after we flushed them out. And so what if the whole thing was over a sixpack of water? How was I supposed to fucking know? The way they walked out of there…the way they made it look, it was nothing short of a provocation. And you’re not going to get away with provokating me. There’s plenty of Iraqis I killed deaderna doornail whose next of kin can tell you that much.
I’ll say it again. Those girls got off lucky. I heard the county was going to pay for their stitches and the broken windows. I think that’s too much. Even if they lawyer up and tell a sob story to some shitbag jury and get a million bucks or whatever it won’t bother me. It’ll just come out of other civvies’ pockets so what the fuck do I care. Meanwhile I’ll be out here doing what I need to do to keep me and my boys safe. I’m telling you, it ain’t easy.