Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Some things have changed in my recent history. I have since left Arizona to continue my career in Utah. It is amazing how names and faces change but the bad guys all stay the same. In commemoration of my recent change of venue I have decided to somewhat change my writing. I have been to many calls for service and have seen a lot of things that make me wonder what was going through the suspect's head. My new blogs are my interpretation of how the events unfurled and why the police eventually came.

My only WARNING is that some posts might be PG-13.


The sun was shining through the thin slates in the window blinds causing an almost mesmerizing glow on the chrome. The cool metal felt good on his finger as he caressed the trigger on his prize 1911 hand gun. He had been contemplating this moment ever since she told him she was leaving and taking the kids with her. The ten years of marriage would be history and his children would soon be calling the new boyfriend “dad” anyway. His thoughts turned to the last three difficult months as he struggled to find a new job after being laid off. Twelve years working at the same company meant nothing as well.

He had been thinking about it long enough. It was time to do it. Nothing matters now. It will all be over as soon as he pulled the trigger. He had read the suicide articles and knew the best chance of no suffering was putting the bullet through the roof of his mouth.

But what if the bullet was a dud or the gun was jammed? He could not go through the long drawn out hours of thought that went into one trigger pull to end it all. Maybe if he tested one round. Just one round through the wall to be sure the brand of bullet would not fail and the gun was functioning properly. The neighbors might hear the shot but who cares? They would call the police sooner or later anyway. He slowly took aim at the closet door. He would test just one shot before turning it on himself.

He pressed the trigger recognizing the familiar resistance the trigger spring gave him. He made sure he pressed it slowly and smoothing until the hammer swung forward. Bang!! There was a flash of light, the sound of wood splintering, and then another faint unclear muffled sound that seemed out of place. The muffled sound became clearer as the sound of a child crying came to mind.

“Oh %#^%” he said out loud. His four year old son was not home, was he? He had been asleep when his wife left and assumed she took all the kids. The sound of his crying son became very clear. What had he done!? He ran to his son’s room and witnessed his son laying on the floor sobbing. He frantically looked for the damage he had caused and assumed the worst based on all the blood. He cursed himself as he anxiously searched until he saw that only his son’s foot was bleeding. The bullet had grazed his son’s foot after passing though three bedroom walls. He was thankful for the best of the possible ill-fated outcomes. But how would he explain this to anyone now? His own life is one thing, but shooting his son? Unforgivable! He would probably be sent to prison as he was already a felon and shouldn't have a gun anyway. Now he not only owned a gun but shot his own son. A long sentence in prison was certain. He couldn't do that again for a short term let alone a long one. This could not happen. It would be most undoubtedly worse than death. It cannot happen! It will not happen!

He had to finish what he started. He had to make sure his neighbor’s heard and called the police to help his son.

He raised the gun and swiftly pulled the trigger as rounds carelessly traversed the dry wall, wood, and whatever else stood in its way. The hail of gunfire mimicked the sound of warfare and would most surly arouse the suspicion of his nosey neighbors. He placed the now scorching barrel into his mouth. He was confident in the feel of the trigger though the angle felt awkward as for the first time his hand was angled at his self. He pressed the trigger and heard a brief “Pop” and everything went black. That was it. Not a thought. Not a sound. No pain. Nothing! It went completely black and silent. He was not aware of it but his lifeless body fell limply to the floor face first. Hot brass, spinsters of wood, drywall dust, and blood covered the room.

The police quickly responded to the residence and found that the neighbors had called his wife and she was there with the bleeding child. The child would be okay, physically anyway. He was not. The familiar yellow tape encircled the home and the investigation began. I guess at least there would be one less felon with a gun to worry about.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

"Are You the Neighbor?"

The slow night was creeping to an anticlimactic end, almost like watching Steven Spielberg’s A.I. for the first time. We moseyed down the roadway on our bikes through the same run-of-the-mill Arizona neighborhood when Freeman caught a short lived whiff of the familiar herbal aroma called marijuana.

The smell peaked our interest as we knew someone nearby was smoking up. Like a couple of vultures circling overhead, we circled the street trying to find the source of the aroma. Our noses lead us strait to an open garage door followed by muffled voices mingled with the sound of clanking tools. Realizing we were at the right place, we stopped and parked our bikes in the driveway of the vacant house next door.

While standing and listening we were overcome with the overwhelming odor of burning weed. We had the joyous option of kicking in the back gate, like some action movie with Steven Segal, or politely poking our heads over the gate and telling them to walk to the front yard. Unfortunately, for safety reasons, we chose the latter.

I walked to the far side of the yard as Freeman poked his helmet covered head over the fence. He shinned his light at the two suspects and said. “Are you guys selling it or is it personal use only?”

“Are you the neighbor?” They intelligently replied.

This time with the proper introduction Freeman said, “This is the Police. Are you selling marijuana or is it person use only?”

Once again they intelligently replied, “It’s for personal use.”

They appeared completely dumbfounded as they awkwardly sauntered into the garage and to the front yard as requested. As they slowly arrived I asked where the rest of the marijuana was at. They younger and apparently smarter one said it was in the house.
As if he did not get the hint they were in a little trouble he asked, “Can I go get it?”

I told him no.

He stood there, surely pondering in his lowered IQ marijuana brain how he was caught, when Freeman spotted the bag of marijuana protruding from his front pocket.

Freeman asked for the marijuana when he replied, “What marijuana?”

We both followed up with an, “Oh Geez!”

“You mean this bag?” he said.

“Yep,” We replied.

The marijuana toting suspect was booked on his new felony charges. As we rode to our patrol car I pondered ------If your going to smoke weed anywhere in Arizona, I suggest not doing it while the Bike Squad and their almost K9 like noses are on duty----- ; )