ALLEGEDLY TRUE POLICE STORIES – SERIES

THE FIRE HYDRANT

Both Detectives were about to call it a night when Davis, called Doc by everyone, including his wife and kids, had one of his “great” ideas that fell within his understanding of “Street Sociology 101”. They had been sitting in the van for over six hours with the engine off in sub-freezing weather. Finally, the car’s front window was iced over, and both had to go to the bathroom badly; there was too much coffee.

They had been staking out Malcolm Earl Boyea’s girlfriend’s house since 11 PM. They knew Boyea was in the place. He was known to dear friends and associates as Mucus. The girlfriend’s car that he drove was parked out in front of the house, but that did not give them enough, almost not enough, according to the State’s Attorney’s Assistant State’s Attorney Dyer, probable cause to enter the house. Since getting the arrest warrant for Mucus for three armed robberies, they had been unable to locate him.

As the two exited their windowless, brown Dodge van, Van Alonzo kept muttering, “This ain’t right. We’re going to get into trouble.” But, he followed his partner, buddy, comrade-in-arms, and brother-in-blue towards the dark blue, two doors, with just one small dent in the right rear quarter panel 1962 Cadillac.

Once they arrived, Doc went to the right front door and pushed on the latch. It opened; Doc smiled to himself, thinking that most rookie thieves and police officers would have used a “Slim Jim” or broken the driver’s side window out without trying the right front door, which a third of the time was left unlocked. Seated inside and then let off the emergency brake set since the car faced a rather steep hill. Then he shifted to neutral, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other pushing on the door frame while Van Alonzo pushed from the front. They set off on their mission to arrest Mucus, a lousy guy, shithead, and just a plain ass-hole, for the betterment of society.

Their task was to push Mucus’ girlfriend’s car up a hill facing downhill, about 70 feet, to a non-parking zone in front of a standard, fully authorized, number (F673-7912) yellow fire hydrant. It was easier said than done. Pushing a 4,782-pound vehicle up a hill is problematic for two grown men when Davis is only half-pushing, and Van Alonzo gets weaker and weaker with every step.

After pushing for an estimated 56 feet, Doc noticed an elderly man walking his brown Curly Coated Retriever down the sidewalk. As the dog walker and dog came abreast of the Caddy, he said, “What’s doing?” in a friendly manner to Doc. Doc replied, “My car just stalled, just trying to get her up the hill.”

Mr. Dog Walker just smiled and went, “Hmm.” He kept walking down the hill, wanting to avoid getting involved at this time of the morning—there’s a whole lot of crazy white people out here. Never heard of pushing a conked-out car up a hill backward, he thought as he stepped up his pace to keep up with the dog.

On arrival at the hydrant, Doc, forgetting about Alonzo, slammed on the brakes. The Caddy immediately stopped, and Alonzo, leaning into the push, sustained a four-inch gash to his forehead. The cut was deep and wide, but Doc had his plan to execute. Davis ran back down the hill to the Dodge Van, grabbed the first aid kit, ran back, and administered first class first aid, which he learned as a Corpsman in the Navy. He wiped the flowing blood off of Alonzo’s head and slapped on a large bandage. He then escorted Alonzo back to the Dodge Van and told him to drive to the hospital. “I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

He went back down the hill to a phone booth and dialed 911. The emergency operator answered, listened, and dispatched a car to see a concerned citizen at Chillum and Avalon Streets.

Doc knew they would send the Rookie working the beat. He also knew the Rookie would do anything he was told to. The Rookie listened to the Detective and wondered why he had to tow the car but decided not to ask any questions. “Just tow the damn car,” he thought.  

As the tow truck was hooking up the Caddy, blocking a fire hydrant, Mr. Dog Walker came walking back up the hill. When he came abreast of the car and Doc, he stopped and asked, “What’s doing?”

“Towing this car for being parked in front of a Fire Hydrant, violation of County ordinances,” Doc said with a straight face, not looking at Mr. Dog Walker.

Mr. Dog Walker looked at the Detective and said, “You cops surely get the job done, whatever that is.” He turned towards the hill, tugged the dog’s chain, and the two continued their cold morning walk. In complete understanding, Muncy, the Curley Coated Retriever, just shook his head the entire time.

After the tow truck left with Doc’s prized possession, he had the Rookie give him left to the Emergency Room where Van Alonzo was receiving his last of 8 stitches. He then drove to the station where he put a hold on releasing the vehicle with the station clerk. He then went to the station canteen and waited for Mucus to show up for his girlfriend’s car. Street Sociology 101 dictated that the girlfriend would have Mucus down at the station by 8 AM, an hour away, to release the vehicle. At 7:51 AM, the canteen wall phone rang; Doc smiled. Within twenty minutes, Mucus was handcuffed and seated in the Detective Bureau’s Interview Room, confessing to five of the nine armed robberies he was accused of committing.

After Van Alonzo got to the station with the most enormous knot anyone had ever seen on any forehead; he celebrated with Doc. Meanwhile, in the county jail, Mucus was furious about being flimflammed and embarrassed in front of his booty. He swore revenge. 

Fast forward four months. The courtroom fell silent when Malcolm Earl Boyea stood up from his seat at the defendant’s table. He straightened his suit jacket, bright orange in color with matching trousers, light-colored brown shoes, an orange shirt, and a tie that more than matched, and proceeded to stroll to the witness chair. On reaching the witness chair, he immediately sat down and was instructed by the bailiff to stand to be sworn in. Mucus’ lawyers, Julia Prather and co-counsel, Christine Thompson, had gone over the swearing-in part numerous times, but Mucus didn’t pay much attention to them. Instead, he only wanted to tell the Judge about those “two lying, car-thieving pigs.”

After the bailiff finished and Mucus swore to God to tell the truth, he sat down and immediately, before being asked a question by MS Prather, told his version of the events of his arrest. MS Prather tried to stop her client from saying anything. Still, he continued into what would be a monologue on the actual events that occurred in front of 2323 Chillium Road during the cold morning hours of February 15, 1979, the day Mucus was arrested for the nine robberies he had committed from December 20 through the 24th in 78.  

MS Prather gave up and sat down, and her client continued. After all, he faced 10 to 15 for the holdups, and a speech wouldn’t matter. MS Prather knew her client was a badass punk, but Mucus had never lied to her. He liked to be thought of as what his now-departed grandpa called a truthful man.

Mucus looked straight at the jury. Then, figuring at least six were bleeding hearts, he continued, “That night I was visiting my booty; that’s her in the front row there.” He pointed towards Myra Wilkens, dressed in an all-yellow, low-cut dress that showed about eight inches of cleavage and black cowgirl boots.  

“About 4:30 AM, I heard a noise from out on the street. My booty heard the same noise but said it was nothing. I got up anyway and looked out the window. I saw those two pigs pushing my car up the street”, he said while pointing at Davis and Van Alonzo, seated in the first row behind the prosecutor’s table. Then all of a sudden, he stood and started yelling at the Detectives, “You motherfuckers stole my booties car, that ain’t right, and you two pigs know it.”

Judge Fenton started pounding his gavel and yelling at Mucus to take his seat. Mucus continued shouting at the two detectives, then jumped over the rail and ran towards the spectators’ seats. The two bailiffs ran towards Mucus; Donna Brees, the prosecutor, dove under the prosecutor’s table while Van Alonzo and Davis stood their ground. The second it took Malcolm Earl Boyea to jump out of the witness box and reach the two detectives was a blur. But, it took less than a split second for Davis to knock him to the ground with one hell of a left to the future convict’s face. Mucus fell straight down to the wooden floor unconscious. As the bailiffs carried Mucus out of the courtroom, Judge Fenton called the courtroom to order. The trial continued with Mucus in a cell, defense attorney MS Prather objecting to whatever happened, the prosecutor struggling to keep her composure and long red hair in order, and the jury ready to find Mucus guilty and go home. The two pigs, Van Alonzo, with arms folded and seated with legs crossed, smiling, and Davis, holding what he thought was a broken left hand, remained seated and smiled in complete contentment.

After finding Mucus guilty of five of the nine robberies, the jury was dismissed; Judge Fenton asked the prosecutor and two arresting Detectives to meet him in his chambers in half an hour.

Once securely behind his desk and after the bailiff closed the door behind him, his guests seated, the good Judge began. “If I ever find out that you two shitheads pushed the defendant’s car in front of that fire hydrant, I’ll have your asses, and for you, MS prosecutor, if you knew, I’ll have you disbarred.”  

“Understand”? he shouted.

As the three nodded yes, he ordered them out of his office. Then, as Doc, the last of the three exiting, was about to close the door behind him, the Judge said, “Hold on, Detective.”

Doc stayed in the Judge’s chamber, and after the door was closed, the Judge said, “That’s one for the books, Doc. Try to stay out of trouble and out of my court.”