Poster Boy

Sometimes I’m asked what I miss about Law Enforcement.

I miss beating the dog shit out of a man that would beat his woman in front of his children. For much of my patrol time I averaged one domestic violence case a shift, most resulting in an arrest. Some involved a side trip to the ER to treat the bloodied, beaten recently arrested fuckwit. I always thought that if you wanted to fight the Police it should sting a little bit.

In the beginning of my career there were no Domestic Violence laws on the books. We could make an arrest only if we witnessed the assault or if the case could be classified as a felony.

I was taught how to provoke the perpetrator into taking a swing at the Police.

Another Christmas story…

Christmas was just around the corner and the streets were heating up. During the holiday more people would be at home getting drunk, depressed and despondent – soaked in cheap whiskey. Living in The land of Shadows.

I was riding solo patrol and was dispatched to a domestic violence call. The location was within a two story apartment complex built on the edge of a real ghetto. I had been to this apartment before on a similar call. This time a neighbor heard fighting inside the apartment and called 911.

When I arrive I could hear loud arguing coming from inside the apartment. I listened at the door for a moment. The Perp was accusing his woman of cheating on him. He was screaming how he was gonna kill somebody. When I’d heard enough I pounded on the door.

He answered all huffy, “What the fuck you want – nobody here called the Police” he said with a deep southern drawl. Before me was this white male, thin but muscled. He was wiry and wired for sound. He was trying to control his temper with little success as veins throbbed on his forehead mixed with beads of sweat.

“It don’t matter who called, I’m here now and I’m going to make sure everybody is all right.”

“The fuck you are, you ain’t coming in my house.”

I pushed him aside with one stiff arm and entered the apartment. That pissed him off more. I saw the woman sitting at the kitchen table with her head down and her hair covering most of her face.

“You alright Ma’am?”

“I’m fine Deputy – I don’t need any help.”

I questioned her and she denied any assault had taken place and said they were only arguing. The whole time I was trying to talk with her he was yelling, “Don’t say nothing.”

She looked up and her hair fell away from her face. He had hit her so hard the flesh under her eye was split. Tears and blood mixed on a face that was once young and beautiful but now filled with howling pain. I was stung by it, Anger and Rage rose up within me.

I turned on the hillbilly that would hit a woman like this as he was ordering me out of his apartment. I got in his face and leaned in. I poked him in the chest, hard, with my finger. I whispered into his ear, “You are one punk Mother Fucker. If you’re so tough why don’t you leap – Leap little Froggy.”

And he did, he swung on me. This guy was a fighter, a striker.

Its always hard to tell who is going to be a good fighter and who would roll up into a ball when punched. This little son of a bitch was a scrapper. I punched him as hard as I could right between the eyes and he just smiled. The fight was on as he punched back, I tasted blood.

First we crashed into and broke the kitchen table. I keyed my prep and called for back-up. Next we spilled into the living room and both of us fell to the floor, taking the coffee table with us. We stood up and went over again this time taking out the Christmas tree as we landed on top of the gift wrapped packages.

I was able to get behind him and apply my best technique, the choke hold.

COP INFO: As a rookie I had been trained by older Deputies how to apply this choke hold. The objective was to pinch down on both Carotid Arteries and deny blood flow to the brain. This choke hold would later be outlawed by policy. I guess too many Perps died in it’s application. It saved my bacon more than once.

My career was over before the days of the Tasers. We were more “Hands On” back then.

Back to this fight…

Well dear Brothers – I’ve got this man by the neck and have clamped down with all my force. He starts bucking like a bronco. My knuckles are bloody, my muscles tense. I ride him like a pony and keep the pressure on his neck. Finally he starts to do the funky chicken, legs flailing and eyes bulging – Brain letting go. This was my favorite part, pushing his face into the stinking carpet as he lapsed into unconsciousness. I hear echoes of my Warrior past – Distant Drums – I smell Smoke and Fire.

I’m having a great time and was just about to release the choke hold when I saw something that I’d remembered for the rest of my life.

There, hunkered up under the last standing table, was a small shaking tearful boy about 6 years old. He resembled a dog shitting peach pits, twisted up into a ball. I held eye contact with him as I choked his father into submission and busted up his Christmas.

I can’t explain it now but I felt bad, like it was somehow my fault.

He became the Poster Boy in my mind for all future Domestic Violence calls. Whenever I’d be pissed off about having to do yet another DV case I would think of him.

The child that lived in violence.

 

© 2015 – 2017, Michael Fulcher. All rights reserved.