Have you ever wondered about torture and how it could pertain to criminals. Not in a broad terrorism sense but just your standard murder for example. There are diminishing returns for a criminal until you get to something called life in prison or death, and it doesn't seem to stop people. If only we had a true enforcement mechanism. See I do, but I'm a cop. I've never actually told anyone that.
The thing is I've only been a cop for one day. I've just always had an anti criminal psyche. What separates these people from me or if you haven't quit reading, maybe you. Have you ever ordered yourself to do something, like there are two of you and one is in charge while the little insubordinate manages to listen. Earlier today or this morning, depending on how you frame it something happened. Wait, earlier today implies a unity in the fractionalization of a 24 hr period; this morning categorized it by its own. I'm not sure which holds more truth. Was it so unique that I should say this morning, or has it so effected me now that I should say earlier day. I'll leave that up for you to decide.
I wrestled with my eager nervousness, this being the first revolving experience as an officer. Imagine you trained for something but you always thought you would have a partner or a team. Well sometimes you just get real lucky. I had only done it twice but have formed an opinion that I would rather police outside my vehicle that in it. If I could take off my uniform, I would. It makes you feel closer to the community. I parked a block away as to not enact my privileges onto a handicap space, but being as I could smell the restaurant food from that distance; it was all fun and didn't really matter, plus I got to stay outside of the car a little longer. People treated me different and I already knew that those cops with the best posture are the middle aged ones. The older time has withered them away, the younger unable to have evolved to the people around them.
The closer I got to the food, the better it smelled, but you know it doesn't have to be, it just doesn't; a good cop I believe relies mostly on his facial expressions and less on his stance. It's more versatile. All that's to be gained from a stance is hard power, the face is versatile. Before I got out of my car I practiced a smile and left my wallet. A part of being a cop is eating for free, but you see it's not free and I found that out real quickly. A geologist looks down, the astrophysicist up, but the cop looks straight ahead on a altruistic swivel. The weirdest part for me was walking out of the home with a weapon showing to the public. Now there is a side of the body that must be paid attention to.
I jaywalked. I guess all people have a line, and mine is above jaywalking. Anyway I noticed a man give me the first, thank you for you service expression. He didn't say anything, he just looked and nodded without nodding, and as my potential posture got straighter so did he b line turn to a zig zag leaving room for me as if I were a poor monarch. I saw a child next, and he stared at me. You know the type of uncomfortable stare where two people look away. Well with children they don't do that. I got to the sidewalk not feeling any relief or sensation for having broken the law. You see with some cops this line is a lot higher. For some people, monarch's and plebeians alike there is no line. Only a badge a gun or a crown or a raggedy pair of shoes.
I opened the door and by this time I could smell the food so distinctly that my nose felt I left it in an olfactory paradise. One where it is the nose of a cop, a chef and a monarch. Fortune is a crazy thing. Some people think it means money. Some people circumstance, others like me think it meaningless, because you make your own. I could easily not like this smell; oh only if I were self righteous enough. Looking to the cash register, I played what I called training games. The what if and it will eventually happen reality of violent criminality. Cops do things everyday that if your average man did it would make the news.
Even the day before as an amateur, I would have been able to tell those two men criminal. It's a shiftiness. Like a habit that even when doing right, they can't seem to get out of. All I'm saying is that if you could torture, it may get them out of it.
I have a line right? Well let's just say I forgot of it, and counted to myself while I looked to the menu. Usually when I got to 50, I always start over. It calms me. It was a moral crisis. See even as a cop, I believe in the rights of all, and to dedicate special attention for these two garbed suspicion of myself. I mean come on.I have no evidence they are doing anything wrong.
I said, "Can I have a number 3," and noticed while she moved a little faster for me than my counterparts. I don't eat onions or anything next to their designated place.
He grappled for something, but despite my premonitions, I wasn't observant enough. Before I could realize he wasn't tightening his belt, the black metal that came out wasn't shinny like chrome in a movie. It looked flat black. If a gun were to be a color it shouldn't be like this. It doesn't warn one of its potential harm. I reached my hand to my gun but couldn't pull it, waiting to see what he would say. Immediately he swore to me to place my hands in the air. In the academy what he was amateurishly doing I had been trained in, but like if circumstance were a hypocrite, nothing was where it should be.
I thought fast enough to even be proud. Proud of myself in the worst of moments. While I felt terror, I felt more concerned for those around me, and in front of two men, who I know felt no love for me, I was proud of my uniform. I was proud to be opposite to them.
The criminals were cursing and directing, frantically. It did look like a movie. But not one with professionals, but one where they were amateurishly scared and neurotic. Like one of those films where the robbers were tweeking on meth or something. It took about two seconds, but right after the second man pulled his gun, he focused on my being.
He screamed to me, "Get over there in the corner first, then slowly take your gun and put it on the ground, then kick it this way!"
I walked slowly, much slower than wanted, to see how he would react. It wasn't well. He started to shake heavily, even more than before, and he said, " You cop. Yea you. Do you think your some kind of tough guy?
I just starred right into him and my mind predicted an infinite amount of scenarios. I tried to concentrate on the good ones, telling myself, "We will get through this."
They demanded money and the frantic disposition on the workers faces was honest and they were scared of the men's ominously formulated sentences.
It was in this moment I thought of my pregnant wife, but how I thought of all the others. The restaurant and their lives and their families. But I was at gunpoint, helpless.
That's when it happened. Amongst the chaos, they fired. It must have been an accident, but a man lie now on the ground bleeding out and screaming.
They said, "Everybody get on the ground or your dead. We all gave to this demand and they gathered the money.
They ran and I called for backup. It was the wounded man I was concerned with. So on my first day a man bleed out and died in my arms. It's been with me ever since.