Raindogblue

Homicide on the High Street

 

There is no dignity dying

in the street, in the scattered

garbage, blood spilling

from a broken head,

with paramedics cracking

ribs to do CPR on a fleeing life. 

 

 

Missed

 

En route to man down, knocked out from a punch, I'm rolling west up Omen, in the heart of the high rises and narrow roads, to the High Street where the suspect was seen southbound.  I'm not rolling code. It would be nice to find the mope. I running the speed limit. At this point, there's no need to speed and ped. 

At 6th, I have the green. As I break the crosswalk, I scan south to north. I see a flash of light: reds and blues. I anchor the cruiser as a co-worker blasts through the intersection at 50+, running without his siren. We miss by less than a car length. 

 

 

 

Pooling

 

Mike is screaming,pressed against a fence, holding on, as if he holding on to his life.

He says he's shot in the leg. He won't sit down, so we start looking for wounds, but he's writhing too much.

We need to lay him down, but the sidewalk is studded with uncapped rigs. Kicking the detritus and debris away from a center spot,  we, then, lift him up and set him down and his side.

His knee's scraped raw. There's an inch long laceration to his left thigh, but no bullet wound. We check his legs, ankles to upper thighs: nothing.

The pups think he's 1234 or high, but I've been around too many shootings. Using my seat belt cutter, I slice off his shorts and underwear.

We lift and rotate hims slowly, once, twice and again, until I can see the blood pooling in his boxers. He's an entry wound left of the spine and under his kidney.  

 

 

The Devil is Afraid of Water

 

Off the Park Blocks, Wight and I are out dealing with a drunk gal having a bad day. While arranging a ride for her a MB walks by, looks at the lady and says, “You must be drunk. Cops won’t mess with you if you’re not drunk. That’s why I don’t drink. Drink is the Devil’s poison. I drink water. The Devil’s afraid of water. “

 

 

Two Kittens and a Snake

 

On the second floor of Section 8 building off fourth, a woman insists a snake and two kittens are inside her closet. She tells dispatch, she isn't worried about the kittens.

The apartment is a postage stamp. The closet doesn't have a door. I search inside. Instead of animals, I find purses.

 

 

Consequences of Extreme Heat

 

Per Dispatch, due to extreme heat, on Monday there were 24 death calls city-wide. Today, there were 38. Normally, there are four.

I had one, but it was a heroin OD.

 

Covering Wight

 

On the High Street, a tweaker threw

a fit after the manager of a fancy hotel

wouldn’t let him come in and wash

the snakes out of the inside of his hands.

 

 

 

 

Jargon: Code Zero

 

On the air, a Code Zero requires all officers city wide to respond to a scene. 

Monday, we had one. Four gang members suffering from GSW arrived by ambulance to a local trauma hospital. Their friends, family and associates rushed the ER. Many of them were armed. A Code Zero was called. It took 64 officers to establish calm and restore order. 

 

 

In The Courtyard

 

Mandy's schizophrenic. She jumped out of a third floor window. The voices told her to. She landed on her feet and shattered her ankles. Her bones have broken her skin. As she lies on the ground, Wight and I each hold one of her hands, so she wound hit the EMTs working on her.

 

 

An Odd Request

 

Kat's in the roll call room working on a report.

She says to me, "Can you do me a favor."

I don't trust the look on her face.

 

Sssuurre?

 

"Can you smell me?"

 

Ookay?

 

I just returned from a death call and wanted to know if I smell like a the body.