Authors: Len Norman
They were soon back on the road, drinking and driving-one of Harley’s favorite things to do. They were drinking their first rum and coke when she said, “I’m Kathy Harrison and I’m certainly pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Harley…Harley Ames.”
She placed her hand on Harley’s leg. “We could drive to Louisville; there’s plenty of fun to be had there.”
“Or on the way.”
Kathy laughed and they had another drink. They were in the middle of nowhere and she said it looked like the boondocks to her. “Pull over Harley and we can finish the rum right here.”
As soon as he stopped he got out of the car. “Hey Kathy, you should see what I have in the trunk. My latest invention, come on and take a look.” She got out of the car and looked at Harley as he reached inside the trunk. He was pulling something out. “I made it myself. It’s a flamethrower.”
“I can see that. What’re you gonna do with it, light farts?”
“That’s a little earthy but still pretty funny. Actually, I’m gonna practice.”
He lit the flamethrower and pointed it at her. “That’s not funny, Harley.”
He gave her a quick blast of fire and she screamed and began to run, but he followed and gave her another.
She was lying on the ground screaming and rolling from side to side and then got back up and tried to run. He was right behind her and he let her run a few seconds before he gave her the full blast of fire and heat. Harley was amazed how she lit right up and bounced up and down as he kept the trail of fire on her scorched body. He let go of the trigger and walked over to the dying hitchhiker. He looked down and said, “A taste of what you’ll find in hell, right Kathy?”
Battlefield Signs and Trench Warfare
1986
C
alvin was working the last night of his eighth night in a row. It was unusually hot that July and he was looking forward to a night off. His shift started at ten o’clock in the evening and it had been especially oppressive and muggy every night that week.
He’d gone to a family fight call days ago. It was right after the bars had closed and the two lovebirds had returned to their apartment. Between the liquid courage and the stifling heat they’d managed to communicate their true feelings to one another, and Calvin was sent to check out the noise complaint.
He walked up the narrow flight of exterior stairs to the only apartment entrance and wondered if the creaking steps would collapse. Calvin made a mental note to tell Ivan about the stairway; no way would Ivan make it to the top step. Calvin reached the apartment door and there was a narrow landing big enough for two or three people to stand. The landing was a porch at one time but most of the railing had dry rot and portions of it were missing. He began sizing up an escape route if things went bad, he figured a fella would do well to simply hug the wall and hope for the best going back down those steps. Before he announced his arrival he surveyed the backyard and the neighbors as well. There were several Detroit honeys—decrepit Chevys, Fords, and Chryslers stored on blocks, and spare car parts were lying all around the yard—both yards as far as he could determine. His gut reaction was the obvious; he was in one of the city’s biggest shitholes.
He peered in the window just before the shouting started up again. The apartment showed battlefield signs, there were broken dishes that littered the kitchen floor and all four burners of the stove were on. Calvin was no stranger to trench warfare and knew he’d soon be surrounded by poverty and some fairly fucked-up behavior. He was right on both counts.
The voices in another part of the apartment grew louder and the screaming began. A female voice said, “–king loser. I should have listened to my mother.”
The male was next, “This gun is loaded and I think I just might do everyone a favor, you shitferbrains mop squeezer. You don’t even know how to cook; you should’ve listened to your mother when she tried teaching you how to boil water.”
When Calvin heard that he knocked twice and let himself in as he announced, “A one and a two…and a guess who?”
They heard him and went into the kitchen. Rhonda Tagaloa and Sydney Grady were stunned when they saw a police officer standing there. For Calvin’s part the first question was why all four burners on the stove were on when it had to be at least a hundred degrees in the kitchen. He silently cursed himself for wearing his bulletproof vest as sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Who in the hell invited you in?” Rhonda asked.
He looked at her and smelled it immediately—the malodorous stench of burning hair. He noticed her eyebrows were burned to a crisp and most of the hair above the eyebrows was singed as well. She was smoking a cigarette and giving him the dirtiest look she could muster. He walked over to the stove and turned the burners off. “Nice cigarette lighter. Great idea warming up the kitchen while you’re at it. It’s hot enough in here to breed sheep.”
“I asked you a question. Who in the hell invited you in!”
“If
you
go to jail the report will read he asked me to come inside and if
he
goes to jail the report will read you asked me in. Is that easy enough for you to understand?”
She threw up a little in the back of her throat and some of it found its way down her chin. Rhonda was wearing white shorts and a red, white, and blue tank top. Her day started eighteen hours earlier with a trip to a nearby lake. She’d had plenty to drink between then and now. She looked at Calvin and said, “Get out.”
Calvin ignored her and asked her boyfriend about the loaded gun. Sydney chuckled and then said, “I was just bullshitting her. I don’t even own a gun. Not that she’s ever sober enough to notice. Can’t you call the dog warden and have her picked her up in the morning? I think she’s rabid.”
Rhonda did her best Tasmanian devil act and tried going after Sydney. Calvin stuck his foot out and said, “Oops,” as she fell flat on her face. The lit cigarette was still in her mouth when she hit the linoleum. When she rolled over, her cheek had a nasty burn, and Calvin just shook his head.
“Looks like neither one of you broke up any happy marriages. I can’t decide if I should arrest just one of you or the both of you seeing as how I’m usually a completest.”
Sydney complained, “I’m hot. We both are.”
“No shit, Dick Tracy. I’m wearing a bulletproof vest and these trousers aren’t exactly built for comfort. We’re all hot! You see me acting like you two?”
“Maybe on your night off?”
“Not funny. I could flip a coin. Heads you go to jail. Tails she goes. What do you think? Does it sound good?”
She had another cigarette in her mouth, staring longingly at the stove. Calvin looked at her and said, “What do you think about my coin-toss idea?”
“We’ll behave, you don’t have to arrest anyone.” And then she passed out.
Sydney looked at Calvin and said, “Problem solved. When she wakes up in the morning she’ll forget how much she hated me tonight. This stuff happens a few times a week. We really do love each other. I’ll tuck her in bed all nice and safe. Thanks for coming inside the apartment like I asked.”
“If I get one more call here tonight, you’re both going.”
“You won’t officer. I promise.”
Calvin surveyed the apartment one more time and wondered how anyone could live in such conditions. When he got to the squad car Calvin turned the air conditioning on high and waited a minute or so and tried to cool off before he cleared the call.
******
The next week Calvin was in the squad room waiting for roll call. The room was high energy with several detectives at roll call, which was unusual for third shift. The roll call sergeant addressed the officers.
“Officers Darren Lamar and Rosalyn Metcalf responded to a family fight a couple of hours ago. When they arrived they heard a single gunshot. With the assistance of other officers they were able to get inside the upstairs apartment. Rhonda Tagaloa and Sydney Grady were both dead. They each had a single gunshot wound to the head. It appears Rhonda shot and killed her live-in boyfriend Sydney before turning the gun on herself. You should know that Rhonda Tagaloa is Rosalyn’s sister. Officer Metcalf will be off a few days, and we should all show her our support when she returns. She’s a good police officer as you know.”
A half hour later Calvin was sitting in the patrol car and Frank was driving. Calvin had been keeping to himself and finally Frank asked him if he was alright.
“I feel real bad about that murder-suicide tonight. I was there last week on a call.”
“We all feel bad. The loss of a sister is always hard. I’m sure Rosalyn’s experiencing a great deal of grief. Coupled with the loss of two lives—bad business all the way around.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Calvin said. “The outdoor stairs leading up to that apartment were treacherous and I’d planned on telling Ivan about those steps and railing. It never would’ve held his weight. I meant to tell him but forgot; had he ever gone up those steps he would’ve gotten hurt for sure and that would have been dreadful.”
******
A week later there was plenty of drinking and hellraising in Patriot Park. The park was situated on the west side of town on the river. Local troublemakers, bad guys and bad girls, losers, miscreants, and scoundrels gathered every night and waited for the cops to clear the park. The task was a simple one most nights. Park curfew was midnight each and every night of the week. The car assigned to Patriot Park would start at the south end and slowly drive to the north. The officer riding shotgun was in charge of the radio, so that individual would announce, “The park is closed…leave the park immediately.”
Most nights were uneventful with a few appearance tickets issued while others involved the occasional arrest for contempt of cop. This night would turn out like no other Patriot Park closing.
Reg and Quentin were assigned Patriot Park duty and Quentin was telling Reg about the run-in Victor had with the Smurf Man. “I’ll tell you, Reg, I would’ve given anything to have seen the Smurf man get his.”
“I know what you mean. I hate it when I miss the really sweet calls.”
“There are always plenty more to come. That’s the best part about what we do, the random way in which assholes hold forth.”
Reg spotted a six pack of beer on a picnic table. “Pull over, we got us a winner.”
He slowed to a stop and Reg got out and walked over to the picnic table. The beer was ice cold, all six bottles on one of the hottest nights of the year. He got back in the car and they each drank a couple of beers. Quentin looked at his watch and said, “It’s that time Reg, the midnight hour approaches and we need to vacate this here park.”
“We got us a shitload of crab catchers and park-rule violators that need to leave. The sooner the better. Gentlemen, start your engines.”
“I will, Reg. You are after all…the senior officer.”
Reg found Quentin’s last remark spit-sprayingly funny and beer made its way to the dashboard on the passenger side. He grabbed the microphone and switched from radio to public address.
Reg burped over the radio public address speaker and said, “Attention Pricks! It is time to leave the park. It’s midnight and the park has officially closed. We appreciate your patronage, but local ordinance precludes you from staying another minute. LEAVE THE PARK IMMEDIATELY!”
“FUCK YOU PIGS!” A rock hit the back window of the patrol car and spider cracks immediately appeared. “FUCKING PIGS CAN’T TELL US WHAT TO DO. THIS IS OUR PARK!” Another rock was thrown and it missed Quentin’s window but hit one of the “I want to go to jail” contestants in the head, knocking him out cold.
“Goodness Reg, I believe we have us some honest-to-goodness hellraising. Am I right?”
“Looks like it. A big crowd and a hot night. I think we should call for another car or two.”
“Might just as well, good buddy.”
Reg switched the toggle back to radio and told the dispatcher to send some help. “They’re throwing rocks and one just hit our car.”
The dispatcher sent additional officers to the park and others went on their own. Within two minutes there were several police officers ready to assist Quentin and Reg. Frank and Ivan were soon at their side.
“Well, what the fuck do you make of this?” Ivan asked.
“They’ve got us surrounded, the poor bastards,” Frank said.
Calvin was the next cop on scene. Calvin looked to his left and saw one of the really bold—those that do as they damn well please without fear of the consequences— holding a rock in his hand and glaring at him. They were no more than fifteen feet apart.
“Put down that rock or I’m going to arrest you,” Calvin threatened.
Wilfred Flowers was at a personal crossroad in his life. He loathed cops; detested them with a passion. Wilfred had two choices, he could drop the rock and let things cool off or he could do what he wanted most. The heart wants what the heart wants and he threw the rock as hard as he could at Calvin.
Calvin had time to say, “Ow,” before he fell to the ground unconscious.
“Sumbitches are all under arrest. Let’s get ’em boys,” Ivan said.
Victor hit Wilfred over the head with his nightstick and the asshole immediately joined Calvin—lights out.
Frank stood next to Ivan. “Just like Little Big Horn! I think this time the cavalry will prevail,” Frank said. He picked up a rock and threw it back in the crowd, hitting one of the curfew violators in the small of the back and knocking him down. Seconds later he got right back up and ran for the park exit.
Victor unloaded a good portion of pepper spray directly into the face of an obstinate teenage girl who had made the mistake of getting too close to the front line. “There you go sweetie, a little perfume to wear on date night. You like it? I call it:
Eau de get the fuck out of the park
. The fragrance is sure to evoke fond memories, right?”
There were about forty troublemakers left and when the dozen cops grouped around one another and waded into the main crowd, half of the crowd ran away. The truly dedicated stood their ground against the cops…but not for long.
Frank led the charge, his nightstick looked like a windmill gone rogue. Within ten seconds another three were out cold. He yelled to the others, “Leave ’em lay! We can transport them later.” Victor was kicking the shit out of two members of the Evil Spirits. When one of them tried to run off, Frank tackled him and hit him on the side of his head with his sap…a homemade job with plenty of lead weight and electrical tape. The dude was down for the count.
Three of the lawless had Reg pinned against a patrol car and he was laughing at them when he told them they were under arrest. He kneed one of them in the nuts and when the guy took a bow, Reg kicked him in the chin. The guy’s tongue was in the wrong place and the tip was soon severed. While all of this was going on, Ivan decided to play terrible. He knocked the other two guys’ heads together and they quietly fell to the ground.
Ivan spied a wristwatch lying in the dirt. “Hey Reg, take a look at this. One of the assholes lost his watch.” Ivan stomped it as hard as he could just as Reg realized what was happening.
“Ivan! No!!! That’s my watch.”
“Sorry Reg, I thought it was one of theirs.”
Reg bent down and scooped up parts of his watch and he and Ivan joined the others. Several of the hooligans were running to parts unknown. There were only fourteen left and they were all lying on the ground. Some were unconscious and a few wished they were—the pain was that bad. Some were handcuffed to others and a few hog-handcuffed all to themselves. Reg made sure his cuffs were used on the one that was lying next to where his broken watch had been salvaged.
Of the fourteen who were eventually carted off to jail, six were transported to the hospital and one of them was admitted, courtesy of Victor. He later said, “Serves the son of a bitch right! That’s what he gets for assaulting Calvin.”