Top
Advertisement

Suicidal and Angry

Back in the beginning of my career, when I was 10 years younger and did not walk like an old decrepit man I was able to hold up better to the physical demands of the job.  No I’m not talking about lifting donuts to my mouth or opening a beer at the end of my shift, I’m talking about chasing bad guys and fighting with individuals who did not want to go to jail.  Anyway, I had just finished my field training and was on my own for about three months and was on patrol when I got my 100th domestic dispute call of the night.  There was something in the water that night that was causing people to want to fight each other.  Dispatch advised an elderly woman was on 911 stating her son and daughter in law were in the kitchen physically fighting over the car keys.  Car keys, are you kidding me?  Well I roll into the neighborhood and was about to park two houses away, but grandma is outside waiting and she frantically waives for me to come over to her.  I drive up in front of the house and as I am getting out of my squad car, I can hear a female scream, “Get the fuck off me you fucking asshole!”  That doesn’t sound good.  Ok, well I break rule number one of domestic dispute calls: Never enter into a domestic without your back-up.  As I enter the house, I see a man pinning a woman down on the kitchen floor, and she is  screaming at the top of her lungs.  When the man sees me, a look of relief washes over him and he lets his wife up.  She immediately gets up and starts to march out of the kitchen.  Rule number two: never let anyone leave the room without another officer to keep an eye on them.  You never know, they may be pissed off enough to come back with a gun and start shooting.  So, trying to say within the spirit of rule number two, I tell the woman to stay put.  Her reply is, “I’d like to go clean up since I just shit my pants!”  Great, what if she is lying just to get out of the kitchen, but then again, what if she really did fill her pants from the strain of the physical struggle?  “New officer dilemma,” let the woman wipe her ass, and break rule number two or make her wait until my back-up arrives?  Most two story homes in Arizona have all the full bathrooms upstairs and a half bathroom downstairs, and most of the time the master bedrooms are upstairs as well.  So, I asked what bathroom she was headed too, and she told me the one downstairs.  Well. Ok downstairs half bathroom, no problem.  I let the woman go clean up and I start talking to the husband.  Turns out the husband was holding his wife down, because she has taken a large amount of vicodin and wanted to go for a drive.  So, when he would not let his wife have the car keys, she went ballistic and attacked the husband, and she was suicidal.  While I’m talking with the husband my back-up arrives and he is updated.  I ask the husband if there are any weapons in the house, and he says there is a rifle in the bedroom closet.  I ask where the master bedroom is and he says downstairs.  WHAT!!?? Downstairs?  I wrongly assumed it was upstairs, and now I let suicidal and violent wife go into the bedroom where there is a rifle.  Nice job super cop!  My back-up and I immediately draw our weapons and the husband runs for the bedroom.  I start yelling for the husband to come back, and my back-up starts to yell for the woman to come out of the bedroom.  As my back-up and I are making our way to the bedroom, we hear the husband yell, “Oh no put it down.”  Holy shit she has the gun, and now I am the one who has soiled underwear!  Well, we do what’s called a dynamic entry into the bedroom and there are the husband and wife physically fighting over a shard of broken glass.  Phew, no gun, no problem.  My back-up and I holster our weapons and rush over and tackle the woman.  Big mistake.  I failed to mention that this woman was about six foot two inches tall and weighs a good 190 pounds.  Blond hair blue eyed.  Can you say good German stock?  Needless to say the husband got the glass shard away, but when we hit the floor, I had my arms wrapped around the woman’s legs and my back-up was trying to pin her arms to the floor.  At first I thought, “Yeah we got this under control.”  Yeah right.  This woman suddenly lets out a loud Valkyrie  like war cry and throws my back-up across the room and pins me between her legs and starts to squeeze.  Now, think about this for a moment if you will.  I’m between some buxom blonde’s legs, but it isn’t quite what I had in mind.  To make matters worse, she is trying to go for my duty weapon and my back-up is still lying on the floor.  So, the husband comes back into the room, and she lets go of me and I can breathe again and she goes after her husband with a vengeance.  I tackle the woman and my back-up jumps on her as well. 

Ok, we are back to square one.  I manage to get on my radio and ask for help.  Chirp, chirp go the radio crickets.  Are you kidding me?  Nobody is piping up?  Ok, I ask dispatch to have the fire department come into the house, because I know they are outside waiting for the all clear.  I figure, they are young, in shape and strong, maybe they will help.  Riiiight!  They come strolling in and start laughing.  Thanks guys.  You pose for calendars and make snidely remarks about cops, and expect us to protect you when your dealing with combative diabetic patients, but you can’t even hold an arm down for me?  Thanks a lot fellas.  Finally more back-up arrives; unfortunately it’s an old crusty lieutenant whose been a cop since the Revolutionary War and all he does is throw a leg restraint at me and says’ “Here put this on her so she can’t kick you anymore.”  “Get the fuck out,” I wanted to yell, but there are just some things you don’t say to your Lt.  Needless to say we finally subdue the woman, but it took five of us to do so.  The woman was finally strapped down to a gurney and gagged.  But, she was so pissed, she kept struggling in the ambulance all the way to the hospital, where they finally gave her a sedative.

 

After everything was said and done, I finally got a chance to asses myself.  My badge had been ripped off my shirt, I had another tear in my shirt, and to top it off there was a big shit smear on my sleeves.  She really did dump a load in her pants.  I don’t get paid enough for this shit!  Pun intended.

 

Thanks for reading.             

8
Ratings
  • 774 Views
  • 23 Comments
  • 2 Favorites
  • Flag
  • Flip
  • Pin It

23 Comments

  • Advertisement