ALLEGEDLY TRUE POLICE STORIES – SERIES

The One Legged Man

A perfect seventy-three degrees, clear skies, a full moon, and bright shining stars made an ideal early September evening. Officers Dugman and Silver enjoyed the night, just cruising around. No calls or bad guys out yet. Love, not hate, was in the air. Even better was that they had beat 27, which took in the entire University of Maryland College Park campus.

Silver was in his fifth year and wondered why he was chosen as a field training officer. He had been training his partner for over two months and was ready to get rid of him. There were only so many things a lifelong die-hard Redskins fan could talk about with a Dallas fan, especially during the start of another football season. The good thing about being an FTO was he let the rookie do all the driving. “Good way to learn the beat” type of thing.

Dugman was driving with his left hand hanging out of the cruiser. He had a week and a half before he was to be broken loose, and he would be on his own. He had made eight felony arrests, mostly robberies in progress, twelve misdemeanor arrests, all for possession, and had written at least three books of citations.

The only citation that Silver wrote during the last two months was on the day work shift at the North Gate to the University. Silver had once received a ticket for going six over in Potland, New York, from a female officer, not more than five foot, who didn’t care about the operator being a “brother” from Maryland. Ever since he has held a grudge against anyone from the Empire State. Anyone with enough balls to operate a motor vehicle in Silver’s beat with New York tags got a ticket. It didn’t matter if the person was breaking motor vehicle laws. Article 66 1/2, the motor vehicle laws, handbook was about 3 inches thick. No one, not even the Pope, could drive a 1/4 mile without breaking some obscure and rarely known, even to the best defense attorney, vehicle law, rule, and regulation. At the start of Dugman’s second month, the third day of day work, they were traveling south on US Route 1 behind a 1969 Olds, 4 doors, light blue, occupied by what appeared to be two white females, and the vehicle had New York registration plates. Silver, riding shotgun, was reading the morning newspaper, the funnies, when he looked up to see why Dugman was going so slow. Silver noticed, at once, that the vehicle in front of them had “those” tags.  

“Dugman, stop that car and give them a ticket. They’re from New York. You know my rule about that,” Silver yelled. The ever-obedient Dugman put on the lights and siren at once even though he disagreed with his FTO’s approach to traffic control and community relations with the good people from the State of New York. Dugman knew Silver could have cared less because “Those bastards don’t pay our salaries.”

Once both vehicles stopped on the right side of the road, blocking the heavy Saturday traffic, Dugman stepped out of the cruiser. Silver stayed back, watching and thinking he could handle two women. 

But, unfortunately, Dugman had taken just two steps when he lost the battle of the sexes. The driver, all 19 years old, five foot two, bleached blond with very dark eyeliner, weighing about twenty-five pounds too much, a sheer blouse that exposed two enormous mammary glands. And something that resembled a skirt that was no longer than 10 inches jumped out of the driver’s side and ran back to greet the police officer.

The tall and somewhat good-looking rookie immediately realized the need to be professional. So he professionally introduced himself to the young lady, trying his best to look anywhere but at her chest region, and asked her to get back into her car. After she complied, he asked for her driver’s permit and vehicle registration. This is the point where things started going south. After several ‘wait a secs’ and searching her oversized suitcase of a purse, she admitted she didn’t have a permit from any of the fifty states, possessions, or any other place that issued such things. “But, officer, I am just going to my sorority house one block down the road. You can see it from here,” she pointed in the general direction of Sorority Row. 

Dugman being single, young, and horny, was inclined to let her drive the one block, but there was Silver. So he leaned in the driver’s window, his chin coming dangerously close to one of her body’s significant and 75% exposed parts. The poor patrolman asked the other female, obviously her mother, the same thing except for at least twenty-five years older if she had a driver’s license, to which reply “Yes, Officer,” in the most polite voice she could muster. Then, satisfied, he said, “Okay, please, drive the rest of the way to your daughter’s destination.”

Silver was folding the newspaper as Dugman got back into the patrol car. “Did you give them a ticket?” he asked his recruit.

Dugman leaned his head and mumbled, “No, they are only going a block to the girl’s dorms.” 

Surprisingly, Silver remained so calm. “Give the keys. I’ll drive. The only fucking rule I have, and you decide to just say, fuck you. to me.” Silver asked as both exited the police car and changed positions. “Well, no, but the mother has one. She told me so.”

Sliding behind the wheel, “My ass. I bet you your next month’s pay. The mother doesn’t have one, either. They’re from New York, and all New Yorkers lie to the police. It’s part of their heritage.” With that, he started the engine and put on the emergency equipment, pulling the 69 Olds over again, maybe 100 feet from the original traffic stop and a bit closer to Sorority Row.

Exiting the cruiser, he asked Dugman, “What’s the last name?” A reasonable request, but the novice replied, “I forgot to ask.” 

The FTO mumbled to himself, “Fuck me, what did I do to get such a shithead.” He closed the driver’s door just as ‘mother mammary glands’ appeared. She stopped with her face maybe two feet from him, but her rather large personal features were a short one inch from his six-pack abs. She was dressed similarly to the daughter. Instantly, Silver wished for the daughter. Unfortunately, Mom was not aging well or had had too many injections of Mexican Black Tar.

Silver asked Mom to back up at least four feet so he could talk to her. No male had ever asked Mom to back up before, but she complied while her main attractions, not secured, bounced up and down and back and forth and out from beneath her t-shirt, which read “Heads-Up, Moms Here” in bold typing.

During the twenty-second show, a rear-end collision occurred in the lane next to the traffic stop. Mrs. Joan Thomson had just completed her last session with her eighty-dollar-an-hour psychiatrist. She was having problems with her sexual orientation and was on her way home. For the first time in years, she truly believed that she was straight until she saw, as Mom referred to them, “my girls” and fell instantly in love. Mrs. Thomson rear-ended, no pun intended, that’s a motor vehicle accident term, Mr. John Mortimer’s 1932 Hudson Eight Sedan, fully restored and freshly painted. Silver waved to Dugman to handle the fender bender and dry Mrs. Thomson’s and Mr. Mortimer’s tears while continuing his ticket quest.

After a short or lengthy time, depending on whether or not you were involved in the accident, frustrated from waiting in heavy traffic trying to get around a police traffic stop that took up most of the two traffic lanes. Silver determined that Mom did not have a driver’s license. The 69 Olds’ plates were expired, the car was borrowed from a friend just for the trip, and the daughter was not a student at the University but rather a manager trainee at Howard Johnson’s Restaurant, moving away from home for the first time. As the tow truck driver drove away with the 69 Olds, mom and daughter stood stranded on the sidewalk with the daughter’s luggage. Dugman received the chewing out of the century, and Silver was delighted.

Back to the main topic before I forget the story. The cruiser was headed down University Boulevard and just about even with the Jumbo food store parking lot when a hulk of a man jumped off the curb waving his hands. Dugman pulled the cruiser over to the shoulder of the road as Silver rolled down his window to hear the Hulk yell, “We are going to kill him if you don’t do something.”  

Silver glanced over to the parking lot and saw a crowd of about thirty young people standing in somewhat of a circle. Silver recognized at least ten as University football players. “Officer, there’s a guy threatening everyone. We told him to leave, but he won’t. So he must be on something.” Noble continued, “You got to do something.” Noble was the starting varsity left tackle and stood around 6’4″, weighing about 280 pounds. Silver thought this guy must be one badass.

Silver, followed by Dugman, pushed through the crowd to find one skinny middle-aged man of about fifty at its center, yelling obscenities at the group. “I’m going to kick your ass,” pointing at several giant human beings, “yours, yours, and then I’ll piss on each one of you, got it faggots?” One of the groups reached out to grab Mr. Skinny when Silver said as loud as he could, “Stop, don’t touch him. We will take care of this.”

While Silver and Dugman were engaging the latest techniques of Police Community Relations with/on Mr. Skinny, Lieutenant John Robert Kiger, Shift Commander, was getting up his nerve to ‘go on the road.’ As everyone called him, Lt. K had two years left until he retired. He had been on the road for 23 years. He was a paranoid poster child. He could no longer face the street and the fuck-ups by his men. He was sure they plotted against him, which was not too far off the mark. Every fuck-up was directed at driving him insane and keeping him from retiring. He had not talked to anyone on his shift for the last seven months: three Sergeants, thirty-three officers, and two station clerks. He even suspected that his wife was in on the plot; she was for his retirement check. 

The station was located in the basement of the District Court building, and there were seventy-two steps up to the main floor. Halfway up the stairway, there was a small landing. This particular night, Lt. K, as he had done many others in the last several months, stood at the bottom of the stairway, dreading what he would find if he climbed the stairway to get his cruiser to “on the road.” Finally, he decided to remain at the bottom of the stairway and wait until someone needed a Lieutenant, praying that the call never came.

Silver warned Mr. Skinny, he was maybe all of 135 pounds, six times to leave, or he would be arrested for disorderly conduct. Mr. Skinny replied to Silver, “You, I going to kick you ass first shit head.” pointing his finger in Silver’s face.

“That’s it, you little fucker, you are under arrest,” Silver said as he grabbed Mr. Skinny’s left arm to turn him around to put cuffs on him. According to the Internal Affairs investigators report, it was then that Mr. Skinny’s left leg fell off. After that, Mr. Skinny started yelling “Police Brutality, Police Brutality” as loudly as he could repeatedly.

Everyone, including Silver and Dugman, couldn’t believe their eyes. “What the shit, someone do something,” Silver said. Several crowd members yelled back, “You’re the police.” As Dugman reached down and picked up Mr. Skinny’s wooden left leg, Mr. Skinny decided to go limp in Silver’s arms. Mr. Skinny was loaded into the police car and driven as fast as possible, with lights and sirens, to the police station. Most of the crowd followed in their vehicles to see what would happen next.

Silver and two crowd members carried Mr. Skinny down the station stairway, with Dugman following, holding a ‘Left Leg’ for dear life.

Lt. K had just decided enough was enough, “after all, I am a man,” he thought and would go on the road. He had climbed three steps when he heard Silver and his friends on their way down. When Lt. K looked up and saw Silver and two others carrying a one-legged man down the steps, he became concerned. But when he looked further up, he saw Dugman carrying a leg; he had his first major panic attack. He grabbed his chest, fell backward down the steps onto the floor, and passed out. His last thoughts before passing out were, “They have finally done it. They have finally done it.” As a result of the fall, Lt. K dislocated two vertebrae in his neck, broke his left Femur, and amassed numerous bruises and cuts.

Mr. Skinny’s Internal Affairs complaint alleged excessive force and brutality by the two officers, i.e., his left leg fell off during a totally unwarranted arrest. Mr. Skinny wrote he was a Korean War-era vet, but if truth be told, he served his time during the war in an Air Force Maintenance shop in Toyama, Japan. He lost his leg when a truck ran over him while walking in the middle of the road one night, returning from the local bar. The Internal Affairs Division charged Silver with one count of “Using Language That Would Demean An Individual’s Inherent Dignity” for saying, “That’s it, you little fucker.” And “Inappropriate Police Actions” for not calling for a rescue squad to transport Mr. Skinny to a hospital due to his injuries, which left him falling off. [ It didn’t really matter. The leg was made of wood and metal ] All in all, it cost Silver $200 and removal from the upcoming promotional list, which he wasn’t on anyway.

Two and a half months later, Mr. Skinny appeared on crutches with no left leg in court. The judge found him not guilty and reprimanded both Silver and Dugman for being insensitive to the disabled vet’s needs and disabilities. 

Within four days, Mr. Skinny filed suit naming the Department, the Commissioner, Officer Silver, Dugman, and Lt. K. By year’s end, the Police Department settled and paid Mr. Skinny $57,367.27. The twenty-seven cents came out of nowhere. Mr. Skinny refused to settle for an even $57,367. With that, the now pissed-off County Attorney lawyer reached into his right-hand front pocket, grabbed the loose change, took the coin out of his pocket, and threw it on the table towards Harold Jerome Smith, Mr. Skinny, and said, “That’s all the more your getting.” The change was two dimes, one nickel, and two pennies. Mr. Skinny’s attorney said, “Case settled,” so fast that his client didn’t have time to protest.