Raindogblue

Keyboard

Dinner

It's dark. It's ten.

Kap, K2, and I meet in the bat cave for pizza served on the hood of a prowler.
Before I can try a slice, I'm dispatched to an incomplete.
The call is swift. It's close.
It's a child playing with the phone.

I return. I eat a piece.

As I reach for a second slice, I'm dispatched to a disturbance.

"Woman screaming in a condo. Sounds like she's being choked."

I arrive in minutes. The home is quiet. I knock and knock and knock.
A middle aged man finally opens the door. He's in pajamas.
He's tense, uneasy at my presence, waiting for bad news with a timid,

"Yes?"

We've had calls of a disturbance in your condo.

He looks confused, tilts his head to think.

There are reports of a woman screaming.

He closes his eyes for a moment, cocks his head toward the living room, and says

"Girls, come here."

He's a tired man.

He explains "It's horseplay. My daughters where shrieking. They were playing with the dog."

His two teenage girls come to the door, full of mischief, trying not to grin.

"We were chasing the dog."

"We're sorry."

I'm glad everything is okay.

When I return to my car, a message is on the MDT.
The last two slice are waiting for me.

Sentinel

The bridge is closed. Late rush hour traffic is caught on the east side. One car following another, they all seem to make their way to Sentinel Street, back to the heart of the village.

At 13th, eastbound traffic must turn right. It's a blind corner. The old, three story buildings at the center of the village blocks the view of cross traffic. The parked cars and pedestrians on the busy little main street increase the problem.

The forced right turn prevents commuters from cutting through the narrow side streets. Those who ignore the sign draw the ire of the residents. The locals demand tickets for those who violate the sign. With the bridge closed, I could write twenty a night and not try.

I don't.

To satisfy the locals, I sit at the corner parked kitty-corner at a vacant business. I' m in plain view. Looking left, I'm the first thing you see. A big, white patrol car is never subtle. As cars approach, I know when they aren't going to turn right. You can tell by the eyes and the positioning of the car. I make it easy. PA mike in hand, I warn the car,

"You can only turn right!"

The crowd at the outdoor cafe on the near corner play along.
They echo my command in unison.

"Turn Right! Turn Right."

Most drivers correct and turn right.

The crowd cheers when I pull over those who don't.
For the next half hour, I repeat the game.

The apologetic and clueless drive away with directions and a firm warning, the arrogant and calculated leave with a souvenir.

Illumination Blue

Small Victory

It's the middle of my weekend. I'm relaxed. I'm having a good time. My wife and I stop at IKEA to pick up bookshelves. We're in the center of the store when it hits.

The adrenaline dumps. I can feel the snake slither by.

I have to leave. There are too many people. They are to close. It's too crowded. There are too many potential threats and not enough avenues of escape.

I lock my jaw, grit my teeth, and tense my shoulders.

In the past, I would retreat to the car and wait for my wife, want nothing more to be home or alone.

I refuse to ruin my day. I breathe, and then fixate to the task at hand: find the shelves, retrieve them from the warehouse, check out and leave, remaining as genial as I can be.

It may seem trivial, but it's a success to me.

Blue Flasher

The Right Way

The South Village Bridge is busy. 40,000 cars travel it each day. The only span linking east to west for miles to the north, and more to the south, the bridge is the connection between two counties and two highways.

The bridge is old. Cracks form from the pressure of a slow slide on the west side. The weight of traffic drops chunks of concrete into the river below.

Trucks and buses are no longer allowed to cross it.

The bridge needs to be replaced, but the county has no money. Instead, the South Village Bridge is closed for repairs from 6:30 PM to 5:00 AM for the next few weeks.

The closure brings confusion. Late commuters become lost. The only path they have ever taken is blocked. Shoppers from the west side become stranded in the South Village. The side streets become clogged with motorists looking for a way home. Most are familiar enough with area that a few simple directions can point them to Breaker Bridge.

But for the new residents and those from out of town, simply going to the other side of the bridge is a difficult task of twists and turn offs. A destination of a few hundred yards becomes a detour of a half dozen miles.

The night is dark. The air is dead. The box is empty. I 'm cruising the along the South Village streets looking for trouble, looking for thieves.

A motorist flashes me.

I scan the SUV. A woman on the passenger seat is talking on a cell phone. The driver has papers in his hands. He runs across the street toward me. He looks harmless.

I wait.

He's lost. He's from the valley. He mapquested his trip and now the only bridge he knows is closed. The road he needs is on the other side. I don't bother with directions. He'll won't be able to find the way. There are too many turns, too many viaducts, too many right lane only exits followed by left turn only exits.

I fall back on the rules.

If someone is lost, take them to where they need to go.

Follow me.

"Really?"

I have the time.

Twenty minutes later, I leave him at his target.

As I drive away, he waves.

"That's one great service you provide."

Law

Reflection

Thwarted

The night had come to a close. I wandered slowly back to the barn,
weaving in and out of the side streets to the main and back again
from the Villages to the City looking for something, anything.
I turned in my paper, restocked my trunk, and went to put my car away
when the K9 Sergeant took the air.

"Turned on one. Before I could light him up, he wrecked and bailed."

The dead night wailed, the silence broken in the keening of sirens.
The barn emptied. Cars heading in u-balled back south.
Lines of sight were drawn by the illumination of red and blue lights.

The perimeter was set. We waited for the track.
Ten minutes into the block search, dispatch relayed a call.
A man claimed he was car jacked nearby.
He walked to the edge of the search and waved down an officer.
His description matched the fleeing man.

The K-9 Sergeant came by and ID'd the man.
The perimeter was cut loose.
The man was taken into custody.

And we all went home, our quiet night thwarted with adrenaline and speed.